Breaking Point

[Constructelf]

IC: Susan

In spite of her protesting back injury, Susan bow found herself standing in front of the entrance to the simulators, complete with perfect uniform. She had no idea what she was going to do here though.

 

"Raptor training will be too hard on my back... Should I just go and try the standard Warrior? I need to find my Walker legs..."

 

It was at that point that Susan noticed the approaching Alex. She momentarily tensed up before noticing his insignia and relaxed.

 

"Are you new here, Private..."

 

She waited for him to give his name, when inwardly cursing at the sudden pain in her back from jolting in shock.

 

compression fracture...

[The UltimoScorp]

IC Alex:

 

I nodded, not quite catching on.

 

"Just arrived here a few days ago. Nicer place, though, can't complain."

[Constructelf]

IC: Susan

"Considering it was attacked just a week ago, I can definitely agree with that."

"Anyway, name? Lance Corporal Susan Dreary is speaking to who exactly?"

[The UltimoScorp]

IC Alex:

 

I blinked.

 

"Oh! I'm Alex, er, Private Alexander Reichel."

 

I snapped a quick, and somewhat sloppy salute.

[Constructelf]

IC: Susan

"Good to have you, Private Reichel. Hopefully you have more luck in the upcoming deployments than I did."

 

Susan turned towards the simulators and pointed.

 

"Did you come for the contest the Major announced? Or are you here to practice?"

[The UltimoScorp]

IC Alex:

 

"Both, actually. Doubt I'll get very far, but Miss Direction is tough girl, so I might surprise myself!"

 

I laughed easily.

[25K Now!]

IC: October M. Brightbridge

 

Aquamarine, somnific as the great main of which those glittering orbs harkened towards, turned their spellbinding gaze upon the feckless daughter of the Orient.

 

Her words, a siren's call of velveteen. "You seek to participate in the tournament, then?"

[The UltimoScorp]

IC Maigo:

 

"Well, there is that. I was more hoping to get some practice with Huckebein. I've never copiloted a Walker before."

[shadow pridak money gang]

IC:

 

"Yeah, she did. Didn't know it meant I got promoted, though. Hey, Ayane, does this mean I make more bank than you now?" Lauren's face lit up. "Ohhh, this might be sweet after all. C'mon, sim fiend."

 

-Tyler

[Constructelf]

IC: Susan

"... Misdirect - oh, your Walker. That's optimistic of you. It's a good attitude to have, to a large extent."

 

Susan inwardly sighed, before finishing:

 

"I might have to abstain from participating, so I guess I'll be watching how you do. Hope you do well."

[25K Now!]

IC Maigo:

 

"Well, there is that. I was more hoping to get some practice with Huckebein. I've never copiloted a Walker before."

IC: October M. Brightbridge

 

"Then let us proceed."

[The UltimoScorp]

IC Alex:

 

"Abstain? Why's that?"

[Constructelf]

IC Alex:

IC: Susan

"I'm a Raptor pilot. During the last battle, I was shot down and didn't eject smoothly. G-forces fractured my spine. I'm okay to walk, but probably not to fly, and I'm not that great on the ground."

Edited July 1, 2016 by Constructman

[25K Now!]

IC: Christoph Lockheed

 

I should return Private Koizumi's katana.

 

The thought came unbidden to Christoph, a casual note that gently floated past his mind as he stood in line to use the base's few sandwich presses. Two slices of white bread, thick, with a number of squares of cheddar and some Danish ham wedged in between, had been deposited carefully in a brown paper bag that he was gripping firmly onto with his left. A bottle of mustard, half-full, was held in his right, the basic type that one would find at any local supermarket.

 

Where has she been assigned to?

 

He stepped forward, quietly continuing to wait as the line of hungry grunts proceeded forwards. It wasn't that he was particularly hungry at the current moment, but the Lockheed Custom was still in the midst of diagnostics, preventing him from seeing to his test machine. Finishing the practice match with Armbruster had been an option he could have chosen, however, yet the recent reassignment of Sergeant Maxwell to his team, as well as assisting in the requisitioning of the Specialist's new Walker had put it on the backburner for the time being.

