[b][center][h2][color=magenta]Reya[/color] & [color=SteelBlue]Ingrid[/color][/h2][/center][/b]


Her sense of timing was disjointed, day and night crossed together inside the cave and it was ironically not unlike being in a jumpship. A sensation she had not known for some time. In the same way, the Knights had taken to “simulating” evening and day with the floodlights to keep everyone on some form of the same schedule. Though at times, on rare occasions when the weather outside was good, there was some sunlight visible through the rocky crevasses in a few places, but it was still an unnatural feeling. In the days that followed the raid there was so much work to do in repairs, refit and inventory, that it was easy not to think about it, but the unbalanced feeling was always present. As short as they were on technicians, her extra hands and eye for details had helped Sol’s operations considerably. The mechs were running ahead of schedule in repairs. However, she was [i]tired[/i], being the only person that went on the mission and then actively participated in the resulting service. About the only saving grace was the blessed shower. During the raid, when she had gone over all the loading manifests, it was the medical truck, she noticed, that included provisioning for a full mobile field hospital and also a small desalination unit with showers. Additionally, with the portable fusion reactor, it could be plumbed and properly hot. Thinking about it made her heart soar. She could take as many as she wanted and anyone caught peeping would face an involuntary scrapyard match with Sergeant Dalton.

Sitting on the back of the Von Luckner, legs crossed, head resting in one hand, she didn’t seem particularly enthusiastic at a glance. The scene in front of her was not unlike what she had worked out for Ziska’s Raven, only [i]bigger[/i]. There were more screens, more cables and a hydra of connections that stretched up onto Ingrid’s machine. Her free hand tapped rapidly on a mobile console unfolded like a suitcase while her eyes briefly scanned the other displays. Some distance behind her the portable reactor hummed along happily and momentarily she grabbed a wad of her hair and smelled it, taking in a long pleasant breath of what remained of her coffee scented shampoo and searching for the ever encroaching aroma of grease, exhaust and sweat. If she could just get a music player of some kind, that wasn’t Pops’ makeshift guitar, a modicum of civility might be restored to [i]La Casa Cueva[/i] as she had taken to naming it, to herself. She checked her watch. Still some ungodly hour by any normal standards and most everyone on the “day shift” was sleeping best they could. Ingrid’s dedicated tech crew were long turned in for the night after having helped Reya fit four brand new Holly SRMs into [i]Susser Todd[/i]’s main launcher which was the current source of her frustration.

The missile diameter was the same, thankfully, but the Holly’s were shorter and lighter. The firewall had to be moved up which wasn’t [i]too[/i] bad, but getting the mech to recognize the adjustments was… challenging. Unlike Ziska’s Raven which was happy and new and generally receptive to whatever Reya willed for it, the Ostroc was old, ornery and more often than not seemed to viscerally hate everything she tried to do with it. Several times she had to rerun the dryfire program, translating through multiple computers to “trick” the machine into thinking it was firing the correct ammo. The process was still not perfect and every failed attempt required a complete rebuild of the logic to generate a successful launch. In the mix of code and ancient dialogue the Lyran mech spoke, she was sure it was cussing her out in German. A red message boldly flashed across one of the other screens titled [b]ACHTUNG![/b] followed by some other 2500s era lingo. Reya gave the machine the finger. 

She let out a sigh and rested back on her palms, feeling the cold armor of the tank beneath her and stared up at the rock ceiling for a moment. The problem was somewhere between the ignition and boost sequence, both of which happened in fractions of a second at the command of a trigger pull. Missiles were not her specialty, but she understood the principles perfectly. It was just getting the execution… [i][color=magenta]A walk would be nice[/color][/i], she thought. Maybe some fresh air would help. Take a stroll and maybe chat with the perimeter guards just to clear her head and then come back. There was no way she was going to go to sleep. Not until she was satisfied and she was determined to earn even more of Colonel’s stoic approval. The coolness of the plating beneath her crept up her arm gave her a chill and she leaned back forward to her previous warm spot. She was wearing one of Lena’s hooded sweatshirts. [url=https://pbs.twimg.com/media/E3Z0HsNXIAUs6Sw.jpg][i]Uncle Bucky’s Urbanmech Emporium[/i][/url] The worn, cartoon logo on brown fabric reminded her of her friend when she wore it and Reya, busy as they had been, remembered that she hadn’t even thought about Lena since she had worked on the Raven. She shook her head. The thought left her feeling guilty and suddenly, very lonely. Her glance shifted over to where she had set up a crash pad for Sunny and herself, where the young girl presently slept in their little tent and container fort, but the feeling was different than before and she knew it had to be from going on the mission. She didn’t feel like the victim any more, or at least not as much. 

