How lucky this is a fictional universe with giant robots, spaceships, and (now) Catgirls!
Yes, I know there's different kinds of SOD, but if I want to read stories about extremist lunatics and the horrible lengths formerly good people will go to in order to survive said extremism... Honestly, don't think I would. I find stories like that, I tend to get bored/depressed and put the book down.
I think a story where Comstar is capable of at least semi-rational thought, even if their beliefs can still be rather extreme, could make for fasinating reading. After all, CitD is, to me at least, a story that takes the Grimderp setting that Battletech could be, and gives it the chance to try something different.
(Although I get the feeling that, at some point, we're going to have someone demanding, entirely seriously, that the story should be focusing on the heroics of the Patriots as their superior tech and ethics liberate the Inner Sphere, proving that the Fen just don't have the balls)
You know, now that I think about it, once the catgirl is out of the bag, Tellus might be able to earn some good PR with something as simple as 'wave tutorials on the worlds struggling with tech. The medical implications alone, along with construction and travel (planet and orbit range) potential would be a godsend for a lot of places along the Spheres edge.
Ser Alexander didn't quite know what to expect as he walked into the studio in Kandor. A Human-scale Awesome greeting him, weapons deployed made him jump.
"Oh!" A female voice said over the "'Mech's" speakers, and oddly echoed from a back room of the shop. The weapons quickly stowed. "You must be Captain Harris for the Naze Nani Fenspace meeting. Please follow me and we'll get properly introduced."
Bemused he followed the miniature mech, which seemed to be expertly piloted, through a diorama of a Tellurian city he wasn't quite familiar with and into the back room the voice had come from.
As the Awesome powered down in a way obviously designed by someone who'd never seen the real thing, he looked around and realized he was in a puppeteer's workshop. Foam and fabric filled one wall, strange Tellurian machinery filled another corner, odds and ends of electronics components scattered across the tables. And some of the finished puppets made his skin crawl. They reminded him of some of the more gentle corpses he'd seen in his life, but corpses nonetheless.
A sudden hiss of hydraulics drew his attention to a mock-up of a Battlemech cockpit, and the girl sprightly slipping from it. Everything about her seemed to scream "wholesome holovid sitcom daughter," from the conservatively feminine hairstyle to the "entirely impractical for an actual Mech cockpit" outfit she was wearing.
'She looks like a {Insert the silly location for the arena matches} cheerleader...'
"Hello!" She chirped brightly. "I'm Eljay, this is my Puppetworks, and we're going to work together to educate Tellurians..." Her eyes seemed to dance in merriment at the term. "...about the Inner Sphere... and vice versa!"
Alexander looked down at her. "Sweet Lady, I feel like I should be vetting your boyfriends."
She beamed. "Give them the 'shovel speech,' hm? Well, you won't have to worry about that overmuch." She reached over to a hook and pulled a bright white cape trimmed with gold over her shoulders. "So, how'd I do with the 'Mech? I only had battle footage from Detroit to go from..."
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Meh. Just a bit of scene chewing as VF works up some "Hearts and Minds" vids for XCOM.
''We don't just borrow words; on occasion, English has pursued other languages down alleyways to beat
them unconscious and rifle their pockets for new vocabulary.''
-- James Nicoll
M Fnord Wrote:Not what he meant, man.
And yeah, there's going to be at least one idiot who'd rather the Patriots were in charge of Operation: Break the Inner Sphere. But that's why Dartz is currently lead writer on the Patriots arc.
Because I care. And so does he.
>
Dartz is quite good in walking the "border to the dark side" in Fenspace...
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my idea about how to deal with the IS and the C* problem is "easy"... its all about "self-sustaining problems".
You don't sell the IS crazy batteries, you sell them trees that charge batteries of any kind. Not "network routers" but devices which build network routers.
Later you can go even a step further and start giving them the ability to build their own hardware... and teach them the necessary but missing things how to do it!
C* would love to have a well defined single target to solve all their problems, so the Fen need to give them too many details to deal with to delay concentrated and well planned actions. Don't have a single big plan to handle the Inner Sphere, have many of them, made by different groups and only loosely coordinated (so you don't counter each other).
I find it funny how SB constantly craps on Tom Kratman's work... and then write almost exactly the same thing.
''We don't just borrow words; on occasion, English has pursued other languages down alleyways to beat
them unconscious and rifle their pockets for new vocabulary.''
-- James Nicoll
I have neither patience nor goodwill toward readers who want to wrest control away from an author. If they have a vision that drives them so strongly, they should write their own damn stories, not hijack someone else's.