 

Thus, he chose to obtain a toasted sandwich.

 

The line moved forward again.

[Krayzikk]

IC:

 

"Yeah, she did. Didn't know it meant I got promoted, though. Hey, Ayane, does this mean I make more bank than you now?" Lauren's face lit up. "Ohhh, this might be sweet after all. C'mon, sim fiend."

 

-Tyler

 

IC:

 

"And suddenly she loves the promotion. Where we going?"

[The UltimoScorp]

IC Alex:

 

"Oh."

 

IC Maigo:

 

She stood to her (not so impressive) full height, stretched, then followed her partner out.

[25K Now!]

IC: October M. Brightbridge

 

"How are your skills in the field of motion, Private Koizumi?"

[shadow pridak money gang]

IC:

 

"To the sims, babe. Can't let one of you Olympic new kids come to my town and steal a tourney out from under me, can I?"

 

-Tyler

[The UltimoScorp]

IC Maigo:

 

"I piloted a Scout."

[Constructelf]

IC: Susan

"It irks me, it really does. In this condition, the only Walker I could even hope to pilot would be a Gunner, and my back condition would make the act of ejection borderline suicidal..."

[25K Now!]

IC: October M. Brightbridge

 

A colossal titan looming from the heavens.

 

Hyperion in the form of steel, beauty and power exemplified. Supremacy in weaponry.

 

The scarlet-tressed colleen, with utmost grace and dignity, outreached her grand steed.

 

"Can you move her?"

Edited July 4, 2016 by 20K and Counting

[The UltimoScorp]

IC Maigo:

 

"....Not very fast, but I'll make her dance for you if you ask."

 

She grinned.

 

IC Alex:

 

"......You could use a copy of my Gunner, if you want?" I held out an ident card.

 

"I always keep a spare in my jumpsuit in case I forget mine."

[sunflower]

IC: Marcus

 

"Susan?" Luna called from the hallway, frowning ever so slightly in confusion. "What are you doing walking around? I thought the docs had you strapped to a bed."

[Silvan Haven]

Kasper Harken-Near the Sandwich Press

 

IC: Kasper groaned as he settled down at an unoccupied table. The last week had been nothing but practicing in the simpods and getting acquainted with his new Walker. The brand new pilot had just been getting some food on a rare break when the announcement had come over the intercom.

 

And I bet the boss is going to want us to join in. Team building exercises and all that.

 

Whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy.

 

The slightly miserable and very tired Walker pilot took a bite out of his sandwich and chewed.

[Constructelf]

IC: Susan

"Really? You'd do that? ... I'll consider it, but my back - "

 

Just then, Susan noticed Luna's voice.

 

"Lance Corporal Marcus. Congratulations on your promotion. As for your question, they released the straps yesterday. Nobody expressed anger at my exit of the medical Ward, so I assumed it was okay."

Edited July 5, 2016 by Constructman

[sunflower]

IC: Marcus

 

She flinched ever so slightly at the rank. Right, she'd have to get used to that too.

 

"Right, uh, thanks," Luna half-mumbled, before realizing the fact that the Raptor pilot wasn't alone. Which also gave her an easy way to another subject. "Who's your friend?"

[Constructelf]

IC: Susan

"Private Alexander Reichel. Apparently a Gunner pilot."

[Krayzikk]

IC:

 

"To the sims, babe. Can't let one of you Olympic new kids come to my town and steal a tourney out from under me, can I?"

 

-Tyler

 

IC:

 

"But if I win, isn't that a tourney stolen out from under you?" Ayane mused, cracking a faint smile. "And by the Olympic crew?"

[shadow pridak money gang]

IC:

 

"No sweat. Ain't gonna happen."

