WP3025 Chpt 8

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==Chapter 8 - Winged Praxis (Battletech 3015 CYOA)==
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===Flashback to the Garden of Gods - Dog Fight===
Garden of the Gods
Republic of Kasnov-Greenland, New Olympia
Marik Commonwealth, Free Worlds League
10th October, 3014
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Snapping my gaze back over my shoulder, I saw the savaged Riever as it took advantage of our panicked break, attempting to turn in on me. I was pretty sure we had wrecked some of his SRM tubes, but he had a lot of them to start, and that didn't even count the AC/20 he sported. I wanted none of that, and put my nose high, punching into overboost to make sure I climbed above his nose. My torches superheated the HEDP shells as they passed my tail, leaving a disconcerting trail of popcorn blasts in my wake as I outran his burst. 
Vwoop-vwoop-vwoop!
Missiles exploded from both his nose and one wing, reaching out like smokey tentacles, even as he stalled out and lost skykeeping, too unstable to stand on his torch.
"Oh," I breathed, "puta madre." It wasn't a great shot by the Militia pilot, but with that many missiles, it didn't have to be. Chopping the throttle and stamping in left rudder, I fed in stick and lateral thrust as well, flipping nose for tail in a crazy yaw, even as I tore my Sabre in an oblique arc across the sky, trying to confuse the missile seekers.
It worked, mostly. Four SRMs out of the eighteen got a piece of me, smashing armor on both wings and my nose. I rode out the buffeting through sheer indignant rage, and pushed the throttle forward again, stooping on the diving heavy aerospace fighter, even as Betty repeated an incessant call of <{"Warning Warning. Warning Warning."}>
I pulled my trigger, and crowed in exultation as my lasers dug deep into the fuselage of the heavy fighter, and his torch's plume got big in a real hurry. Explosive bolts triggered all around his canopy, and the pilot shot out of the doomed fighter on a tongue of flame. "Aharai!" I screamed, letting out a Cerillos coyote yip of victory in my excitement. "Splash one!"
(("Wonderful!")) yelled Socks, his voice high with stress. (("Engaged defensive! Fucking help!")) I could hear his MAWS going off in the background.
I silenced the warning, which was only for minor disruption of aerodynamics and armor damage, and looked for my wingman and his opponent. The Riever was cranking, firing LRMs as far off boresight as they could, holding the range open as long as they could, and forcing Socks to maneuver if he didn't want to eat a flight of LRMs to the teeth. Inevitably, when he did, the Militia flyer went cold and reopened the range as much as they could, only to reengage and spit another cloud of missiles.
If nothing else, I could split the pilot's attention and cut off maneuvering options, let us both get in close to where our superior thrust and maneuverability would tell. That would mean going nose-on with the heavy fighter for at least one pass, though. And this guy hadn't lost any of his teeth. Not to mention I was going to have to play chicken with LRMs as well.
 
None of that mattered. My wingman needed support. "Bolt 2-1, press." I said, putting my nose on the fighter and opening my throttle as wide as it would go. "Bolt 2-2, flow west as able."
 
(("Two")) he replied, forcing it out through Gs as he rolled away from another flight of LRMs.
"Hey, Pendejo," I said, putting the cursor over the Reiver as he turned cold, and designating him as primary target. "Raygun."
 
<{"Lock"}> reported Betty.
It was a calculated move. I might have been able to make it in further unmolested if I hadn't tipped off the enemy pilot by locking them up. But that would mean more volleys of LRMs sent after Socks, and even after being smacked with those SRMs, my armor was in better shape, especially given the few LRM hits the Riever had landed on my wingman.
 
Instead of boosting outbound, the Riever cut throttle and turned back towards me, sending the expected flight of missiles my way.
 
I could have gone cold myself and probably dragged the missiles past their effective range easily enough, but my blood was up. I cranked instead, shifting myself outside of the zone where the LRMs would be looking when their terminal attack seekers went active. "Defensive." I called out.
 
(("Pressing.")) replied Socks, taking the opportunity as the launcher cycled to close the range some.
 
Then I was reversing my turn and diving as the LRMs came in for their terminal attack. None of them were able to stay with me, and I recommitted, nose back on the Riever. "Pressing."
 
