Dominoes: And One Shall Fall
Posted: Tue Oct 15, 2002 3:32 pm
If you haven't done so, read <!--EZCODE LINK START--><a href="http://pub141.ezboard.com/fxmenclantale ... D=71.topic"> Due Process</a><!--EZCODE LINK END--> before you start in on this. This is set about one month after the events in <!--EZCODE ITALIC START--><i> Due Process</i><!--EZCODE ITALIC END-->.<br><br>Sorry for the delay, folks. Getting this one started was a <!--EZCODE ITALIC START--><i> bear</i><!--EZCODE ITALIC END-->. Enjoy. <!--EZCODE EMOTICON START :) --><img src=http://www.ezboard.com/images/emoticons/smile.gif ALT=":)"><!--EZCODE EMOTICON END--> <br><br>----<br> The courtyard was nothing more than a huge, blank stretch of ground enclosed by four walls, each twenty meters high. The dark grey stahlplast was badly scarred by impact craters and burn marks, put there over the years by hundreds of mercenaries during their practice sessions.<br> The sun beat down relentlessly on the ground from almost directly overhead. The two mercs near one end of the courtyard paid the sun little heed. The first of the mercs was a man of average height wearing a Hoplite-class hardshell. His armor, though spotless and polished to a shine keen enough to take one’s eyes out at fifty meters, had seen hard use in its time. Barely visible seams showed where new patches of metal had been put in place after combat damage. The green shield nodes that dotted the surface were not quite as bright-looking as factory-new nodes would be, but they were tuned to perfection.<br> A small plate on the left breast of his cuirass was stamped with the man’s warnom, RedSirus. Sirus had his helmet off, revealing a roundish face punctuated by dark eyes and topped with close-cropped brown hair. A thin goatee, not more than a week old at best, covered his chin, and this he stroked with his left hand as he observed the technique of the other mercenary.<br> “Careful with the ammunition, Bug,” he said quietly. “Jolt that pack of disks too hard and it’ll explode.”<br> “How large of an explosion?” Bug asked flatly as he struggled to insert the pack into the spinfusor he held. The spinfusor in his hands was an old one, long used for practice and covered with dry graffiti that told him in no uncertain terms which part of the weapon was the Right End and the Wrong End. Glaring sunlight tinked off the words “Point At Bad Guy” on the stabilizer arm as he finally made the pack of disks click home.<br> “Oh, about ten meters or so. Goes right through shields,” Sirus replied as he double-checked the load with a practiced glance. “Hit the thumb-switch to load it,” he added, pointing casually with his right hand. There was a quiet hum as the first of the explosive disks in the pack slapped into the breech and spun up, expanding to its full size. “Locked and loaded, Bug. Targets are downrange... have at ‘em.”<br> As Bug brought the weapon up and took aim, Sirus reflected on the last few weeks of his life. They’d been interesting ones, to say the least. First there was the report of the major success on Magara II, the world on which the Dragon Talon Mercs had facilitated the defeat of the Blood Eagle. Amazingly enough, no one had been killed during the raid on the B-E vehicle depot, though there were a few serious injuries among both the veterans and the applicants. Nothing Warren M’Koth, the DTM’s medical chief couldn’t handle, at least.<br> The battle-tales were good enough for a long story told over drinks, complete with pitched battles and feats of derring-do, but the real show-stealer had been the discovery of Bug. Sirus grinned wryly to himself as Bug took his first shot, blowing apart the torso of one of the target dummies fifty meters away. ‘Discovery’ wasn’t exactly the right term for it... more like ‘stumbled across’. Trinity Ash was still angry that Bug managed to sneak up on her APC group unnoticed and steal a weapon. Her anger was cooled, however, by the fact that Bug put the rifle to good use during the raid, blowing a huge hole in the B-E sensor network and drawing just enough fire to make the raid more successful than originally planned.<br> Directly after the raid, Bug had asked for a position within the mercs. The recounting of the first sight of him (and the inevitable reaction to such) was still circulating around the barracks. Not surprising in the least, actually, given his appearance. Red glanced over as Bug took aim at another target. Hrrrm... he’d have to show Bug how to use the spinfusor’s inherent precession to stabilize his aim. It was a good thing Bug’s chitiny hands were approximately human-shaped, even with the razor sharp talons on the ends of his fingers. How the huge insect managed to sight down a weapon with compound eyes, Red was sure he’d never figure out.