 

-Tyler

[Krayzikk]

IC:

"That's an awfully low estimate of my abilities. I'm hurt."

[shadow pridak money gang]

IC:

 

"I know how much time you've sunk into practicing with Raptor sims. You might be a threat." Nadia smiled playfully and winked at the Japanese woman beside her. "Love ya, babe. But I can't trust ya."

 

-Tyler

[Krayzikk]

IC:

"I suppose not. I could say you can trust me, and we can win together."

A beat.

 

"But it has been four years since we had a round in the sims."

[25K Now!]

IC: Christoph Lockheed

 

"You seem troubled, Specialist Harken," said Christoph, slipping into the seat next to his subordinate, sandwich successfully toasted.

 

IC: October M. Brightbridge

 

A faint touch of challenge, silky, soft taunting upon a gentle wind.

 

"Show me."

[The UltimoScorp]

IC Alex:

 

I gave a brief wave and a friendly(I hoped) smile. "Hello~"

 

IC Maigo:

 

Tingles ran down her spine, and she shivered involuntarily.

 

"Er... right, okay."

 

OOC: I'll edit more later, but hub, are we in the sim pod, or....?

[shadow pridak money gang]

AU-06 Liberator, over the Pacific Ocean

 

 

IC:

 

One thing that had surprised Captain Sanjay Hans somewhat during Liberator's assault on Horizon was the dearth of cutting edge technology he saw. The famed FAW-022 Raptors had come out in force before they were unceremoniously wiped out to nearly a plane, which would probably scare the Federation out of trying something new for another decade (if it were to last that long). From what he had seen of Dissidence, the heavily damaged Assaulter used by Meteor-1 Acheri Solomon, clearly they had been able to field something capable of going toe to toe with a skilled Union jockey - and given that the types and amount of damage done to the Arsenal Walker had occasionally given even Akai-2 pause, that was something to be commended. But such forward advances in Federation technology appeared to be outliers. Akai Team hadn't run into anything that didn't have roots in a Walker type designed a decade ago - and what's more, some even seemed to be proud of it. He had personally torn apart an old stealth-type Warrior in his Assaulter, Calcutta, that had been a first-gen Walker jury-rigged with last-gen (for the Union) hardware. And that was to say nothing of Patrick McKinley's dearly departed Wolf, cut into bloody chunks at the hands of Captain Jackson.

 

Such stagnation was anathema to the Union. For an amalgamation of space colonies to just stop tinkering would inevitably lead to failure - and Sanjay Hans, more than even most Union citizens, certainly did his share of tinkering. For most of the past week the object of his affections had been...the mech. Acheri's mech. Dissidence. Which Acheri piloted. Not that the pilot had much to do with objective repairs and upgrades beyond the initial requests. Acheri wasn't much of a mechanic, and even if she had been, she wouldn't be in any state to be much help anyway. She was exhausted, laid up in a med bay after passing out during Captain Monet's debrief hours after the attack - and she was letting her emotions cloud her judgement. It was a dangerous state for a jockey to be in. Especially one like Acheri...

 

They had been sitting together, the only souls left awake on the ship outside of the bridge. They were both dark-skinned; if he wasn't so familiar with her strong face, he might have lost it entirely in the darkness that the 2 o'clock hour had cast over the med bay. There was no warmth in her usually-bright green eyes - just determination and a bitter loathing.

 

"This Feddie. This lab rat," Sanjay had prodded slightly, sitting bolt upright at the foot of her hospital bed and refusing to close the distance between them. He was too disgusted with himself to be too close to her. He felt like the devil, bartering for a woman's soul. "You really want him dead?"

 

"Yes." The word flew by him quicker than any munitions had in the fight that day. "I know I can kill him. I just need a little boost."

 

"I can give you a larger boost than that. But I won't. Not unless I have your word that you won't let this destroy you. You're a..." He trailed off to a stop. "I don't believe in the Ark Union, or that God ever intended for humanity to get this far. I believe we've earned everything we've got - the good and the bad - on the backs of a few people. The great ones. The ones that give icy cynics like me a cause to believe in. High Command is not made of great people. Not even good ones. And Captain Jackson is not a great person."