-- Bob
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Then the horns kicked in...
...and my shoes began to squeak.
They just don't like the taste of the burgers we made from their sacred cows. (Alright, stopit, you're overrusing that phrase:- Ed). Or they'd rather we grill them over propane rather than charcoal and peat.
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--m(^0^)m-- Wot, no sig?
The great hilarity of this is that SB's other hobby, besides trying to fill every mech show ever with grim and dark (unless already saturated by it) is poking holes in BattleTech's space-feudalism tactics.
The fight in the-city-that-does-not-exist will get a LOT of likes.
- Grumpy Uncle Gearhead
Something from the previous incarnation.... tweaked
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Attack on Battlemech
Tank-on-mech. Aircraft-on-mech, Mech-on-Mech,, Infantry-on-Mech. Military planners vied with rank amateurs to come up with the next big idea. Think tanks began to boil over with ideas. Manufacturers pushed their latest and greatest billion-dollar project as the centrepoint of the new ideal. Some were even grounded in practical experience, drawing competing lessons from the battle for Detroit and Quinqdao.
Others, less so.
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Kotono stood on top of the old gantry crane, double-checking her harness. She pulled the buckles so tight she swore her legs would drop off - but slipping out at high speed would be worse. She wore some armour - impact-resistant polymers mostly - but she had to keep the weight down. It’d keep her from going completely splat. It’d keep her alive long enough for the medical team to get there.
She checked the gas reservoirs, thruster packs, grapple hooks and turbospools, preferring to avoid a medical biomod entirely.
Finally, she had a pair of dummy charges - standing in for a pair of linear anti-armour cutting charges. Each had a magnetic clamp on it.
The Stardancer had an idea that’d refused to go away without being tested. It was the sort of idea only a gymnast could come up with. It was the sort of idea only a gymnast with a little too much exposure to the mad side of things could come up with.
The air in the landing bay was dead still, overhead floodlights keeping the chamber brightly light. At the far end, backed-up to the main space door stood the lanky, angular form of a modified Centurion. She spoke into her helmet’s mic.
“Alright Thierry. Push it forward. Like you’re a just advancing down an ordinary street.”
This wouldn’t work too well in open country, but for city fighting it might give an edge. Aside from the roof, the landing bay made for a pretty good approximation of a wide city boulevarde.
“Alright. Soun’s no different to jump infantry t’me but if you wan get hur’ doin somethin’s your call.”
“I think this’ll work,” she answered, haughtily.
“ Yeah w’ll I think this is pretty dumb idea. I got machine guns an t’only thing keepin’ me fr’m swattin’ you outta air is because ‘ll kill you’f I do.”
“Just a proof of concept,”
“Alright ‘n. Don’ blame me 'fyou get hurt.”
This was already starting to sound like a terrible idea. She wanted to get the movements down first - how someone would actually have to move, and learn to move, to fight with the manoeuvre gear. Then she could get an armour maker to work on something that’d give them a chance at survival.
Write a training program. Put on a few demonstrations. Get a contract. Get paid.
Even if it was useless in combat, the mech-less equipment tests had been fun. Make it fun enough, people would take lessons anyway. People would pay for lessons.
The crane’s crew were watching from the cab, faces shielded by videocameras. She found herself longing for the day when it’d just been a rusted-out hulk. At least then any accidents would’ve remained private.
The battlemech began to move forward, taking long, purposeful strides. Its steel foot slammed down with enough force to shatter the glass in a small comm’s booth and trigger the alarm on a nearby parked car.
Huh, so that really can happen, she thought. She stepped up to the edge of the crane, taking a moment to recall the previous tests. A few scrapes and bruises, but she was certain she had the basics down. It wasn’t that hard for someone used to working in 3 dimensions... the trick was remembering that there was now a definite down to worry about.
She took both trigger-grips in her hands, cables whining out of their spools. One button under her thumb retracted the cables, one released the grabbles, one fired the jets. The triggers under her fingers fired the grapples.
The battlemech’s guns spoke. Even blank shells fired at paper targets drummed against her insides. The blasts seemed to resonate off the walls, echoing back and forward along the chamber, threatening to sweep her off the crane. Lasers in training mode were still searingly bright.
It suddenly began to seem like a terrible idea. Its footsteps were shaking the structure underneath her feet. Heart in her mouth, she jumped off the ledge, hanging momentarily a hundred metres above a very solid steel floor. She tumbled once, getting a good look at the money-pit Gundam parked in-state against the back wall, then the ceiling, then the battlemech again.
A thumbpress on one of the triggers boosted her higher on a jet of gas.