<br> Bug fired again, this time missing badly. Sirus said nothing, for he knew that Bug’s own internal criticisms would be far harsher than anything he could say. That kind of self-abuse was not the best trait to have in an applicant, but he supposed that there were exceptions to be made in this case. It had been a month or so since Bug applied, and he was, surprisingly enough for someone not even human, almost done with the process. Eight mercs, including Sirus, had given their stamps of approval for the big insect, and he only needed two more to make it all the way in. It wasn’t the shortest process Red had seen, but it was surprising. You just didn’t expect people to trust anyone that didn’t look like them so readily, and yet, they had.<br> Red thought he knew why--Bug’s lack of social skills. Oh, sure, he knew how to talk to everyone, and was making bad attempts at jokes every couple of days, but his understanding of how the human mind and its emotions fit together was lacking, badly. Somehow, the resulting bluntness of speech had endeared him to a fair number of mercs. Some had taken to calling him ‘No-Bullshit Bug’, though not to his face. Red thought a better name was ‘Ambush’ Bug, given his ability to sneak up on just about anyone.<br> Bug’s third shot went low on the next target, blowing its legs off and spinning the torso up and away until it smacked into one of the side walls. Red heard the insect clack his mandibles together quietly--in approval? Self-derision? Who the hell knew? He’d find out, he was sure, just eventually instead of soon.<br> That wasn’t to say that all of Bug was a complete mystery. Though he’d forbidden any inquiries into his past, some of his talents were glaringly obvious. His skill with that monster staff slung at his side, for instance. A week before, Red asked him to give a demonstration with it, and Bug proceeded to make a series of maneuvers that would have made a Diamond Sword infighting master drop his jaw in shock. It was like watching a whirlwind attached to legs. The demonstration had drawn a small gathering, for Sirus and Bug had been in another courtyard trying to ascertain some of Bug’s physical limits on an obstacle course. The course was built for hardshells, and men and women practiced on it daily.<br> Bug took another shot, missing again. Red noted it and continued thinking without saying anything. He knew how conversation could throw a man’s aim. He was determined to correct Bug’s grip on the spinfusor, but he figured he might as well wait until Bug went through his current ammo and see if he figured it out on his own.<br> After the demonstration, four of the DTM’s infighting instructors heard the gossip and decided that it would be a good idea to figure out just how good Bug was. Red had, of course, gone along with the insect as per his orders from Spectre. The show was worth it, and he had it all on his armor’s battle-recorder. Out of six one-on-one bouts with the instructors (all in hardshells), Bug won every single time, almost completely unscathed. It was like watching someone omniscient fighting a normal man--Bug’s reflexes were so fast he was able to block or counter everything thrown at him, as if he knew about them beforehand. Even the three-on-one duel he’d been challenged with was not a problem--at the end he had one instructor under each arm in a half-nelson and the third pinned under his two front legs.<br> Sirus grinned again. He had four bottles of imported tequila back in his barracks as an incentive not to let the tape of the instructors’ humiliation get released to the other mercs. Bug’s fifth shot missed wide, careening into the far wall. Looked as if he’d tried to compensate for precession and blew it. He’d get the hang of it soon enough, Sirus figured.<br> So, here he was, acting as a liaison and social mentor for an insect that was over two meters tall and was absolute hell on wheels as far as hand-to-hand combat was concerned. Sirus wondered where and how Bug had gotten that good. It was plainly obvious from the scars on his exoskeleton that he’d seen some combat in his time.<br> “This is a most.... unusual... weapon,” Bug said, curling his arm and pointing the spinfusor skyward. “It fights me.”<br> Sirus stopped studying Bug’s carapace and looked the applicant merc in the eyes. “Yeah, the spinfusor’s like that, Bug... comes from the disks spinning to stabilize themselves in flight. You know about precession?”