 

"Jackson--"

 

"--isn't someone I believe in. He comes from a political family, and pragmatism is all he knows. Compromise. Half-measures. I believe in those who will take things far past their logical conclusion. A French midget. A lunar hick. And you. I believe in you, Acheri. So I promise not to let you down. Inside that Walker, you'll never fail again...but you have to promise not to let me down outside of it."

 

In the nighttime hour, there was no way for him to see her hand, warm from holding a cup of cafe au lait, creeping over until it was already clutching his wrist.

 

"You have my word," came the voice without a face. 

 

"...Then you have mine."

 

He had been on his feet ever since, cobbling together a souped-up Assaulter that bordered on the Shelley-esque, in specifications if not in appearance. Monet had been loathe to have a third Behemoth scrapped, especially in the name of parts, but in the end she had relented for the sake of her best friend. He had been worried that the larger thrusters wouldn't take well to the back and legs of the Assaulter, but the shared chassis and Union design ethos had put most of those fears to rest. Obviously the ship's sims would need to be updated with Dissidence's new data, and Monet and Kite would need to put it through the ringer before he felt comfortable telling Acheri it was field-ready, but if it was...

 

"Ayy-ooooooo! Sanj! Bring 'er down, I wanna talk to ya!"

 

He stiffened up slightly, snapped out of his daydream. Sanjay blinked a few times to clear the blurring from his vision and looked down to see Eastwood Evans, his flight captain, waving and grinning. Inhaling deeply, he pressed a button and felt the lift he was standing on jerk in response. Eastwood grew larger as the platform reached the ground; Akai-1 stepped on and clapped Sanjay on the back heartily, forcing out the breath the mechanic and jockey had been holding in. With a faint sigh, Sanjay pressed the button and began maneuvering the platform higher up on the Assaulter, towards the new decals. He wanted to make sure that nothing was off-center.

 

"Eastwood," he greeted curtly, obviously distracted. "Thank you for the checkup, I'm fine here. You should be helping Sancho."

 

"I spent all week tryin' to help out Sancho. He got it in his head he wants to beat Monet, and nothing we said would beat it outta him."

 

Sancho Stromboli was the surviving Behemoth pilot from Jackson's ace squadron. After he had folded and retreated before the wake of the Federation assault, Jackson had been relatively forgiving - until he had learned that Stromboli's mech had still been mostly intact and was now in Federation hands alongside the remains of Serenade's. Between the remains of Meteor-3 and Meteor-4, a single working Behemoth might be cobbled together - one without an operating system and unfamiliar pilot controls, certainly, but it was cold comfort when considering the idea that the Federation was either tinkering with two of their machines or working to restore one. To teach Sancho a lesson, Jackson had passed down an ultimatum: Sancho was not to jockey alongside Meteor again until he had piloted successfully against Sophie Monet in a stock Behemoth sim or survived ten minutes against Monet in a Dea Tacita sim. Monet, an avid simulation lover who practiced in each class of Walker and seemed to love the feeling of beating up her comrades, had crowed in jubilant French that it was the first time she would welcome Sancho's bold advances.

 

That was a week ago. Eastwood had gone off to try and give Sancho a numbers advantage...three or four days ago. Judging by his unnecessary presence here, the Captain's sharp canines had punctured the cowboy's ego a little.

 

"Soph ain't gonna be done with him any time soon," Eastwood continued, kicking back. "So I figured I'd stretch my legs, do some light activity while I wait - learn French, whiz outta the airlock, try and make my best buddy smile once in a while."

 

"Lofty dreams, Eastwood." Sanjay took a step backwards and framed the decal with a rectangle formed from his index fingers and thumbs. "Don't stop striving for them."

 

"Never will, buddy. So what's this? You gonna propose to Acheri with this thing?"