—

Though it was perhaps a moment too quick to decide that, if only for different reasons.

From the shadows that lay just past the illuminated, makeshift repair bay, past the sleeping girl’s tent, came the ever-grim glare of the Duchess.  She stood there, half-lit, and surprisingly didn’t immediately come with demands and grunts of dissatisfaction.  No, once Reya’s eyes met hers, she stood there silently for a few seconds more before coming out to meet her.  Now in the light, Ingrid could be seen wearing something quite unfitting with the image she had previously built: satin pajamas in a light blue, with gold lace, and by the way they seemed to bulge at the waist they were probably being worn over other clothing as well.  Though as disheveled as anything in this cave, their opulence suggested that they were a rare article that escaped both the flight from Poulsbo and the good grace of Espia.  The last time these had been seen within the Green Knights’ illustrious quarters was a year ago, and at that point, someone called them cute.  She hadn’t been seen in them for a second prior to this moment.

Nevertheless, her expression seemed just as negative as ever, but just a bit more tired than she usually would let on.  Any kind of anger on her part was too much effort for the night, perhaps.  She had a similarly muted effect in her speech.

[color=SteelBlue]“Ms. Wyatt,”[/color] she said in a half-whisper once she was at the base of the [i]Von Luckner[/i].  [color=SteelBlue]“I heard that some modifications were performed on the [i]Ostroc[/i] this evening.  Given my knowledge of my technical crew, I take it you were the one responsible?”[/color]

—

Seeing Ingrid’s ensemble, Reya nearly did a double take. As usually concerned with image as the Duchess could be, the garments were as surprising as the individual wearing them being awake. What was no surprise however was the blonde’s typical demeanor. The phrase, “factory settings” blinked through Reya’s mind as she looked back up at the Ostroc and then down at her main display once more as the woman approached. A tiny smirk worked its way around the corner of her lips that Ingrid could not see before Reya stowed the thought and continued a few more steps again through the tedious launch sequence knowing the woman would have questions.

“[color=magenta]The Colonel asked me to go ahead and modify the launcher to suit the new missile ordnance we liberated.[/color]” Reya answered, sticking to the facts as she knew Ingrid preferred. Being in an elevated position, on top of the tank, made it easier to bring up the Colonel’s orders, but she could also sense fatigue in the woman’s voice. A sentiment not missing from her own. “[color=magenta]Your tech crew helped me move up the firewall and we did a test fitment on all four tubes.[/color]” She said. Her eyes examined the rather exquisite garments for a moment as Ingrid stepped closer, right at the base of the tank. “[color=magenta]All the hardware is good, I’m just finishing up with the software now.[/color]” She continued and tapped a few more commands, concluding with a sharp, matter-of-fact keystroke she knew would make the same red warning message appear again. “[color=magenta][i]Susser Todd[/i] has a very succinct way of talking.[/color]” She said, tilting her head slightly towards Ingrid and turning the other display so she could see.

—

She wasn’t terribly happy when the word ‘modify’ was uttered, but that was just a brief flash.  Her arms crossed, and her head went up, though a little too far back - her usual perfect posture degraded by the time of the night.  It’s no wonder she rarely stays past curtain call to drink, beyond the social barrier keeping her locked out.