<br> Bug’s antennae straightened a bit and spread apart slightly as he answered, “No.” Sirus noted the gesture and filed it away. He had his recorder running, and he could review the tapes later on in the day to try and catch nuances and meaning.<br> “Well, I won’t bore you with the equations then. The end result is that the weapon will twist in your hand the instant you pull the trigger. Engineers have been working on trying to damp the motion ever since the ‘fusor was invented, but it’s still there. You can either try and damp it yourself with your free hand or just deal with it and correct your aim. I suggest the latter, myself. Having a free hand is worth a lot on the battlefield.”<br> Bug nodded--a human gesture he knew well--and said, “Yes, very much so.” Bug patted the <!--EZCODE ITALIC START--><i> katar</i><!--EZCODE ITALIC END--> slung on his warharness. “Many times this left-hand weapon has saved me from defeat.”<br> Red noted the evil-looking push dagger and its apparent age--ancient. The leather grips had seen so much use that they were perfectly shaped to match the angles of Bug’s fingers, as if they had been made that way from the beginning. <!--EZCODE ITALIC START--><i> Like a good pair of sandals</i><!--EZCODE ITALIC END-->, he told himself.<br> Bug turned back to the targets and let loose with the spinfusor again. This shot was true, impacting the latest target dummy right at the neck, vaporizing the head and crumpling the torso and legs groundward. Another disk spun out of the ‘fusor, and another dummy took one in the gut, exploding into several pieces. <br> “Target, cease fire,” Sirus said quietly to Bug. Bug turned to face him, and the faint <!--EZCODE ITALIC START--><i> whiiIIiiiIIrrr</i><!--EZCODE ITALIC END--> of the currently-loaded disk in the breech was the only sound in the courtyard save for breathing. “Much better, Bug. Keep that up and we’ll make a duelist out of you yet.”<br> “They weren’t moving, Sirus,” Bug replied flatly as he brought the ‘fusor up and pulled the lever that ejected the remainder of the disks. He handed them back to Sirus gingerly, then turned and fired the last disk at another target, emptying the weapon. “I imagine few of the enemies I will face on the battlefield will be standing still.” Bug lifted the ‘fusor towards Red.<br> “Don’t get too far ahead of yourself, Bug,” Sirus replied, taking the offered spinfusor and clipping it to his warharness. “Even when you and your target are standing still, there are still nuances on nuances to the use of the weapon.” He gestured to the <!--EZCODE ITALIC START--><i> chatka</i><!--EZCODE ITALIC END--> staff at Bug’s side. “How long did it take you to master the use of your staff?”<br> “Over twenty years of--,” Bug began, and then stopped as he realized what Sirus was doing. “I see your point,” he conceded. “You are telling me the spinfusor is easy to learn, but difficult to master, yes?”<br> Red grinned, happy that his <!--EZCODE ITALIC START--><i> protégé’</i><!--EZCODE ITALIC END--> had grasped the lesson so quickly. “Exactly, Bug. Remind me to show you some holos of the last FireTruce dueling champion. I swear he could be standing still and yet make his discs <!--EZCODE ITALIC START--><i> curve</i><!--EZCODE ITALIC END-->.” <br> There was a faint beeping sound that came from Red’s left wrist. He looked down and saw an indicator flashing on his armor’s PDA. “Hang on a second, Bug,” he said quickly as he lifted the tiny screen closer to his face. His smile widened as he saw what the beeping was all about. “Great!” he said, turning to Bug. “You up for a little walk?”<br> “What for?” Bug replied, leaning slightly to one side in order to catch a glimpse of the PDA screen. The confused-looking mass of symbols and text was beyond him.<br> “We’re going to get you some armor, Bug.”<br><br> It was discovered very early on by the Tribes of Man that trying to maintain the huge lumbering war-machines of the Empire from which they’d come was too difficult in the harsh Wilderzone. Grav-tanks and HERCs could require as much as fifty man-hours of maintenance for every hour spent on the field, and in an area of space that was largely unexplored and still quite dangerous, that kind of maintenance cost was too much to handle when piled atop everything else the Wilderzone threw at them.<br> Thus, the Tribes of Man rediscovered the usefulness of powered body armor. SCARABs, as they were called, had gotten their start on the Venusian colonies back in the Empire, long before the defeat of Prometheus. Then, they were used as a means of transport, or as an external bio-suit for workers to use in the harsh Venusian atmosphere. It did not take long for someone to see the value in affixing weapons to the SCARAB system, and thus a new level of infantry combat was born.