 

"Swing and a miss, cowboy. Grab that juice for me, please."

 

Eastwood plucked a half-full sports drink from the railing it was balanced upon and unscrewed the lid. Sanjay arched his spine and threw back his head for Eastwood to pour the juice, fountain-like, into Akai-2's mouth. Sanjay swallowed with a gulp and a faintly refreshed sigh before straightening up and returning his attention to the decals. 

 

"You know if you told her, she'd be receptive," Eastwood offered. "And you know Monet would be thrilled."

 

"My friend," Sanjay replied stoically, "I know that the CW-018 Assaulter is twenty-point-five meters tall from the top of the cranial unit to the bottom of the foot. A fall from this height would provide you ample time to consider whether or not this is a conversation you would really like to have with me today."

 

"I wouldn't be so hasty, Captain. Behemoth pilots are rarer than unicorns this week."

 

The two Akai Team members snapped to attention out of habit, but Sanjay refused to turn around and the smile had gone off Eastwood's face. He looked as though he'd been caught with his hand in a cookie jar - placed beside the bed of Jackson's mother.

 

"Cap'n Jackson, sir," Eastwood greeted respectfully. "You comin' from the sims? How's Soph?"

 

Jackson shrugged.

 

"She's starting to take it easy on Captain Stromboli, I'm afraid. She let him last four minutes against the Dea Tacita once or twice last night. Regardless, the whole ship will still be speaking French long before Sancho ever leaves the simulators."

 

"Yeah, well, good luck gettin' Soph to stop playin' with her food," Eastwood said amiably. "Well, don't mind us. We're just doin' some repair work. Should be right as rain in no time."

 

"Yes, so I see." Amadeus Jackson's gaze did a minuscule shift towards the other Akai Team member, characteristically silent. "How is it going, Captain Hans? Will my flight lead's Walker be performing as good as new any time soon?"

 

"Better." Sanjay's voice was clipped and curt.

 

"Well, that's good. Acheri deserves a mech that can keep up with her talents. Aaaand," Jackson drew out the last word, angling his head to look at the Behemoth thrusters that now lined the lower half of Dissidence, "it seems you're taking that task to heart."

 

"Yes."

 

"She tells me you've removed the safeties on the reactor, and set the accelerator safeties to a Behemoth-spec."

 

"Not yet."

 

"But that is the plan."

 

"That's the plan."

 

Jackson smiled faintly.

 

"Formidable. Well, take your time. Captain Solomon still has quite a bit of bed rest ahead of her before she's going to be able to get into that new and improved cockpit of hers. But do remember, boys." Jackson's voice picked up, carrying towards all the mechanics from Acheri and Sanjay's pit crews. "We're not going to wait forever. Because you can be ###### sure that the Federation won't. And every day Horizon prepares for us makes it more likely you'll be working overtime in this bay. And it probably won't be for a passion project."

 

Jackson saluted, gaze lingering on the half of Akai Team that towered above him for a brief second longer than normal. Then he turned his back and moved to depart.

 

"Wish Sancho luck for us!" Eastwood called after him. "And tell Monet we love her despite the crazy, not cause'a the crazy!"

 

"Liar." Jackson flicked his hand irreverently over his shoulder, breaking the salute in some semblance of a goodbye wave. 

 

"How far would this wrench have to slip to crack his skull?" Sanjay asked under his breath after the requisite three seconds to get Jackson out of earshot.

 

Eastwood, ever the offensive coordinator, sized up the hangar and the departing captain that cut a path through its length.

 

"Twenty five, maybe thirty feet out, and a little to the right. It'd be a real goddamn tragedy."

 

"Could happen to anyone, though."

 

"Workplace safety standards are never bulletproof."

 

Sanjay sighed lightly and turned back to decal work.

 

"Monet would never forgive us," he said regretfully. Eastwood shrugged.

 

"Eh, Soph's a pretty cute gal when the full moon ain't out. She'd get over him."