The display came up with the same call for attention as before, and its demands were succinct but authoritative.  It was as Ingrid would explain: [color=SteelBlue]“Ostmann Industries…protective of their warranties.[/color]”  She settled as she leaned into the side of the Luckner, giving the screen a disappointed look.  [color=SteelBlue]“Half of my pre-sortie checklist is clearing errors from this poor thing.  It’s not been well since my exodus, and it lets me know that…[/color]”  Further disappointment from her, though who it could be aimed at is made a little less uncertain.  [color=SteelBlue]“No fault of you and your technicians,” she added as more of an afterthought than a statement to save face, “It simply is a fact of life.  Something this old…”[/color]

Then, Ingrid looked up at Reya.  [color=SteelBlue]“I’m sure you would find this amusing; at the side of the Daschke family for generations were the Micheners.  A few worked for our house otherwise, but the vast majority, for almost 500 years?  In your position.  A lineage of solely Battlemech technicians, all under our employ - and they plied their family trade well.  It made sense, we were on the border.  The Mariks came and visited often enough to where the family [i]Ostroc[/i] and [i]Starslayer[/i] didn’t simply sit in a bay for a century at a time.[/color]”

A little, wistful sigh escaped her.

—

“[color=magenta]I can take care of those for you.[/color]” Reya said, referring to the parade of startup errors Ingrid mentioned. She tapped a few keys and then worked with both hands momentarily belting off a rapidfire chain of inputs across the keyboard. “[color=magenta]I noticed them when I first hooked everything up, you should have said something before.[/color]” She tilted her head  and bit on her lower lip with some amusement at the screen in front of her, hands slowed to allow Ingrid room to talk, listening to her wistful story as she continued. 

All the mechs had personalities and often the machine reflected the person in the cockpit. [i]Susser Todd[/i] was a diva, but she kind of liked that about it, [i]the challenge[/i]. It didn’t just let her have her way. She could remember several ice cold professors that only viewed mechs as metal and computers with no personality and to be fair, a part of her adhered to that philosophy, but still another part of her knew there was more. They moved, they walked, they talked to her through the terminals, they made mistakes- they got hurt and they accepted a piece of the pilot’s persona. She’d seen it herself.

“[color=magenta]I wish it’d been that straightforward where I’m from…[/color]” She relaxed some back on one palm, satisfied with what was in front of her and turning her glance back to Ingrid. There was a hint of scorn in her voice at the thoughts. “[color=magenta]I’m the only engineer in my family [i]and[/i] the first one.[/color]” She said. “[color=magenta]I think both my parents would have preferred to have married me off, but here we are.[/color]” 

Reya shrugged and turned the screen once more towards Ingrid. The list of startup errors were displayed. “[color=magenta]Look familiar?[/color]" 

—

It seemed as if it did.  Her eyebrows arched in consternation; the same sort of look you’d give when you saw your beloved dog - once again - take a leak on the carpet before you could let it outside.  A problem, and not enough to be so easily forgiven, but far too common to put too much of an effort into feeling anger.  She drummed her fingers across the cold metal of the hull.  [color=SteelBlue]“Yes.  Yes, it does look familiar.”[/color]

She leaned a little closer to squint at the screen, but the speed and patter with which she read it out suggested it was at least partially committed to memory.  [color=SteelBlue]“Warning, internal servo-motor diagnostic check failed under such and such place in the arm, deliver error code x0394-so-on-and-so-forth to technicians immediately.  Laser focusing lens alignment outside of expected parameters (despite being realigned every time it’s been sent out), firing of Feursturm-B M-class LTR may result in catastrophic failure (it has yet to do so).  Upper anterior cooling fan has broken, reinstall immediately or pilot death may occur…and to replace it would mean disassembling half the cockpit.  The same as usual.”[/color]

Another squint, and she briefly ran her finger along the list.  [color=SteelBlue]“But if you’ve stopped it from barking about that missing, never-existing heatsink, you’ve put in good work.  The Micheners never figured that one out,”[/color] she said with a rare tone of reverence.

[color=SteelBlue]“...but yes.  It is all familiar, though I have a feeling that most other manufacturers don’t make such dire warnings like that.”[/color]

—

Ingrid’s rare seal of approval did not go unnoticed. Reya’s hands worked over the keys again and she briefly glanced between the display and the mech. The Duchess never specified to actually wipe the error codes, so Reya memory banked them in one of the maintenance subsystems where they could be pulled later and would stop bothering her during the startup sequence. “[color=magenta]They all speak their own language.[/color]” Reya said. The other screens became animated once again. “[color=magenta]Some just like to talk more than others.[/color]”

