WP3025 Chpt 7

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==Chapter 7 - Winged Praxis (Battletech 3015 CYOA)==
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===Flashback to the Garden of Gods===
Garden of the Gods
Republic of Kasnov-Greenland, New Olympia
Marik Commonwealth, Free Worlds League
10th January, 3015
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Paired streams of tracers from the Marik Militia Rifleman's Imperator-As curved towards my canopy as the air defense mech attempted to punish me for shattering a Trebuchet's missile arm with my bombs. Playing my stick and pedals, I did my best to keep his attention on me, making myself as hard a target as I could. While the mountains gave us a defensive advantage, the terrain had its dangers as well.
 
In the contest of fast moving titanium and composites vs stationary ground, the ground had steadfastly refused to lose throughout history. And recovery was hard at low level.
 
At least by prioritizing his cannons he was making it harder to bring his eight-centimeters to bear. Small comfort given how close those tracers were coming. I snap rolled and dove for the ground, hoping that I would be able to outrun his guns, pull up in time, and not black out from the Gs. "Any time now," I grunted.
 
"Pickle!" called out Socks, dumping all his bombs in one pass, cratering the upper hull of an Ontos tank whose shredded track slithered out from under its drive wheels as it skidded to a halt, half blocking the narrow canyon the Militia armor were advancing up. Three more bombs chased a running Locust, two exploding behind the sprinting bugmech before the third appeared to snap one of it's spindly legs above the ankle.
The Rifleman, who had been target fixated on me as Socks ran in, belatedly realized that there was another fighter who wasn't gambling that they could win a game of chicken with the mountain and swiveled its torso to try and put a pair of lasers up Sock's torches. No dice, the pair of beams merely shattering a boulder as they superheated the hydrates in the granite. The whole thing made a blinding flash as the rock dust caught the tail end of the beams and scattered it.
 
I assume, anyway. My world was a dark tunnel and unbearable weight as I pulled out of my suicide dive at an altitude that would have involved trimming the tree tops if there had been any in the canyon. I saw a flash of light, and Socks wasn't dead. Things added up.
 
Not that I had time to think about anything. The Trebuchet I had delivered a love tap to was looming up in front of me. As fast as I was going, if I hit him, I'd probably cut straight through him. Unfortunately, I'd do it as shrapnel and some exceedingly salty raspberry jam.
 
Pulling the trigger by reflex, I was pleased to see one of my lasers splash armor from the framing right above his cockpit, sending him reeling as he tried to interpose his remaining arm, dragging the focus off of the armor and onto the viewscreen as he twisted. One of my other lasers cut into untouched chest armor, and laser two failed to focus.
 
"Carajo!" I swore, feeding in stick, pedals, and even a bit of lateral thrust to sideslip around the mech, bathing it in the exhaust from my torches before standing my Sabre on its wing and slipping into a fold in the hills. Taking my hand from the throttle, I smacked the armament panel. "Focus, you fuck!"
 
"Number two?" asked Socks as I raised altitude, using a mountain to shield myself from that too-accurate Rifleman.
"What else?" I looked about, then checked my LRHAW and EOS. Clear. "Say state and rejoin."
 
"Fuel 7, Armor 6. Screw Kallon." Socks's Sabre slotted in on my wing, some of the armor on their wing and tail looking a bit worse for wear. The wing looked ablated, the tail had shattered plates. It seemed like that boulder had been a bit closer than I had thought. "Still good to play, Duster."
 
"Fun dayn moyl in Gots oyern," I agreed on both counts, then swapped channels. "Ambrosia, Bolt 2-1. Request bogey dope."
 
"Bolt 2-1, Ambrosia. Two-ship, BRAA, 30 for 10 at 4 thousand, hot, hostile, type Riever. Other hostiles, no factor."
 
"Copy, two-ship Riever, 30 for 10 at 4. Engaging." Socks and I snapped to the bearing, and it wasn't long before our passive sensors caught a sniff of the giant flying wings. "Ambrosia, Bolt 2-1, judy judy."
 