She twisted her body in mid-air, aiming for the left wall. A squeeze on the triggers of both grips fired a pair of monofilament wires. They sparked in the overhead lights, arcing rapidly towards the steel walls.
Two electro-active expanding pitons embedded themselves in the wall.
She hit the retract button as she felt herself begin to lose altitude. Her harness jerked her left towards the wall, whining pneumatic motors reeling her towards the steel. Her eyes remained locked on the mech as it turned to face. It’s machineguns blazed to life, tracking after her.
Small laser repeaters allowed a computer on her belt to determine if she would’ve actually been hit or not by the mech’s gunfire. As far as it was concerned, she was still alive.
It would take only moments for it to get a good bead on her. she released both pitons, allowing herself to drop down. Wires whipped back into their spools. Angling to the right she aimed for the far wall, waiting for the pitons to lock into place before firing them again.
The ground was rushing towards her horribly quickly.
Both pitons fired once more, arcing across the chamber.
A jet of gas changed her vector, accelerating her upward once more with a painful jerk through her harness. She saw the pitons lock a moment
It jerked her hard across the front of the Battlemech, accelerating her sideways once more. She began to swing down, gravity racing against her spools trying to pull her up. Cold air rushed over her body, snagging stray strands of hair peeking out under her crash helmet.
She skimmed across the surface of the landing back, a pulse of gas from her jets saving her from leaving a painful dent in the side of a parked pickup.
Arcing upward once more, she released her wires, letting them snap back. Already, the ‘mech was turning to face, still stomping forwards. It’s pilot offered bursts of machinegun fire. She tumbled in the air to bleed off energy, controlling her speed and attitude.
She shot one wire at each wall, stretching her harness to it’s limits, using another burst of gas to swing herself forwards, accelerating toward the ‘mech. She started to think about how she could actually get up on it - or how she could slow down
She started to think about how exhilarating it all was.
Easily exceeding two hundred kph, tearing through the air hanging only by wires - she had to try it in Kandor, or on Genaros. Somewhere really built up. Somewhere where there was enough space to perfect the technique.
It was fun. She whooped in joy at travelling so fast with no engine but gravity and gas to propel herself.
Releasing the pitons at the top of her swing, she allowed herself to dance through the air - a flourish born of years of competiting at the top level - twisting her body through thin air, looping over herself as she began to arc back downwards.
She could feel the ‘mechs guns begin to draw a bead on her once more.
It was easily within range.
Both pitons latched onto its arm. She felt herself drop a little, her swing aiming her towards the roof of a shed someone had put together to house a pet-project. She danced across the surface of the roof, making as little contact as possible.
Shifting her weight through her right leg pull her into a tight swing. The mech began to turn by the waist, almost.fast enough to keep up. Seeing the inevitable crash coming, she hit the retract buttons on her triggers.
Turbospools screamed, accelerating her in towards the mech. Centrifugal forces kept her flying through the air. It made her head feel like it was ready to burst. Her vision blurred pink for a few brief moments as she accelerated inwards.
The pilot seemed to have the idea of whipping her off.
She released one of the pitons, leaning hard into the centre of the spiral she was inscribing through the air. She fired the second at the wall as it flashed past, using the spools as a brakes to slow herself down before she passed out.
Her muscles had begun to ache with the strain. She found herself quietly amazed at that fact - fitness was a point of pride of hers.
Releasing her lock on the wall she felt herself begin to drop, swinging down. She felt the ground rush beneath her back as her momentum carried her past the nadir of a new loop The mech’s feet carried on moving inexorably forward, for a moment she felt it might just kick out and step on her. It’d stopped spinning about the waist.
By the time that thought coalesced in her mind she was already looping back up around the arm on one wire. The blast from its guns rattled her insides, two hands taking hold of her brain and giving it a good hard shake.
She started to spin, corrected, then felt herself begin to tumble. The cable jerked at her waist as she reached the zenith of her loop. The mech began to reverse it’s turn.
Her mind looped as she tried to reorientated herself, taking a half-second to realise that the wire pointed towards her target. Despite her dizziness, that gave her the fix she needed.
She was close enough to feel the hot air blowing off it’s heatsinks. Even in training mode, it was getting hot, the hot draught threatening to cook her. She was falling towards it, head first, her wire going momentarily slack. She released the piton before the wire tangled.
The mech swept it’s arm through a wide arc, attempting to throw her off. It's arm swung through clear air.