<br> Over hundreds of years, many refinements were made to Tribal armor until ‘hardshells’, as they came to be called, were about as well-designed as one could get. Maintenance was down to one or two hours per hour in the field, and operation of the armor was no longer a nightmarish mishmash of micro-switches and voice commands, thanks to the inclusion of a direct neural interface in the helm. Strong shields, projected by nodes emplaced at various points on the armor, wrapped the wearer in redundant layers of protection that would deflect even the fastest of hypervelocity bullets. A gyroscopic array would keep the warrior upright in battle, making use of the built-in ionic jetpack a much easier exercise than it would have been otherwise. Nano-assembled muscle arrays in the armor multiplied the wearer’s strength by a factor of five or more, enabling the easy use of heavy weaponry.<br> There was little of this that Bug actually needed. Immediately after his application, Warren M’Koth, the DTM’s chief medical officer, put him through a battery of physical tests. Though Bug’s past was murky, it was not hard to see that his body had been almost completely reworked at some point in his younger years, ‘reworked’ being the kindest term Warren could come up with. Bug’s carapace was almost as strong as the armor plate that went into a Myrmidon heavy-assault hardshell, but it was still organic in nature. Bug himself was just a hair stronger than an average man wearing a Myrmidon, able to lift almost a thousand kilograms over his head without aid from T-grav nodes--it was quickly concluded that most of his musculature was synthetic as well. <br> What Bug did need was some real protection. The numerous scars on his thorax showed that while he was tough, he could be injured, and badly, by light weapons-fire. His current shielding system, a series of nodes buried in his carapace, covered him well but was pathetically weak. A light blaster pistol was about the only thing it could reliably deflect.<br> Fitting him with an actual hardshell was impossible, due to the shape of his body. Red had mentioned the problem to the DTM armorers a week or so ago, and it was only now that they were sure they had some kind of solution.<br><br> The two of them made it to the armory’s front door within a few minutes of leaving the training courtyard. When they arrived, they found Warren M’Koth standing outside, quietly smoking a <!--EZCODE ITALIC START--><i> cigarillo</i><!--EZCODE ITALIC END--> in what little shade he could find. His bald head gleamed brightly even in the shade, and his blue eyes peered at the two approaching mercs through a thin veil of smoke. He wore loose whites to combat the heat, which made him look like the star of a space opera holo. When they got close, he pushed off the wall and went to them.<br> “So you got the call, too?” he asked amiably of the two warriors.<br> “Doesn’t surprise me they’d drag you along, Warren,” Sirus said to the doctor. “You have your black bag?”<br> Warren grinned. “They tell me I won’t be needing it this time,” he replied, looking at Bug.<br> “Needing what?” Bug asked, unsure of what the two humans were talking about. “Black bag?”<br> “My medical instruments, Bug,” Warren replied, turning to the insect. “We were thinking of replacing the shield nodes in your body.”<br> “But you’re not going to?” Bug cocked his head at the doctor, studying him.<br> “Hell if I know, Bug. The armorers say they’ve cooked up something that’ll do for now.” He hoisted a thumb towards the door. “We should get down there and see what it is.”<br> “A sound plan, doc,” Sirus replied as he pivoted and went for the door. Bug followed him as Warren stubbed his smoke out on his boot heel. Moments later, the three of them were descending down a hallway just barely wide enough for the three of them. They passed through a security door about halfway down, none of them failing to notice the ring of Sentry turrets around the circumference of the hallway. Not that anyone would be dumb enough to attack Fenecia (Spec reportedly had a HERC or two tucked away somewhere), but one never knew, and protecting the armory’s main entrance with Sentries was standard procedure. Nasty little things, those--if it was moving and didn’t have friendly IFF status, they’d pop out of the wall and tear it to shreds.