 

Sanjay began working in silence again. Eastwood spoke up a second later.

 

"You think he means it about going back to Horizon this soon? He's missing most of a strike team. And Monet ain't gonna want to drop in the--"

 

Eastwood jerked his head towards the end of the hangar bay, to the Arsenal Walker that stood to the right of Prometheus.

 

"--the mother######er," Eastwood said vaguely.

 

Sanjay shrugged slightly and tightened his grip on his wrench.

 

"I don't care what Jackson says," Akai-2 said bluntly. "He can tell me to take my time all he wants. But he wouldn't have come down here if he weren't in a hurry."

 

"So what? Look, you saw how we muscled through Horizon when they were at full strength. If they have a couple weeks to tool up again, what's it matter? They can't train the pilots, they can't throw another battleship at us, and buddy - High Command's in ###### space. What is there to put Jackson's ###### to the grindstone?"

 

Cape Kennedy, Florida

 

 

 

 

IC:

 

It said something about the legendary Ark Union productivity that the biggest snafu in the seizure of the Cape Kennedy area was not sneaking the AU-01 Insurrection to the Florida coastline. It wasn't leading the Union vanguard through Kennedy Space Center and steamrolling the Federation defenses there. It certainly wasn't weathering the last-second destruction of the Florida mass driver - the Feddies had taken that drastic measure themselves, absolving the Union of any blame, and any Walkers damaged in the final offensive were now being safely repaired in friendly Walker bays. The problem with Cape Canaveral, Florida, and the surrounding Cape Kennedy area was that it was now only as useful as any old Federation port city - and that, a week after the Ark Union's worldwide blitzkrieg, they were only now finding a place to park Insurrection.

 

For seven days, Major Gypsy Alexandros' view had been blocked by the unsightly profile of her own flagship. Her victory lap, the bonanza to celebrate the seizure of the home of space flight for the colonies, had been completely ruined by a divine sense of irony. It had sucked balls. But today was the day. Today, after some demolition, construction, and a little creative thinking, they had found space to park Insurrection, and the only thing that stood between the Major's line of sight and the horizon after today was an enormous, circular pair of sunglasses, tinted so dark they were almost opaque. Her dress uniform and wet, sand-flecked bikini were lying discarded beside her chair, resting on a burgundy towel slung across the warm sand. A music player lay atop the bundle of fabric, cycling through a playlist designed to soothe her while her tan lines were driven away. She was whistling softly, the trials and the trauma of six months of lost sleep, endless tactical meetings, personnel selection, shipwright negotiations and combat drills...all the pains of being the mastermind of the Ark Union's blitzkrieg were rolling off of her skin as fluidly as the little beads of saltwater that she had carried with her out of the Gulf of Mexico.

 

She breathed deeply, felt the sun on her tautening stomach. Let the breath out. Cracked her neck.

 

"No place like home..."

 

"U-Uh...Major Alexandros? Ma'am?"

 

Behind her sunglasses, lazy eyes opened up. 

 

"Summer, we talked about this." Her voice had a lazy drawl, something European - slow and patient. "I have been trying to parallel park a battleship for seven days. I have been running on three hours of sleep for half a year. I don't remember the last time I didn't have tan lines. What did I tell everyone I wanted to do today, Summer?"

 

The Pascal Industries clone behind her, an effeminate young man with the same platinum blonde hair as Gypsy, gulped softly.

 

"You wanted to kill your tan lines today, ma'am."

 

"Do my tan lines look dead, Summer?"

 

"I'm scared to look, ma'am."

 

Behind the sunglasses, lazy eyes rolled. She grabbed her officer's coat and slung it over her shoulders, buttoning the regalia up to her chest. Finally, head pointedly staring away from the clone and down towards the sand, Gypsy Alexandros removed her sunglasses and grabbed a thin Venetian mask, dyed maroon-and-gold, and slid it over the upper half of her face. The contours of the metal were familiar against her nose, cheeks, and forehead, but she would be lying if she said she missed the chill of the metal. Especially on such a beautiful day. She sighed and stretched out one slender, golden leg, planting it in the sand and curling her toes against the grains. The other leg joined it in short order and Gypsy vaulted to her feet, moving over to her clone strike team member with languid steps.