Another flight of missiles went outbound at Socks. "Defensive," he called, going cold. It was the safer option, and with the way his armor was looking, probably the right call. The Riever went cold as well, and I wished for a LRM rack of my own so I could put him under real pressure. Instead, I traded on my thrust, trying to close the gap before he could get off another volley.
 
I wasn't so lucky. The heavy fighter pulled into an Immelman turn, catching me off guard as LRMs reached out for me even as his nose was coming up the half-loop. "Defensive!" I called out, rolling inverted and diving for the hills in attempt of terrain masking.
 
"Pressing!" he called, smelling blood.
 
My plan worked. Mostly. Seven LRMs slammed into a rocky outcrop as I got the planet in their way, just in time. The other three zipped right over it and slapped my right wing just as I was pulling out of the dive. My Sabre bucked under me, attempting to roll into a cliff. A mad flurry of inputs to my stick, pedals, throttle, and thrusters kept me from becoming one with the cliff, though I was pretty sure I left some haze gray paint behind.
 
Sucking in a high-oxy breath from my mask, I searched for Socks and the Riever.
 
(("Oh, shit!")) he yelped, matching laser fire against the 100-ton fighter's devastating close-range armament. I saw the burst of autocannon rounds shred his left wing and his Sabre stagger in midair. 
 
Over the comm, I could hear his Betty and she was bitching. <{"Warning Warning. Left Torch Containment Failure. Flight Control, Flight Control. Warning Warning. Critical Damage Laser One. Critical Damage…"}>
No fool, Socks made the only call he could. (("Ejecting!"))
Not a moment too soon as 24 SRMs turned the maimed fighter into a fireball speckled with aligned crystal steel shards.
Beer-beer-beer!
 
"Bolt 2-1, all players! Bolt 2-2 down!" I put my nose on the Riever, who had just snapped into a victory roll. Socks's seat separated, and their canopy inflated. "Have beacon, have chute!" I triggered my lasers. "Engaged offensive."
 
<<"Ambrosia copies Bolt 2-2 down. Asclepius on standby. Sanitize airspace for pickup.">>
 
I rolled left and kicked in lateral thrust and rudder, jinking the sole autocannon burst the Riever driver got off before the merge. "Sanitizing," I growled, taking him two circle, using the vertical to tighten my turn even harder. I had the performance advantage, and I was going to take ruthless advantage.
Saddling up behind the big fighter, I matched him move for move, pumping laser fire into the lumbering flying wing. He might have gotten one of us, but this was why one on one, heavy fighters had to fear our lighter birds. I snarled as I got a piece of his torch, the flying wing staggering sideways as it lost full magcon on its torch vectoring and a jet of hot hydrogen sprayed to the side.
<<<"All players, all players! Pop-up group, two-ship, Bullseye 090 for 6, in the weeds. Hostile, type Eagle. Duster, watch out! They just turned hot for you!">>>
I felt my heart drop into my stomach as my LRHAW announced that two of the Inner Sphere's premier heavy dogfighters had just locked me up. 150 tons of nasty were coming my way at overboost.
Fuck me running.
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===Criticizing a fiction MechWarrior===
Dropship Siduri, Transfer Burn
New Olympia System
Marik Commonwealth, Free Worlds League
10th January, 3015
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The answer turned out to be one and a half installments of Immortal Warrior.
"The only good thing I can say about these," I opined, as Ricardo Hunt jumped through the air, firing a pair of TKs at nothing in particular, "is that that Lyrans are so constitutionally focused on BattleMechs that you leave us poor aerospace drivers out of this lunacy."
 
"At least until it comes time to deliver another helping of explosions," pointed out Lien.
 
"Poor Sadie jocks," I snarked as a Seydlitz did just that in the background, cluster munitions spreading inferno gel across a few city blocks. "Only show up in the production for one pass, then haul ass."
 