<br> The guard waved them through the door and closed it behind them. They continued on for a short distance before the hall widened and opened up into a large underground room. The room was dark, sparsely lit with barrel lights embedded in the ceiling. A grid of flatlights, now dark, crisscrossed the ceiling, turned on only when the armorers needed light for a large-scale project. Against one wall a series of inventory stations stood, their dark brown H-shapes seeming to beckon to the three, urging them to step into the stations’ reach that they might be supplied with their every military need. Against another wall half-assembled suits of armor hung in the air, suspended via hooks and chains. Nearby a circular stand held a variety of weapons at hand, also in various states of repair. Smack in the middle of the room stood a of jump-suited armorer in front of a low table, and he gestured for the doctor and his mercenary companions to come forward.<br> “Have a look!” the armorer, Johann, said, stepping aside and pointing to a pile of what looked like shiny rags sitting dead-center on the table. <br> “What the hell?” Sirus said, stepping forward to get a better look. It didn’t seem to help. He saw what looked like straps all noodled together, shiny green shield nodes poking out of the mess like meatballs. “Johann, what exactly <!--EZCODE ITALIC START--><i> is</i><!--EZCODE ITALIC END--> this?” <br> Johann grinned widely at Sirus and Bug. “It’s a little something I got my hands on a few months ago, Red. Go ahead, pick it up!” <br> Bug reached out and carefully grabbed one of the straps and lifted it. As he pulled it off the table, its shape became a little clearer, and it was apparent that it looked something like a lumpy set of bandoliers. “It...” Bug began, rubbing his antennae over one of the straps. “It smells faintly of BioDerm,” he said quietly, using his other hand to pull it into three dimensions.<br> “You nailed it, Bug. It’s a remodeled BioDerm shield harness I, ah, procured.”<br> “And didn’t tell anyone about, I’ll wager,” Warren put in, grinning. Johann flashed the doctor a quick look of annoyance, to which Warren replied, “Stow it, Johann. I’ve got better things to do than get you in trouble. You are, after all, the guy that keeps my mercs safe from harm.”<br> “I have seen these before.... once,” Bug said as he turned the harness every which way in the beam of one of the ceiling lights. The straps were shiny, and light sparkled every which way from them. “It did not help its wearer against me.”<br> “Ahhh, of course,” Johann replied. “These shields still suffer the standard limitations against melee weapons.” Johann reached for the harness in Bug’s hands. “May I?” Bug handed it over without comment. “This harness, as I mentioned earlier, has been remodeled. Amplified, in fact, due to your reduced energy requirements.” Johann procured a small cube from the table, a cube that had armored cables dangling from it. “Your power supply,” he said. “You don’t have any armor systems to run aside from shields, so this single power pack ought to run the whole thing for you just fine.”<br> “How does this all fit?” Bug asked, looking from the power pack to the harness, unsure of exactly what went where. <br> “It should fit pretty well, Bug,” Warren supplied. “I gave Johann your measurements from your physical last month, and he went from there.” Johann nodded at this, and approached Bug with the harness in his hands.<br> “We’ll put it on you the first time, Bug. Just hold still.” He looked over to Red. “Could you give me a hand, Red?” Sirus nodded and came over.<br> It took a few minutes to get it on, though by the end of the fitting, Bug was doing most of the work once he saw how the harness fit. The harness was quite intricate, crisscrossing Bug’s thorax and then winding down around his abdomen and back. Straps with single nodes at their ends dangled free from the thorax/abdomen part of the harness, and these were buckled down to the upper portions of his arms and legs. The power pack fit neatly into a pouch hung at Bug’s lower back, and the power cables snaked out and plugged in unobtrusively.<br> When it was all in place, Bug stepped to a clear spot in the room and moved about experimentally, slowly at first, then faster, as he tried every range of motion available to him. Twenty seconds later, he turned to Johann, antennae quivering. “Your skill is impressive,” he stated, inclining his head to the armorer. “This does not restrict me in the least.” He extended his hand to Johann, and the armorer took it, a little taken aback by the feel of the chitin that made up Bug’s exoskeleton.<br> “Thank you,” Johann replied. “I’ve already taken the liberty of burning in the shields.” He reached into a large pocket on the side of his jumpsuit and produced a small datapad. “Here’s the test clip, if you want to review it.”