 

"What is it?" she asked patiently. Pascal Industries Clone 5525 (Captain Summer Solstice) looked relieved that she had gotten dressed - even if only from the waist up.

 

"The Colonel left orders for you to report when Insurrection was finally docked," Summer reminded the Major. "There's a conference call between the various captains at the mass driver cities tonight. They're getting impatient. They want to know what we're going to do about Horizon."

 

Horizon. It was about as comfortable a thought as sand in her swimsuit. The easiest phase of the blitzkrieg - the only one that mattered, the test of the twin prototypes that would define Union combat superiority for another decade - and it had gone so wrong, so fast. Two Behemoths lost - not damaged and awaiting repairs in a conquered city, but lost to the Federation! One of the prototypes still sitting, unused, in the Walker bays of Liberator. And possibly worst of all, Jackson couldn't even handle a simple assassination right. Patrick McKinley had, improbably, survived, and the old man's tenacity in the face of certain defeat had galvanized his old war buddies out of their various midlife crises and gotten them back into their mechs. Across the stolen mass driver cities, and ranging as far as Luna, hit-and-run assaults from aces in long-obsolete Walkers were starting to become the norm. Thus far, they seemed to be practicing the old death by a thousand cuts mantra - no Union Walkers had yet been lost to the assaults. But it was only a matter of time. And with the Federation still sporting a sizable space presence for now, what they had planetside was what they had

 

###### Jackson. All he had to do was keep his mouth shut until McKinley was already dead. But he was a politician's son, and had always loved the idea of his quotes going down in history. He hadn't changed a bit. And it was still not quite as annoying as his defense of the munchkin - who had been such a drain on resources thus far that it made Gypsy want to strangle her. Sophie Monet was about as tall as a potted cactus and just about as prickly. She should have deployed both prototype Walkers here. They might have been able to save the mass driver, but at least they both would have had concrete battle data to send back to New Berlin.

 

She sighed. She hated to admit it, but it was too much to hope that things were going to change in Panama of their own accord. High Command was clearly reaching the same conclusion.

 

"Where is Liberator now?"

 

"Isla de Coiba, Major," Summer reported. "Not far at all. As far as I can tell, they've been licking their wounds. We thought Horizon would be a softer target than this. And with the Federation pouring more resources into the city by the day--"

 

"We may need to pour resources of our own. I know, Summer. I expect I'll be hearing it a lot from High Command by this time tonight. So what I want," Gypsy said, flicking the sunglasses open and slipping them over Summer's pale blue eyes, "is to spend the day sunbathing. Tell High Command I'm scoping out the coastline for Federation reinforcements and I'll be back with a detailed report tonight. And then take the day off yourself, you stiff. Tell the rest of the Seasons the same thing. Earth is a beautiful place. You should enjoy it while you can."

 

"A-Al...yes, ma'am. If you're sure."

 

"Sure as ######," Gypsy said casually, turning around to walk back to her chair. The masked major stopped right beside the chair and put a hand on the seat's back, turning around with her upper body and grinning mischievously. "And Summer?"

 

"Yes, ma'am?"

 

"Horizon has beaches, too - prettiest ones on Earth, according to the tourism bureaus. I'll give you a pass today because you're new to the planet, but if you interrupt my Gypsy time like this in Panama..."

 

Gypsy shrugged the coat off her back, and the major's grin widened a notch at the mortified look on the clone mech jockey's face.

 

"...I'm going to expect you to have your uniform off."

