Interlude 2
Pay to Win
Outreach
22nd February, 3023
The 'hiring hall' was busy, larger here on Outreach than just about anywhere else. The problem was, at the moment it was in the hands of the Capellan Confederation, and I wanted to be out of here as rapidly as possible. Putting the task to Yang to falsify our signatures until we reached the hiring halls. Darius looked up from the sensors as he considered the situation. "So, what possessed us to try this stunt?" He asked again, the fortieth time since our arrival.
"The same thing I said the last thirty nine times. I haven't a fucking clue." The truth was that i'd forgotten that the Dragoons didn't take the planet until later and turn it into a mecca of mercenary work. Though it still had a moderately larger mercenary presence than average due to its central location. "What I wouldn't give for a McKenna on our side to watch over us about now." But still, there were no unfriendly challenges or demands we abase ourselves to the Capellan might.
"Trotter, keep an eye on comm traffic if you can," Our descent was masked under the fake transponder signature 'Our Martyr'd Lady' with the Hysteria operating under the name hornet, "And let's keep this quick. Yang, I want you to go and get the parts for our Marauder, cheap as chips if you can."
There was no lurch as we touched ground, the new gravity plating operating perfectly well with almost no strain on the reactor.
"I'll go to the hiring hall. See if I can't rustle up some company," I said, "Behemoth, Glitch, you're with me. Bring some of those Lasguns from the Coffinship," I turned, "The rest of you, guard the ships, I want to be out of here within six hours, our Jumpship has agreed to wait twenty-four hours, but I don't see any benefit in hanging around."
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The Hiring Hall was a mess of ramshackle structures, tents and temporary mobile mech support rigs, but I had little interest in those, instead going into the recruiting tents and checking onto the computers there. Studying those available, and especially looking for any dispossessed looking for a new future. The truth was distressing.
There were a lot of dispossessed, and searching through personnel dockets was a time consuming task at the best of times. "Oy mate, you're looking at those dockets real hard." The indistinguishable accent, my accent, caught me by surprise. "Name's Bruce, my mates call me Brucey, finest aerospace jockey in this camp. The Cappies are quick to push us out." A bear of a man who looked too large to fit in any Aerospace cockpit thrust out a hand I was quick to take.
"So how come you're still loitering around here like a maggot-bag?" I said taking his hand and pumping it. The descendants of Australia and New Zealand are quick to resort to type.
"Same reason there are so many other dispossessed on that list. You linger too long, the local garrison confiscates your mech or fighter as a penalty for loitering." He sat down reversing a camp chair. "So what are you after?"
"A couple jockeys, a handful of mech drivers... a tank squad and a couple more mechs." I said with a shrug. I knew Bruce had been put in my path, as sure as shit.
"Well you're shit outta luck for the last lot of crap, but I've got a mate who used to fly my wing who might be interested, and there's a couple mekheads around here who are good enough." Bruce said with calm confidence.
"Can you, or your friend, fly a Stuka?" I asked plainly.
"A Stuka, sure. Little heavier than the Shilone I used to fly, but flies better. Jimbo can handle them pretty well too, used to fly a Lightning. He'll miss the AC/20 though." Bruce was being honest from what I could tell.
"How soon can you be packed and ready?" I asked, "Pay is forty-thousand a month to start, with room for growth depending on performance."
"Give me an hour to find Jimbo, and some anti-intoxicants, and we could be on board. He took the dispossession harder than I did." Bruce said with a shrug. More likely Bruce simply had a greater tolerance for the booze.
"Bruce, if you can meet us at our ship, the 'Martyr'd Lady' I do have some other business."
"Sure mate. See you there." Bruce said clapping my shoulder.
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As Yang
Outreach was a nervous place, and I knew the boss understood the same risks I did, but we needed the parts for the Marauder, without replacement parts for the cockpit it was a seventy five ton dead weight. The enigma of Warden was all too frequent to think about, unlike Behemoth I wasn't about to jump into bed with him, but where did he come from?
He was from somewhere beyond the periphery he'd said as much. Some old SLDF Skunkworks forgotten about on the edge of space. And the technologies he had available were thought to be impossible. Artificial gravity, energy shields both on his mech and in that amulet around his neck, heat rays, and more including the fancy laspistol on my hip. Sure was fun to dive into all that tech, though Trotter had largely taken over the role.
Whoever he really was, from however far, he'd turned around the fortunes of the Marauders, instead of living paycheck to paycheck he was looking towards forwards growth, and now, the recovery of technology his people had sent out to find him.
Walking into one of the junkyard dealerships it was time to focus on work.
"Welcome friend, anything you need?" The proprietor said hauling a myomer bundle into a rack.
"Cockpit for a GM MAD-3R." Looking around revealed plenty of junk. Including one pure nugget of gold. "And that Warhammer."
The man blinked and turned to see the half-covered Mech. "Thought I had that covered up, lucky some Cappies didn't come in and see it, they'd have confiscated it." He said with a chuckle, "Looks like fortune is on your side if you have the bills." He began tapping away on his computer, "We've got a 3R cockpit, it's not in the best condition though, the Combat Computer is wonky as shit, needs a mektek with the time to look it over."
"I'll take it," I took out my comms and called the Warden's Rest, "Lady, we've found a new head for the toy soldier, if you can bring the mech transporter to my position." Turning back to the proprietor I nodded. "How's an even eight million for both?"
"Come on, it's worth at least ten."
"Ten? You just said the CC is screwy, and who knows what the Warhammer is like under the tarp. For all I know it has a tree growing out of it! Eight-five."
"There's no goddamned tree, though there was a pot plant in the cockpit. Nine seven five."
"See, shrubbery. Huge devaluing agent! Eight seven five."
"Robbery! Robbery!" The Proprietor shouted throwing his hands in the air, "Here I am trying to feed a starving family of nine and in comes a joker trying to steal the crumbs from my own mouth! Nine two five!"
"If your family is like your junk you probably only half feed them anyway! Nine even."
"Fine, nine even." The proprietor nodded shaking hands.
"What is it with merchants always claiming to have large starving families?" I asked with a grin.
"No kids, no wife. I'm pretty sure we're required to say it by law to justify haggling longer, I mean we all know we're going to settle on the middle but we have to pretend like we're negotiating anyway." He said with a grin.
"According to the boss negotiating a merc contract is the same, though in our case we just suggest we're not going to help to drive up the numbers." The negotiations over we sat down and shared stories waiting for the transporter to arrive. The boss had gotten back saying he scored a couple of aerospace pilots, but that mechs were probably off of the table he'd be recruiting some more mech drivers anyway.
The thought crept into mind. What was going to happen when ComStar learned about all the fancy tech