<br> “That would be an excellent idea,” Sirus interjected. “In fact, we can give it a look in my quarters, Bug--I’ve got a good player there.”<br> “Mind if I tag along for that?” Warren asked. <br> “Not at all,” Sirus replied. He turned to Johann. “Thanks, Johann. I’ll have to pick your brains about this harness sometime over lunch.”<br> Johann smiled. He and Sirus often spent time bouncing ideas off each other over food. Red was a notorious tinker when he wasn’t out on the battlefield, and his warrior’s experience combined with his engineering knowledge made for some interesting discussions.. “I’ll look forward to it, Red,” he said, as Sirus, Bug and Warren turned to leave.<br><br> Sirus had suggested his own quarters for the viewing of the contents of the datapad even though Bug’s quarters were both roomier and possessed newer and better holo equipment. The main reason for this was that his quarters had something that Bug’s lacked--furniture. Even in a hardshell, sitting on one’s ass on a floor wasn’t the most comfortable of positions. He wasn’t terribly surprised that Bug didn’t have furniture, though. Having four legs with a natural tendency to keep one upright pretty well eliminated the need for chairs, beds, or anything else aside from a table.<br> Red’s quarters, on the other hand, were much better equipped. Part of that was due to his rank--he’d been with the DTM long enough to hang a captain’s stripe on his shoulder. The other part was due to the careful expenditure of his wages and his skill at finding good deals. As he ushered his two companions in through the door (he watched with some wonder as Bug swiveled his legs until his stance, normally some six feet wide, shrank down to two feet so he could get through the door), he went and retrieved a bottle of tequila from the coldbox.<br> Warren immediately located the comfiest-looking seat in the place and plopped into it. This turned out to be at one end of a small couch that sat facing Red’s holo-equipment. Bug scooted around behind the couch and found an open spot where he could stand comfortably. As he looked around, he realized that he hadn’t ever been in Red’s quarters before... or, for that matter, in anyone’s quarters.<br> It wasn’t that he was unaware of how humans arrayed their living spaces. Too many times in his past he’d had to shove furniture out of the way when going in for the kill. It was just that he somehow expected a mercenary’s quarters to be different somehow, more austere, more to-the-point. Red’s living space was nothing of the sort. Hung on one wall was a dartboard with a picture of an Imperial HERC tacked to the center, of which the cockpit area was punctured many times over. On another wall was a holo-pinup from one of the mercenary periodicals that circulated over to the O-web. As a startling change of pace, an old tapestry hid a third wall, its silken fibers both ancient and somehow young with inner fire. It took Bug a moment to realize that the tapestry was in fact a battle-flag, one of the Dragon Talon Mercenaries’ battle-flags to be precise. Its black field sharply contrasted the golden dragon woven into the center, bringing out every little detail. The dragon’s eyes, the deep, penetrating red of rubies, seemed to bore into him.<br> He could imagine it flapping in the wind as it was carried into a pitched battle, its pole perhaps strapped to his own back instead of to another merc’s... and the thought appealed to him. He did not completely understand the nuances of hardshell combat, but he was learning quickly, and he was beginning to find it exhilarating. Something about these mercs brought out an inner fire within himself, one that he hadn’t felt since he’d last led his Queen’s army of warriors, a fire that had been banked during his years as an assassin. His new comrades were like a breath of wind on the coals and he felt younger because of it.<br> “It is awfully pretty, isn’t it?” Sirus remarked from right beside him. Bug didn’t jump, but he reprimanded himself internally for not being totally aware of his surroundings. Red stood at his right shoulder (still in his hardshell since he was still on-duty) with a glass in hand. Bug saw that Warren had been served a glass as well, and he was able to catch the buttery sting of tequila fumes in the air with his antennae.<br> “I picked it up a couple of years ago,” Sirus continued. “Actually, quite literally, during an action on Septa Scarabrae III. Our bearer bought it and I carried it for the rest of the battle. Spec let me keep it in here as a gesture of respect.”<br> Now that Bug looked a little closer, he could see the faint darkening of the black silk where blood had dried, been washed too late, and had set in permanently. No one had bothered to run over the banner with a batch of cleaning nanites, and he wondered if that was by choice or not.