Calculating the angles, I led Socks down into the weeds, cutting back our throttles so we weren't as likely to be spotted by the Rievers' EOSs. Luck was with us, and the heavy fighters cruised on by above us without so much as a twitch. Keeping padlocked, I led us around in a gentle curve that put us behind and below the flying wings.
 
"Fat, dumb, and happy, Duster." said Socks as I looked up to see the bomb loads the 100 ton behemoths were toting.
 
"We're gonna change the third," I said. "Let's go slap the wingman's ass. Go nose hot." I suited action to words, going active and painting the wingman with the attention of my RADAR and LIDAR. 
 
<{"Lock"}> announced Betty dispassionately as we roared up out of the mountains, tails spewing flame. I could see both fighters shudder as their pilots realized they were under attack. Before they could decide what to do, we had reached optimum medium laser range and six beams reached out for the wingman's tail.
 
The volley, which would have turned one of our Sabres into confetti, failed to even get through the armor on the massive bird. Superheated aligned crystal steel trailed from the ungainly fighter, reminding me of fireworks back on Cerillos, but the puta refused to explode. Even as five of our lasers stripped more than half of it's rear armor, the Militia pilot was taking action, dumping his bombs to try and claw some maneuverability back.
That was when Laser 2, forever the individualist, decided to make a contribution. Its beam focused just enough to cook off one of the falling bombs, not fusing it properly, but popping it with more than enough force to kick the Riever's wingtip up and forward, shattering a few more plates. Combined with the sudden center of gravity shift caused by shedding nearly a ton and a half of armor, and the Riever departed, spinning down towards the ground, pilot fighting for control. No factor for the moment.
 
"Press the lead!" I snarled, and we arced up and around, saddling up on the Riever leader, who had already punched his bombs, broke left and engaged full overthrust, trying to disengage from our nimble little Sabres.
 
"2, Press," acknowledged Socks, but it was pro forma. I knew he'd be there.
 
I was too busy trying to predict the Riever driver. He had to be panicking to pull this sort of stunt. His Pitban 300a was only rated for 4 gravities of thrust, even at maximum screaming overboost, and he had a Vne to match. Meanwhile our Nissan 225s could keep our Sabres humming along at 5 and a half Gs of thrust, without even dipping into overboost. He wasn't even trying to drag us back over that malfing Rifleman.
 
Whatever. If he wanted to hang himself out as a free kill, that was fine by me. Splitting to either side of his drive flare, Socks and I lit him up, tracing glowing lines across his tail and wings. The pilot rolled and juked, for all the good it did him. Our Sabres stayed on his six like we were welded there, pumping incessant 5 cm laser fire into the heavy fighter. My lips peeled back into a wolf grin as an explosion in one wing shook the Riever, followed by one of its vertical stabilizers snapping off and getting roasted by the overboost flare. He was ours!
 
P-ping-p-ping!
 
Vwoop-vwoop-vwoop!
 
The sounds of the LRHAW and MAWS were nearly simultaneous as I realized my mistake, and what the Riever driver had been trying to do. "Break left!" I called as I went right. A flight of LRMs clawed after Socks as he grunted his way through a high-G pull.
The wingman had rejoined the fight.
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===Looking towards long road to Canopus===
Dropship Siduri, Transfer Burn
New Olympia System
Marik Commonwealth, Free Worlds League
9th January, 3015
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My head pounded as I did bodyweight exercises in my simulated little Earth bungalow. I had ignored the pills and water that were available to take the edge off, electing instead to force myself to go through an abbreviated PT routine without them. If I did that, I thought, maybe I'd think twice about my drinking habits.
 
It was a nice thought that I didn't have much intellectual hope for, but it felt emotionally resonant. Or at least it had been for pre-PT Gideon, the prick. Shoving myself to the top of the last push-up, I did my best to not think about how fragmented my sense of self was lately. I also decided to drink the water and take the pills. I had made it thorough the routine without throwing up. That had to be worth something.
 