Gunther chuckled. "I must admit, this mech obsession, it helps my bottom line, so I cannot complain." He grinned as Francoise cheered, Hunt having discarded the TKs in a thoroughly impractical combat roll and scooped up a SRM launcher that he immediately triggered both tubes on.
"Yeah," I said, "I thought I noticed a few Starcorps products in hero roles. That your inside source?" He gave me a wink and a nod, and we looked back to see the hero trigger a jetpack without so much as fastening the harness.
"Ohhhh," moaned Lien, "Who let him near a jump pack? That's not how you use them." She covered her eyes. "I can't look. Please tell me that wasn't done practically."
"Okay," said Gunther, obviously lying. "It wasn't done practically."
Lien winced. "How many stunt people do you Elsies lose per installment?"
"You know," he said, "I'm not sure. I'd hate to think about the insurance."
We watched the implausible proceedings unfold, Hunt hopping from building to building as he tried to reach his mech, a modified LGB-7Q Longbow Assault 'Mech. "You said this was a more realistic example of this series?"
thumb|Longbow Assault 'Mech
"My hand to God." said Gunther.
 
"Then why in the Sam Hill did he get more hangtime from that TK firing dive than he did from a malfing jump pack?"
 
"Oh, you're just a philistine," snapped Francoise. "Foo on you!" She gasped as Hunt, or more likely Hunt's stunt double, fell from the still-flying jump pack and landed in the mech's open hatch.
"My old lance sergeant will have an aneurysm if he ever sees this," said Lien, peeking out between her fingers. "I'm surprised I haven't."
 
"Wait," I said as the Longbow Assault 'Mech lumbered into motion, torso twisting and sending a full volley of LRMs at something that the movie had neglected to establish. "He's not going to button up?" The glow of cockpit readouts reflected off his ridiculous neuro-sunglasses as the LRM exhaust ruffled his hair. 
Gunther shook his head, amused beyond words. Francoise just watched, captivated.
 
"Lien," I said. "I feel like my brain is leaking out of my skull. Can you check?"
 
She looked at me and shook her head. "Nothing coming out of your nose."
"Oh," I said. "I could have sworn it was my ears."
"Don't be silly, Gideon," she said. "There's no connection there."
"This series is making me dumber," I said, transfixed by the hoverwreck of an excuse for cinema. I shook my head and stood up. "Francoise, Gunther, thank you for sharing this fine example of Lyran cinema with me, but I'm afraid I need to go for fear I will lose my neurohelmet compatibility if I watch any longer. Let me congratulate House Steiner on its recovery of lostech psychological warfare capabilities. I'm sure the Succession Wars will end soon."
Francoise blew a raspberry at me as Gunther dissolved into peals of laughter, waving me away. Lien stood up as well, excusing herself and joining me in the corridor outside of the Mossmans' stateroom.
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===Relationships and Morals===
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"I do believe," she said with a laugh, "That my father and your girlfriend made the right decision when the Mossmen invited us."
 
"Still can't believe Gunther had advanced copies." I muttered. "I was joking with…" My brain caught up to what she had said. "Ms. Kasparova is not my girlfriend," I said with as much finality as I could manage. "She's my lawyer." Which was technically true. Having helped me out with some of the financials, I did have a business relationship with her firm. Even if they seemed to also represent the Landynski Syndicate…was that a conflict of interests?
"I wouldn't have thought that would matter to a Canopian," she said.
 
"I wouldn't tell her that." I said in a warning tone. "She'd probably take exception. Besides," I said with a huff, "what about my opinion on the matter?"
"Do you not find her attractive?" she asked.
I rolled my eyes. "I'm an ASF pilot. I can't be blind." I shrugged. "But that's besides the point. It's a huge ethical mess to get involved with an employee or contractor. No thank you."
"Having seen more than a bit of the Confederation and League before meeting you, as well as a cross-section of wealthy people from other states. I think that you might be in the minority in holding this position, Mr. Earth-decker."
 
"Doesn't mean I'm wrong," I said. "The only valid reason for people to sleep together is because they both want to. Money muddies that." I thought back to the awkward discussion I had with my Canopian masseuse, Danny, yesterday. 
 
He had been somewhat offended when I explained my position on purchasing services from a sex worker, pointing out that he enjoyed his work and was not forced to offer to clients. My rejoinder that I was happy for him, but that didn't signify for me was met with a bewildered look. I finally was able to defuse the situation by revealing that I hadn't realized what the booking software had meant when it asked if I preferred a male or female worker. 
'Any/All' had been a mistake, in that respect. Though it did give me some interesting data. Apparently my attraction and sexuality remained the same across both versions of me. Which was as philosophically annoying as it had been the first time around. Thanks for nothing, coño. Hetero again. Couldn't even spring for a bi model.
 