Reya finally crossed her arms and exhaled slowly, running one finger over her lips examining the work on the SRMs once more. The ambient noises of the cave filled the air for a moment as the techs and laborers of the “night shift” went about their work with various tools and conversation. “[color=magenta]You should feel a difference in the helmet with your balance,[/color]” She said finally. Her face had become a careful study while her eyes seemed to be absorbing data rapidly. “[color=magenta]These SRMs are much lighter than your old ones so it should be more comfortable.[/color]” Her fingers tapped a few keys. “[color=magenta]They’re gonna come out of the tubes like angry hornets.[/color]” She pointed to a line item highlighted in red. It seemed like Ingrid was following along so she continued: “[color=magenta]The Ostroc’s ignition sequence for these is hardcoded and really was never meant to fire anything else but the heavy [i]Totschlagens[/i]…[/color]” Her German was surprisingly on point, even hitting the accent. “[color=magenta]...So you’re gonna get an increase in velocity for sure. It won’t cause any more damage- but you will probably get a tighter grouping and be easier to hit with.[/color]” 

—

For once, someone’s pronunciation of a language that rarely leaves Lyran borders was not corrected.  Ms. Daschke leaned harder onto the hull, her eyes briefly fluttering as she listened to the explanation.  Her brow furrowed, first with effort to keep awake, and then with regards to Reya and what she had said.

[color=SteelBlue]“It would initially sound well and good,”[/color] she said, some more effort put into enunciation compared to her sleepy pronunciation earlier, [color=SteelBlue]“the idea of improved performance…but there is an issue I can foresee.”[/color]

She held up two fingers.  [color=SteelBlue]“One, we have already been cut from supplies for this long; we can’t afford a live fire test.  I’m sure the most basic simulations could give me numbers, but the feel,”[/color] she cradled an invisible pilot’s stick in her left hand while the two problem fingers shot forward, “[color=SteelBlue]it is not something I wish to rely on in the middle of a proper fight.”[/color]

She then withdrew her second finger after realizing she only had one issue to discuss.

—

Reya wasn't sure if Ingrid was going to fall asleep on her feet as she leaned further into the side of the tank below her. The Lyran was not much of a night owl, but she was right about the live-fire test. Though they were setting on a healthy supply of the new SRMs, she couldn’t see the Colonel allowing for any to be used in test shots. Not to mention the attention it could attract. Reya paused for a moment, watching Ingrid’s hands then looked up over the blonde at the rest of the cave, scanning for a moment and getting an idea. 

“[color=magenta]That stranger that came here… We still haven’t recovered the mech he claimed to have hidden in the woods.[/color]” As tired as Ingrid was, Reya wasn’t sure if she was following any longer. “[color=magenta]The Colonel will send a recovery team with him to get it, but I know they don’t trust him and I don’t either.[/color]” She said. In her mind she was still putting the pieces together and her glance narrowed a bit at nothing in particular “[color=magenta]If you go out with the recovery squad, you’ll at least get a chance to get used to the balance again and if he does anything shady, you can give him test fire.[/color]” She had no doubt Ingrid’s ability to put down hick Espian randos, but it would ultimately be up to the Colonel to decide. 

—

Well, there were hardly any better people to make that request to within this company.  Her suspicion had clearly laid on him since he waltzed right in, and it wouldn’t take a huge leap in logic to imagine, once he was fully vetted, her continuing to see him poorly with his peasant, low-born nature.  She had not often acted in discrimination to the non-noblemen and women of this establishment (presumably because that would be just about everyone here), but some did complain of what they could only call a ‘nobler-than-thou’ air about her.

[color=SteelBlue]“I think you may be onto something…wise.  Wise…”[/color]

She rubbed her eyes, arching her neck and back in a vain attempt to keep awake.
[color=SteelBlue]“If you need me to move now, I’ll go out into the snow for a minute, that’ll wake me…”[/color]

Ingrid stared upward for a bit.  Gears turned, sluggishly but consistently. [color=SteelBlue]“Ah.  You…probably meant for the morning.  Or later.  Hmm.  So be it,”[/color] she held up a hand and stifled a yawn, [color=SteelBlue]“You’ve got the Colonel’s ear far better than I do.  Do your worst...”[/color]

Just as soon as she arrived, she had left, heading back to parts unknown.  Keeping that stick up her ass must keep her exhausted.