“Listen up boy, life on the Frontier is hard work, harder than you got it now in the Colonies. Sure, its wild, untamed, and ready for exploitation, but ya got to remember – there ain’t much in the way of serious protection; not like you got here, under the Collective’s rule. Let me tell ya something else, while I’m at it. When those natives get restless – and they will – ain’t no laser pistol or corporate mecha going to be enough to pull your arse outta the fire. Them natives – especially the gray-skinned ones – are as mean as hell, and there will come a day you’ll be wishing to hear the sweet screaming engines of a Wasp entering atmo, with a full boatload of Warthogs. Hell, when that times comes, you won’t even care if that Wasp is dropping altitude with its sights on your arse. Mark my words.”
-Interview excerpt with Jovanni Tist, Collective Marine Corps deserter, upon his capture on the Frontier planet of Sorrow.
Session One: Another Boring Day
Another boring cargo run…. Dane thought to herself, as she made minute navigation corrections to her trajectory. Her ship – actually the corporation’s ship, but she liked to think of it as her’s – CSI Cargo Run 3-45 was a simple Fast Freighter with no frills, but the old girl handled like a dream. Well, a drunken dream, but a dream never the less.
“CSI Cargo Run 3-45, you are cleared for landing on platform 12B. Please observe Standard Collective Landing Procedures and do not deviate into restricted air space. Thank you.” The spaceport controller sounded bored and typical. Dane didn’t even bother responding, since she knew the controller by first name – Gordon – and they didn’t get along so well. She did smirk a little, as she always did, when the controller directed her to landing platform 12B. There’s only two platforms on this entire dirtball planet – 12A and 12B. Typical small-world thought process though – make it sound bigger and better than it really was. While she herself was from a fairly small-world, she was also born on Sera, one of the Colony planets, under the protection of the Collective, not some backwater frontier planet like the one below her, owned and ran by Colony Solutions Incorporated. Dane checked her sensors again, just to ensure that she was well within tolerance. Whoa, Dane thought to herself, coming in a bit hot aren’t we? Dane eased back on the steering vane and frowned – the ship was responding more sluggishly than it should have, as if it had extra drag. Odd….
Almost five miles below, and a good thirty-some miles south of CSI Cargo Run 3-45…..
Another boring patrol…. Kentoashoo (Ken for short) thought to himself, as he switched his Warpath Recoilless Rifle to his left hand. His mecha – actually the corporation’s mecha, but he liked to think of it as his – CSI F.I.S.T. –3 was a fairly low-powered large mecha with little in frills, but the beast could do some serious damage when needed. Too bad it wasn’t needed.
“Stay awake, Kenny-boy. Just cause these back-birthed miners seem calm, they can cause a ruckus at the drop of a hat. Ya never do know when we’ll be need….”
Fayne, Ken’s teammate – also in a similar mecha – was interrupted as the Spaceport Controller – some jerk named Gordy – broke through her radio signal with a much more powerful signal.
“CSI Cargo Run 3-45, you are cleared for landing on platform 12B. Please observe Standard Collective Landing Procedures and do not deviate into restricted air space. Thank you.” Sheesh, Ken thought to himself, he sounds more bored than me. ‘Course, he’s stuck in that tower, and here I get to stroll around and look at dust. In fact, that’s what Ken did, as he kicked his sensors to normal and scanned the area around him. Nothing but dust and mountains. What a crap-hole planet. Ken turned his mecha’s viewport up towards the sky and kicked in the long-range sensors, searching for the transport ship. After a moment, he found it, coming in a little faster than normal. Ken activated the focus on his sensors and frowned. Odd….
Elsewhere…..
Another boring snatch-n-grab…Koveris Edgerunner thought to himself, as he adjusted himself in the uncomfortable folding seat he had been in for the last eighteen hours or more. He didn’t care to wonder how long he had been forced to remain in this extremely small, and under-equipped, insertion shuttle; probably more than a month.
“Relax, Koveris, we’re almost there. Then, we’ll let you loose on those helpless pale-skins.” Fenis Soar’lan of the Skori clan said to the fidgeting gray-skinned Koveris. Koveris just held up four middle fingers and flashed his fang-filled smile to the fellow Mycabri. The large – almost 7’ tall – blue-skinned, white-winged Vic’Tarian, Kaden Peltar, merely grunted and adjusted his grip on the drop handle in front of him. Almost too big for the shuttle – and definitely too big to be comfortable on a Mycabri-made ship, the Vic’Tarian had to stand for most of the ride.
“Knock off you two. Command said this was supposed to be a low-conflict job, no unnecessary bloodshed. Keep the target in mind.” The team leader, a female Mycabri, spoke out to her underlings, her brightly-striped Honor Beads denoting Ruling Clan Status reflecting the limited light as she shook her head for emphasis.
“Detachment in 15.5 seconds, ma’am” The pilot’s voice floated from the cramped cockpit. The pilot was Fenis’ brother, Javin. He double-checked the series of switches and buttons that he was going to need to hit very soon, and very rapidly. Glancing at the passive sensor readings once more, just to assure himself that…
Suddenly, everyone in the ready bay heard Javin’s voice float once more out of the cockpit. “Odd….”
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