She somersaulted once, aiming her feet towards the mech’s broad shoulders. Another burst of gas broke her fall, allowing a hard landing on solid steel. She could feel the battlemech moving beneath her feet. swaying from side-to-side as it stepped, shuddering as each foot hit the ground. She had enough forethought to anchor herself in place with her wires.
Even proceeding slowly, it was already more than three quarters of the way up the landing bay, passing under the gantry crane.
It’s guns blasted again, the shock coming from all around her at once. Dizzied, she slipped off the shoulder. Her hand reached out as she felt herself start to fall, the cable-spools damping the fall. Scrambling to get her head together once more, she pendulumed across the back, bouncing off a chunk of armour before swinging back out. Hot metal bit at her side.
Feeling sick, she hit the retract buttons on instinct, the period of her sway decreasing as she was dragged upwards. Dizzy, panting, and cursing herself for ever thinking it was a good idea, she hauled herself back up onto the shoulder.
She clung on tight as the cannons fired once more. Her ears were ringing, inspite of the protection she wore. Crawling across the mech’s shoulder, one wire kept her anchored while she struggled to reach the cockpit. She held the free piton in her hand, jamming it between panel gaps before retracting the one she’d left behind.
Another gunblast tried to shake her loose. It began to sway, swinging its shoulders around to try and throw her loose. Gritting her teeth and closing her eyes she clung on desperately, making a mental note to slap the pilot for trying to actually kill her.
Arms reached over, armour sliding around under her. She jumped off a piece of the shoulder before she could be dumped to the ground, landing only a metre away from the cockpit hatch. She tumbled before catching herself, grabbing hold of a ladder rung normally used by an escaping pilot..
It swung the other way, spinning around, pinning her back against the armour for a moment before it stopped dead. She launched forward, hard enough to wrench her shoulder. A yelp of pain escaped her lips as she flopped against the hatch, slipping on the metal before stopping her slid with her feet. Heat began to soak through her leather jacket, the hot exhaust from a heat-sink threatening to cook her alive.
It’d be stupid to carry on, she thought.
She carried on anyway, tying herself off to the ladder.
It spun again about the waist, swinging back around. She planted both feet either side of the hatch, gaining solid purchase for the first time. It was a battlemech rodeo, her one good arm with her anchor wire wrapped around it to keep her in place.
She removed the charge from the racks strapped to her hip, her injured shoulder stabbing with pain as she did so. She swallowed it - no pain, no gain. She knew she had to have done something serious with it.
Not dislocated. Maybe pulled a muscle or tore a tendon. It would take weeks to recover. Maybe surgery.
She planted the strip-charge across the hatch locks. It glued itself down happily. The hatch was the agreed upon weak-spot to aim for.
Detonation was by timer. Ten seconds from when it planted.
Kotono’s wild ride was still gaining energy as she leapt off the back of the battlemech. She shot one cable to the nearest wall, using it to swing herself away from the mech, breaking her fall to the ground with another burst from her jets. They coughed and died.
The landing was far harder than she expected, Kotono tumbling on impact before rolling across the steel floor. Loosing track of the timer, she scrambled dizzily to her feet, running for a parked shuttlecraft that looked like cover.
She was aware of the mech turning to face, taking aim once more.
The charge went ‘pop’,
She didn’t hear it. She heard the pilot’s voice in her ears through the radio.
“Alright. Tha'sit. Jus' heard it go off. Y’got me.”
She stopped, nearly tripping over herself in the process, then turned to face the mech. A white puffball of flour rose up from its back where the training charge had been planted.
It’d stopped in place. The pilot switching his running lights on as was the agreed method to signal a kill. She saw the machineguns aimed vaguely in her direction, and remembered to check her datalogger to see if it’d scored any hits.
None. According to the computer, she'd surived.
She felt sick to her stomach, ready to collapse to the ground.
“Thanks, Thierry,” she said hoarsely, still gasping for air. “Try not to kill me next time, okay.”
Her watch told her it’d taken less than two minutes. It felt like a hell of a lot longer.
Some things worked. Some things didn’t. X-COM or XCOM or....whatever one.... would make its own judgement when they saw the videos. As much fun as the maneuver gear was, going up against a Battlemech one-on-one - even in practice - really wasn’t the smartest thing she’d ever done.
She stood there, swaying on her feet, looking up at the mech unsure whether to hope they picked up the tactic or not. She’d murder a bottle of water, her right arm was ready to fall off, and she couldn’t forget that it’d only ever been a training exercise.
Nobody had been trying to kill anybody.
It was, she was certain, not something she ever wanted to do for real. Not without a hardsuit and an army’s worth of backup on her side.
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--m(^0^)m-- Wot, no sig?