<br> “You want a drink before we look at the holo, Bug?” Sirus asked him.<br> “Water, in a bowl,” the insect replied. “That drink you have now makes my antennae twitch.” Sirus nodded and went back to the corner of his room that had a sink. He was back moments later with a shallow bowl three-quarters full of water. Bug took it from him with a nod. He could not have fit his mandibles into a normal glass, hence the bowl.<br> Sirus went to the holoprojector and inserted the pad he’d been given by Johann. He flipped a few switches and then went to sit on the other end of the couch. “Lights!” he called out, and the room lights extinguished immediately, leaving only the pale flickering of the holoprojector’s standby pattern to illuminate the room. “Play,” Red intoned, and the projector came to life.<br> It showed Johann standing at one end of a long, narrow room. At the far end of the room, a mockup that looked similar to Bug stood, legs bolted to the floor. It was wrapped in the shield harness Bug now wore. Johann stood next to a weapons rack, and he was wearing a Myrmidon hardshell.<br> “Must be the weapons-testing area,” Sirus said quietly. “That would explain why he’s got on so much armor.”<br> Johann clapped the Myrm’s helmet on and began to speak. “I’ve included the shield harness integrity data in this recording,” he said, and at that very moment a graph popped up in the lower right of the projector display. “Keep an eye on it as I fire, and you’ll see how much it’s been modified.” With that, Johann grabbed a plascannon off the rock, loaded in a clip, and took aim at the mockup. Seconds later, he’d fired several times, dousing the mockup and most of the surrounding area in white-hot plasma, and causing the integrity graph in the lower-right of the display to only jitter and twitch instead of flatlining at zero. The shields flared brightly as they deflected the plasma rounds.<br> “My <!--EZCODE ITALIC START--><i> word</i><!--EZCODE ITALIC END-->,” Warren breathed, setting his drink down. “Even <!--EZCODE ITALIC START--><i> I</i><!--EZCODE ITALIC END--> can tell that’s pretty impressive work! Plasma rounds usually leak through shields quite badly.”<br> “That’s what happens when you feed all of the output from an armor power cell into the shield system,” Sirus replied, his voice a little quiet. He hadn’t expected the kind of performance he’d just seen. He turned around and looked at Bug. “Think that’ll suit you, Bug?”<br> “Wonderfully,” Bug replied, chattering his mandibles together happily. “Perhaps it will cut down on the number of scars I receive.”<br> “Good, ‘cause you and I are going to have to do a bit of--“<br> Without warning, the lights came back on and the holoprojector ceased displaying the clip of Johann. Where the friendly armorer had been was replaced with a floating DTM logo with the words ‘Incoming Transmission’ underneath.<br> “That’s gotta be Spec,” Sirus noted, sitting up a bit straighter. Spec, or Spectre, was the leader of the Dragon Talon Mercs, and only he had the access to disrupt a player like that. “I wonder what this is about?”<br> The logo faded out and Spectre’s visage appeared in its place. Thin-faced and stern-looking, he peered out from the display and took in the view of the three before him via the small camera under the projector. “I was hoping Bug was with you, Red,” he said. “And it’s good to see you out of your office, Warren,” he added, nodding to the doctor.<br> “What’s going on, Spec?” Sirus asked. “Things have been quiet here today.”<br> “And they haven’t been quiet out in the New Reaches. There’s a hostile takeover happening on Reach IV, courtesy of a tribe calling itself the Marauders. There aren’t enough of them to invade and occupy the planet, but what information I’ve been given tells me they’re just a preliminary force that will establish a beachhead for a larger tribe. The inhabitants of Reach IV have asked me for our help in dislodging the Marauders.”<br> “Sounds straightforward enough,” Sirus remarked, setting his drink down. He looked to his right and saw that Warren was already mentally going over potential casualty lists.<br> “Not exactly,” Spec replied. “There are complications. One, the Marauders have seized control of Reach IV’s main sensor web. Two, the spaceport they’ve been holding for a beachhead is completely surrounded by that very web, so attacking it with the web still operational is tantamount to suicide. And three, and perhaps worst of all, they aren’t using their own techs to operate the web, but have instead taken hostage Reach IV’s native techs. The message sent to me warned that keeping those hostages alive is of great importance.”