Toweling off after my shower, an unheard-of luxury on a DropShip, I considered what the hell I was going to do on this cruise. I hadn't really thought it through when I had accepted, but New Olympia to Canopus was a 15 jump trip. Assuming ideal conditions, call it a recharge station at each stop, that was roughly two months for one JumpShip, plus the transfer burns between the jump points and planets.
Of course, the Siduri was a cruise liner. That meant it would be making stops to some of the more interesting planets along the way. Some of that would be paid extras, chartering some of the liner's KR-64 shuttles, but some of it would be a matter of making planetfall. Looking at the itinerary, Regulus, Camlann, and Gouderak had planned landings, with on-ship events planned at several other stops, including Aitutaki and Yanchep.
 
We also weren't restricted to one JumpShip. Bankhead Lines had a fine understanding of the trade patterns of its operating space, along with enough money to make a fine offer on any open or low-priority docking collar. A suspicious part of me wondered if they weren't doing some work for MIM on the side, if they had such a comprehensive model of shipping around the League. We were expected to swap ships at nearly half of the stops, which would help, but even so, with the landings and uncertainty on just when the next JumpShip would be ready, the voyage was projected to take…two months.
 
Which seemed like a lot of trouble to get the same speed, if you asked me, but then, I didn't care about the stops as much, and there was probably a lot to say for not having to run both the ultra-finicky Princesses and a JumpShip fleet at the same time.
But that was firmly not my problem. My problem was figuring out what the hell I was going to do on a two-month cruise. Sure, when we came to a landing, I'd probably have plenty to do, but there was a lot of time I would be spending just…in transit.
 
My older self had been on a cruise once, but while that had been fascinating. It was in the Galapagos islands, with daily excursions. I'd also been a pre-teen. What did I do on vacations? Read, mostly. Enjoy the environment, talk with family, see the sights. None of which I was well-equipped to do here. No family, no real sights to speak of, and while the Earth-deck was doing an excellent job of simulating a pleasant Mediterranean climate, simply sitting in the artificial sun and imitating a vegetable just did not feel appealing. Worse, I hadn't thought things through when I left New Olympia. I didn't have anything to read but my father's files and the newsfaxes.
 
I was going to buy a whole pile of vidnovels when we got to Regulus. I even resolved to teach myself to use the headband for the full experience. I had better, because as daunting a task as it looked to keep myself entertained for the next two months, it was going to be so much worse when I wasn't on an ultra-luxury cruise liner.
 
But that plan wasn't going to help me right now, with the transfer burn from New Olympia III to the jump point taking the better part of ten days. Eight now.
 
"First world problems." I reminded myself, amused at just how little sense that would make to anyone else. "Fuck it, I'll think better when I've had breakfast."
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===Apologies and discussions of politics===
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My attempts to grab a quiet breakfast were foiled by an apologetic Francoise.
 
"I do apologize for my enthusiasm last night." she said as I tried to focus on my omlette. "It's just so rare to have the chance to hear about a recent battle direct from the horse's mouth, as it were."
 
I seriously considered whinnying and blowing out my lips. Luckily for propriety, I had a mouthful of excellent cheese, greens, and eggs. Bankhead Lines had some seriously talented catering staff. Instead, I swallowed and said, "I understand." which I did. 
 
I also said, "It's not a problem." which was a bald-faced lie. When no one else at the table spoke up, I continued. "It seems that some of my memories of the events haven't quite scabbed over yet." Hopefully that would cut off some of the awkward questions about the battle, and let me work out how I felt about it on my own before I discussed it with anyone else.
 
"If you don't mind," said a feminine voice with a Capellan accent, "could I ask you about the politics?" I looked up to see an auburn woman perhaps a little older than I was, grey-blue eyes with epicanthic folds staring at me out of a snub-nosed face with dark skin. I had the sudden thought that the population of the Inner Sphere tended towards one of two templates. Either they were a straight from central casting stereotype, or they were the result of life pressing randomize on the character creator until it came up with an interesting mix of features.
 
 She was definitely the second, but it certainly worked. "I don't know how much insight I have," I said, playing for time. "I flew for the loyalist forces, but that wasn't so much a political decision, so much as there was an invasion force dropping on us, and I'd be dammed if I wasn't going to be there for my comrades."
 
"For Janos's forces, yes?" At my nod, she went on. "So, you don't feel that Anton Marik's claim has any validity?"
 