 

The twitch of a muscle on the right side of Gypsy's face was the only indication that she had winked underneath her Venetian mask. She scooched over to the left and reclined languorously on her chair again, this time laying on her stomach and letting the sun soak into her back and legs. She propped up her chin on the back of the chair in time to hear another, far louder gulp - and to watch Summer power walk his way through the sands, taking himself inland as fast as his legs could carry him.

 

All four of them got so weird around girls. Maybe it was just the model of clone. She hadn't really thought about it before.

 

She shrugged and closed her eyes underneath the mask.

 

There would be time to think later.

 

 

-Tyler

Edited July 6, 2016 by Key and

[sunflower]

IC: Marcus

 

"Hey, me too," Luna replied, before pausing, "Well, was. The Union walkers did a number on it, not sure if the techs even recovered it yet."

 

"Luna, Luna Marcus. Just transferred to Horizon?"

[Ehksidian]

IC: Freddie Hitcherson

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Everything was white. The ceiling, the bed, the walls, the curtains...it was all white. Freddie blinked, his eyes bleary. How long did he fall asleep this time?

Beep. Beep. Beep.

He glanced over to the heart monitor on his left. It kept pace with his heart. It was still beeping. He was still alive. That was good enough. Freddie let out a sigh. The hospital was dull. Incredibly dull. Painfully dull. It didn’t help that he couldn’t even get coffee in his current state, leaving him tired and irritable most of the time he spent awake. Oh well. At least he was alive. That was good enough.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Freddie rolled his eyes. Even sentimentally thinking about the monitor didn’t make the incessant beeping any less annoying. But he was alive. And that was good enough. His eyes drifted to the ceiling, and his mind floated away, back to the battle. His memory of it was foggy at best. According to the doctors, he had gotten a bad concussion from ejecting from his walker. A bad concussion, a bruised rib or three, and some minor internal bleeding. Nothing a trip to the hospital couldn’t fix. And he was alive. And that was good enough.

“Mr. Hitcherson?”

Freddie snapped his head down towards the foot of the bed. The doctor – an older man with a dark complexion – stood there.

“Ah, good, you’re awake. How’re you feeling today?” The doctor asked.

“Fine enough. Could go for a coffee...or five...” Freddie mumbled.

The doctor chuckled, and replied, “Well today is your lucky day. It’s time for you to be discharged. It doesn’t seem like your concussion will have any long term side effects, and your ribs should be good enough for you to walk now. And you’ve recovered well from your surgery, too. And yes, that means you can get yourself some coffee.”

Freddie smiled. He was alive. He could get coffee now. And that was great.

---

Freddie stood outside the hospital, finally dressed in proper clothes after a week in the hospital. It was nice, finally getting some air. He sipped his coffee thoughtfully. Even if it was a bit burnt, even if it was pretty stale, it was better than nothing. And after not having any at all for a week? It was absolutely amazing. He tapped his foot a bit, before heading off. He had places to be, and the hospital was not one of those places. In fact, his first stop was Requisitions. He had to get a new Walker, after all. Or maybe even see if his was somehow still intact.

The coffee was hot. Freddie didn’t care. He took another sip, and made his way down the road, towards Requisitions. After all, today was a good day. He was alive. And that was a good thing.

[The UltimoScorp]

Ic Alex:

 

I looked at susan expectantly before realising the question had been aimed at me,

 

"Oh, um, yes! Just got here last week, in fact."

[NorikSigma]

IC:

 

"Socket wrench and a soldering iron, if you wouldn't mind," was Gwen's battlecry, one grasping hand bursting forth from the hole she had made for herself in the mech.

 

-Void

IC: Hassan

The soldering iron was easy to find, and it disappeared along with Gwen's hand into the belly of the Jinn. A socket wrench was surprisingly difficult to pick apart from the nuts and bolts on the floor, but Hassan finally realised there was one in the toolbox the mechanic left behind.

[25K Now!]

IC: October M. Brightbridge

 

"How would you like to truly wield the Huckebein?"

 

The ocean's gaze pondered upon the dull steel of the hangar doors, the gates upon which the future laid beyond.