<br> “Odd, that isn’t usually how it goes,” Bug remarked to himself. Spec’s head swiveled to center on him.<br> “In most instances, you’d be correct, Bug. The Reach IV inhabitants, however, made it part of the contract they sent.”<br> “Must be some damn good techs,” Sirus remarked. “What are they, ex-Imperial HERC guys or something?”<br> “I wouldn’t be surprised. Reach IV has been a haven for those that wish to get away from the Empire, Sirus. I have my suspicions that the Marauders are secretly in the employ of the Empire, and that this is another move on their chessboard.”<br> “Could be dangerous to disrupt these Marauders, if the Empire’s behind them,” Warren remarked. “Doesn’t the Empire already have a price on your head, Spec?”<br> “They did, at one time,” Spec said evenly, looking at no one but Bug.<br> <!--EZCODE ITALIC START--><i> Does he know?</i><!--EZCODE ITALIC END--> Bug asked himself. <!--EZCODE ITALIC START--><i> <!--EZCODE BOLD START--><b> Could</b><!--EZCODE BOLD END--> he know? Impossible. No one intercepted my communications, ever, or I would have been killed by Fury’s hounds already. </i><!--EZCODE ITALIC END--><br> “Well, that’s nothing new, Spec,” Red interjected. “Last time I checked, there’s at least twenty groups that hate our guts and want you, me and everyone else on Fenecia deader than a rock.”<br> “That’s true enough, Red, and that’s why I accepted the contract. We’re shipping out in twelve hours.”<br> “So I’m doing the usual? Getting all the support stuff taken care of, running the CC, that kind of thing?” Red asked, referring to his usual duties on most missions. It was his job to keep everyone in the loop and informed via the command circuit, and it was his job to make sure that everyone had enough supplies to do their job. He also took care of the wounded when it came time to ship out, which was the main reason he and Warren were so close.<br> “Negative.” This got a blink of surprise from Red (and from Warren, for that matter). “Temujin will be taking care of that this time.” Spec turned to look at Bug, then at Red again. “Red, you and Bug are to report to Asha’Man in two hours. He’s leading the group that’s going to take down the sensor web and free those techs, and you two are going with him. Before you get there, I want Bug fitted with a hardshell PDA and given battle-channel access. Asha will have your orders.”<br> “Errr, isn’t a hostage situation a little unusual for an applicant’s first mission?” Red ventured.<br> Spec grinned. “Yes, Red, it is. But Bug has some unique talents, and I’ve seen him at work. He’s well-suited for this.”<br> <!--EZCODE ITALIC START--><i> He <!--EZCODE BOLD START--><b> does</b><!--EZCODE BOLD END--> know. Blast and damnation!</i><!--EZCODE ITALIC END--> “Thank you,” Bug said quietly.<br> “Don’t thank me yet, Bug,” Spec said, turning to him again. “This could get quite brutal. You’ll need to be at your best.”<br> “I am <!--EZCODE ITALIC START--><i> always</i><!--EZCODE ITALIC END--> at my best,” Bug replied, knowing full well that anything less would have resulted in his death long ago.<br> “This is your chance to prove it, then,” Spec said, and just as suddenly as he’d appeared on the holoprojector, he was gone, his image fading out into nothingness.<br> Sirus was looking at him strangely now, inquisitiveness mixed with a little wonder and a dash of uncertainty. “You all right, Bug?” Bug looked at him at the same time he realized he was quivering slightly. It took him a moment to realize that it was anger at having his abilities questioned that made him shake.<br> “I’m fine, Red. I guess you could say I’m... nervous?”<br> “Spec has that effect on people, especially right before their first mission with us,” Sirus replied, happy to see that it was nothing unusual that made his companion tremble.<br> “And yet he can turn on the charm like a switch,” Warren remarked. He tossed back the rest of his drink and made for the door. “I’d better get back to the ward, fellows. If this is as tough as Spectre hinted at, I may be quite busy when you all return.”<br> “We’ll try and come back in one piece,” Red replied as the good doctor exited. He turned back to Bug. “And you and I had best get back to the armory, Bug. We need to get you set up with a PDA and some weapons.”<br> “Affirmative, Sirus. Let’s get moving.”<br> <p></p><i>Edited by: <A HREF=http://pub141.ezboard.com/uambushbug.sh ... =EN>Ambush Bug</A> <IMG SRC="http://www.xmenclan.org/images/x.gif" BORDER=0> at: 10/15/02 8:15:07 pm<br></i>