I looked around the table. Amazingly, I was the only Leaguer there, having been seated with the Mossmans and Kasparova, along with the Capellan woman and an older man that looked like he might be her father. "I don't see how it matters, Miss..?"
 
"Ah!" she said. "Apologies. I am Du Lien, and this is my father, Du Wei."
 
The older man nodded. "I must admit, I am curious as well to hear a local's opinion."
 
"Gideon Zalman," I returned. "Well, I can give you my take on it, but take it for what it's worth. This is the League. We tend to have a lot of opinions here."
 
The others at the table chuckled. "You were saying that you didn't feel the claim's validity was immaterial, Mr. Zalman?" asked Wei.
 
I nodded. "Armed rebellion doesn't have much to do with validity," I said. "Oh, I'm sure Anton thinks that he could do a better job than the Captain-General, but I can't say I'm impressed with his statecraft. He's not exactly winning the political fight, and his military endeavors have been…mas o menos." I shrugged. "More to the point, the infighting is hurting the League as a whole. I'm surprised the Elsies haven't taken more advantage, to be honest."
 
"Not the Confederation?" asked Phillipa.
 
I nodded to the Dus. "With respect to current company, I think the Chancellor has a vested interest in one of the sides winning and doesn't want to damage those chances. Also, astropolitically, my impression was that the Confederation was more concerned with the Davion front."
 
"Chesterton, you mean." said Francoise.
 
"I will not deny that the Confederation feels keenly the loss of our brothers and sisters in the Chesterton Commonality with their throats under the sword of the Suns," said Wei. Francoise looked ready to argue, but pulled in her horns as Gunther put a hand on her arm. "But we stray from the topic."
 
"Yes," said Lien. "Mr. Zalman, you pointed out that our Chancellor does have a preference between the claimants. What do you think of the rumored marriage of Anton and one of the Chancellor's daughters? It could bring together two of the Great Houses and unite our nations."
 
I snorted involuntarily. "I'm sorry," I said, regaining my composure. "But I think you don't quite get how things work here in the League." At the hurt look on her face, I shook my head. "It's not a dumb question or anything, I just think you're working with different assumptions. Lemme see if I can explain it." I paused to think for a moment, the whole table looking on in interest.
 
"Right," I said. "The first thing is that uniting two Great Houses by itself doesn't mean much. That's not enough claims for the throne on Terra, and even if it was, I don't think the other Houses would just stand down and accept they lost. Too much blood and history, too much mythmaking. Even if House Marik and Liao were joined and buried the hatchet, that still leaves House Davion and House Steiner on either border, and they were already the major strategic threats. For all the noise that Andurien makes, and all the blood that's been spilled there, the League-Confederation border is one of the quieter ones in the Sphere, if only by comparison."
 
I got reluctant nods about the table. "Okay. The next thing is that you have to realize that there's a pretty big section of the League that doesn't want to be under Marik rule if they could help it. But with the Star League elevating the Mariks and the habit of Mariks running the show, they put up with it. I'm simplifying massively, of course."
 
"Of course." said Lien.
 
"But yeah, there's plenty of people not thrilled with being under the Mariks, or even the Captain-General at all. Now, everyone knows that the Chancellor is backing Anton, and plenty of people consider that enough to declare against him or at least say they're sitting the whole thing out." I cocked my head to the side. "That's real popular in anti-Marik provinces, by the by. My read is that they intend to let the two golden boys beat on each other and see if things won't end with a weakened House Marik, whoever wins."
 
"Do you think that's a wise move?" asked Phillipa.
 
"I'm not a political analyst," I said. "But my gut says no. Janos has control of the narrative at this point, and Dragoons or not, I don't think Anton is gonna win this. I'll bet that if Janos wins, he's going to use the political capital to gather more power in the Captain-Generalcy and federal troops."
 
"It would help guard against a repeat." said Gunther.
 
"Yeah, maybe." I said, less than convinced. I had fought a federal unit that declared for Anton. "But back to your question, Ms. Du. Let's say Anton wins, and he marries Candace Liao, for argument's sake." I snapped my fingers. "Boom, civil war again. We're already not keen on powerful federal government at the best of times. The thought of falling under the Confederation's systems would make most every Leaguer I know break out in screaming heebie-jeebies."
 