It had been a really good massage, though, even if the crew of the Siduri were almost certainly going to think of me as an unbearable prude now.
"I suppose," said Lien. "It seems like it would limit your choices quite a bit, though." Which, of course, she was right about. A mercenary commander would be in a rather ticklish position when it came to relationship ethics.
 
I nodded. "Consequences of the life," I said. "And I suppose I could be convinced otherwise, given time. But otherwise, a rule isn't much of a rule if you only follow it when it's to your benefit."
 
"Again, I think you will find your opinion strangely apart from many of your fellow Earth-deckers." She smiled.
 
"Point." I shook my head. "Would have been real helpful if Terri had come with. She was raised with this crap. I don't have the reflexes for this high-society foofaraw." 
"Terri?" asked Lien.
 
"Teresa 'T-Bone' Tomlinson," I explained. "Frequent wingthing, friend…we had a thing going." I sighed. "When I got dropped from LMS, she threatened to resign and follow me."
 
"Ah," said Lien. "I see."
 
"Anyway, the Siduri ended up lifting before she made up her mind. Left a note telling me she was going to put out feelers among our classmates if anyone wanted to join up with whatever sort of unit I ended up putting together. Said she'd catch up eventually, but that she needed to follow through with giving testimony in a court martial."
 
"Do you think she will?"
 
I shrugged. "Put out feelers? Sure. Give testimony, absolutely. Catch up? No idea. The smart move for her would be to stick at LMS and have a successful career in the FWLM."
 
"Planning on moping for the whole trip?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.
 
"No," I said. "But I've got an occasional talent for it. Care to go swimming instead?"
 
"Only if you are ready to lose badly in a race." she said with a twinkle in her eye.
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===Watching the Races Pool side===
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I had lost that race. And the next two as well.
 
It turned out that Lien had grown up on Drozan V, and her father was a marine biologist who worked on research into the local reefs. Particularly their toxic emissions that kept the Drozan whitefish population in check. She joked that she was probably part fish herself, with all the time she had spent on or in the water over the years.
 
Seeing her swim, I could believe it. She cut through the Siduri's pool like a torpedo. It didn't seem possible that her dad was an even faster swimmer, but the evidence was right in front of me. Wei surged ahead of his daughter, nearly two lengths ahead on only the third lap. If they kept their paces, he was going to lap her before the race was done.
I was sitting my ass on the side of the pool, realizing that there was no point playing with the big dogs when Lien had so thoroughly smoked me in our earlier races. Growing up on a world with less than half the surface water of my opponent would do that. Trawling back through my memories of the Sphere, I realized that I had never been in an ocean until we practiced water survival at LMS. Which had been embarrassing for a lot of cadets. At least I had swam a bit before that.
I smiled as I watched the Mossmans horse around with another couple I didn't know. One of the things I liked best about the pool deck was that it was a more communal place, where passengers of all classes mingled. There were even some off-duty members of the crew and staff, though they were rare. I imagine that we passengers ran them ragged enough that a bunk was the greatest luxury imaginable and seeing any more of our faces would be sheer torture. Which was fair.
One thing that had surprised me was how few bikinis were on display, given Battletech's art. While Canopians almost inevitably were sporting two-piece suits. If not something more risqué, most of the female passengers from the Inner Sphere had chosen one-piece suits, with zippered fronts and pull rings. I couldn't say I was complaining, even if the swimsuit I had purchased when I realized that I needed one was not the board shorts I was used to. Short and tight, at least it wasn't a speedo, which seemed de rigueur for the sparse male Canopians at the pool. That was a bridge too far for my mixed sensibilities, as were the clothing optional hours, which nearly boiled my local brain.
"He is a machine," I commented to Phillipa.
"He certainly is," she replied, watching the race intently. "Did you hear that the Dus are coming all the way to Canopus?"
 