"Oh," said Lien, "Because universal education and medical care are things to fear."
 
"Sound pretty swell as a concept to me," I said. "But self-determination is a big deal here. As a nation, we tend to value it over the disharmony it can bring." I sighed. "Not an argument I'm keen on having right now. Anyway, if it was the Confederation joining the League, it might be possible to swing that, but the Chancellor is Anton's backer. I can't see him taking a subordinate role like that. Not to mention integrating the League and the Confederation would be a nightmare of politics and bureaucracy." I gave a self-deprecating smile. "Again, I just flew fighters. But I don't see how to get from here to there in any realistic manner."
 
Lien pouted. "It's a shame that a chance at peace and harmony between our nations would be rejected."
 
"A lasting peace would be a wonderful thing," I said. "I can only hope I'm wrong and live to see it."
 
She smiled.
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===When in Canopus, Do What Canopians Do===
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"Both, I think," said Phillipa, apropos of nothing as we walked away from the table.
 
"I'm sorry?" I asked, bewildered.
 
"You remain one of the oddest and most interesting beneficiaries I have worked with," she said. "You are not drunk now. and yet you had far more to say about politics than a simple pilot might."
 
"Oh, you know us Leaguers," I said. "Politics is like sports to us."
 
"You were not cheering on Janos," she pointed out.
 
"No," I admitted. "The Trinity is a pretty independent place. We go to the military because it's a living with adventure. We're naturally quarrelsome types, but we don't have a big attachment to the eagles, when you get to the gristle."
 
"I see. But that is beside my point. I think you try and portray yourself as less thoughtful and educated than you are."
 
I shrugged. "There's a pilot stereotype to live down to." I said. "Besides, I'm a Jew. Get two of us in a room, and you'll have a minimum of three opinions. Probably what you're seeing."
 
"Perhaps." she said, clearly believing no such thing.
 
"Why are you saying this?" I asked, uncomfortable. "Don't tell me you're reevaluating your position on Canopian stereotypes, because drunk or not? What I said last night stands. Awkward, ethical mess."
 
"I am not," she said, tartly. "but you may want to consider some Canopian philosophy, and take some time to focus on your pleasure. You've got the time and resources here, and it's clear that you have some baggage to address. I doubt it will be helped by torturing yourself." She gestured to the ship around us. "Bankhead prides itself on bringing some of Canopus to the Inner Sphere."
 
"When in Canopus, do as the Canopians?" I asked with a wry grin. "I suppose. What's your excuse?" I joked.
 
The lawyer gave me a very serious look. "Sometimes," she said, "the greatest hedonistic pleasure is found in saying, 'no, I don't think I will'." At my dumbfounded expression, she smiled. "Not what you expected?"
 
I shook myself. "No," I said. "I just heard something similar from someone I respect very much."
 
"Ah."
 
"But you're right," I said. "I think I'll see about getting a massage. Maybe go for a swim."
 
"I hope you have a good time." she said, turning to leave.
 
"Might see how many Immortal Warrior screenings it takes to make my brain leak out my ears."
 
"Given your level of discourse at meals, I suspect two. Three at the most." She smiled. "Good day, Mr. Zalman."
 
"Ms. Kasparova."
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*;Notes from the Author : Well, I needed to give you all some more action at some point. Technically it's heroic pilot Gideon having LRMs lobbed at him, rather than sending them outbound, but eh, details. And it's not like it wasn't fun for me to write. I do love my fast planes that make things blow up. I'll be continuing that engagement and other scenes from the Battle of New Olympia through flashbacks as we follow the cruise, which should pick up following the first jump. This may be self-indulgent, but I enjoyed writing the political discussion. Gideon surprised me with just how much he had to say, and it was fun representing the tensions of a bunch of people from five different states with so much history of conflict. Just what a pair of Capellans are doing on a luxury liner to Canopus will be explained in due time, I promise. As a sidebar, when reading up for the Dus I had a really good laugh at the table of economic inequality in the 3025 House Liao book. Like, goddamn, those are kiddie numbers! Let capitalism show you how it's done!
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