I nodded, smiling as I realized that the lawyer had her thumb in her teeth. "Lien told me that she's supposed to be getting a medical apprenticeship to go on top of her Sian University training. Something about her father setting up an aquaculture operation as well."
"Multiple operations," she said. "If the trial facility on Canopus goes well."
"Huh." I raised an eyebrow. "That sounds like it could do a lot for the Magistracy's food supplies. I assume it'd be based on whitefish."
"No better sealife in the Sphere for the job," proclaimed Wei, who had apparently won the race while we were discussing it. "Delicious as well." He smacked his lips.
"So I hear," I said, then turned to Lien, who had been challenged by her dad when she had made a thing out of holding her victories over my head. "Speaking of delicious, how's that humble pie taste?"
She thumped down on the end of my deckchair with a pout. "I would say dry, but…" she gestured to her still dripping hair and suit, then flicked some of the excess water my way. "That would be less than honest."
"No kidding," I said, wiping pool water from my face as Wei convinced Phillipa to join him back in the water, dragging her over to join the Mossmans and their friends. Watching for a few moments, a question bubbled up in my mind. "Hey, Lien, I don't think that I ever asked. Why were you so down on the jump pack stuff in Immortal Warrior?"
 
"I suppose I never told you. I trained as jump infantry in the Home Guard." She smiled as she wrung out her hair. "That was where I first got medical training. Which led to attending Sian University, and now this." She shook her hair back into shape. "I certainly did not expect this when I signed up to do my duty, but service can be rewarding."
 
I nodded. "Long way from militia medic to a Princess cruise."
 
"Such are the benefits of virtue." She looked to see her father frolicking with Phillipa. "I see you were not lying about her relationship status."
"I'm an honest cuss." I said. "Though, that honesty compels me to point out that she is Canopian. They tend more towards open relationships, and so. That," I pointed, "is not particularly strong evidence." A thought came up. "That isn't going to cause any problems, is it?" I asked, gesturing again to what was now a full-blown waterfight.
 
"No," she said. "Why would it?" I shrugged, and she changed the subject. "I understand that the turnover micro-G ball will be today. You're a Leaguer. Do you dance?"
"Define dancing," I said with a laugh. "Hora, sure, and you can't get away from line and square back home, but my ballroom is more rust than metal."
"Oh, I prefer not to get pinned down with definitions." she said
"You know," I said, without thinking about it. "That is a disappointing sentence to hear."
 
"I said with definitions," she said with a twinkle in her gray-blue eyes. "That leaves plenty of wiggle room. Would you care to explore that linguistic ambiguity for a month or two?"
I paused for a moment. I wasn't in a relationship, and even if I could tell I was still hung up on Terri, there was research on getting back out there being psychologically healthy. Lien knew about that situation as well, and this was a solid, time-limited way to purge my system of hang-ups and angst. Ignoring the fact that some of this sounded familiar to the whole situation with Terri…
 
My eyes fell to the pull ring of her suit's zipper.
When in Canopus, do as the Canopians do.
 
My eyes returned to hers and I cocked my head to the side with a grin. "Among other things, yes."
Her teeth were very white against her dark skin as she stood and took my hand. "What an ethical answer. Could I ask a favor? You see, I have fallen out of practice giving physicals on this long journey, and I was hoping you might help with that."
"Dr. Du Lien," I said, standing up and following her. "I get the distinct impression it would be my pleasure."
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*;Notes from the Author : Oh Gideon, this can't work out as well as you hope. The laws of drama simply don't allow that.Anyway, it's very interesting watching a character make mistakes you've made, particularly when it's because they're a reflection of you. Makes it much easier to see what they're doing wrong, try to bonk them upside the head and say 'bad idea'...at least until you realize that what they need is character growth, not authorial intervention. And that goes for both the tactical and romantic dumbassery on display in this chapter. If ever Gideon starts acting perfectly, I've failed as an author. And growth tends to come with mistakes. Hopefully he stays on the mensch side of the line, at least.As I was reading back over the flashback portion of this chapter, I realized that it's probably a little dense with brevity terms and jargon. I'll be going back to update the glossary soon with all of the new terms that have showed up since I posted it, along with a few I missed. That might not be until tomorrow, however, so if it's too dense to follow, I apologize. Hopefully there's enough context to follow it, but again, your author is a committed turbinehead who often doesn't realize just how alien it can sound.
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