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Duster’s Odyssey (A Space Western) (Interest Gathering and Discussion)

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Winds of Fate - A Thieves' Adventure (Semi-Tabletop)

Posted, thanks to @Fetzen for not murdering me when I took forever to post and also for adding some sweet Skarsat banter.

Although way to mock Nora's ability to speak Torkanian (lol).

Winds of Fate - A Thieves' Adventure (Semi-Tabletop)

Nora

---

The room was small and painted with darkness. Beneath the torchlights, dust swirled through the air, musky and damp. Uncomfortable, it reminded Nora of a tomb and in the dim light the casks of alcohol that surrounded her looked like a forest of bulging caskets. Perched on a barrel of whiskey, Nora watched the sweating merchant that flustered in front of her disdainfully. He was grotesquely fat and smelled so strongly of Lironian perfume that she wondered if perhaps he had not spent the hours before their meeting with the whores. She could hear the desperation in his voice. His begging. His endless pleading.

"I tire of your excuses, Merchant Aman," Nora interrupted. She had listened politely at first. She had listened to the merchant and his many excuses for several minutes, but his sing song voice had become intolerable. And Lord Vargas had been clear. It was time to collect on the debt. The two thugs that she had brought with her were bored. There would have to be violence.

"You signed a contract with Lord Vargas, Merchant Aman," Nora lectured disinterestedly, her sharp eyes full of disgust as she studied the pathetic form of the merchant and his sad, fearful face. "The terms of this contract were clear. Very clear. You had three months, Merchant Aman. And three long months have passed. Now where is the money that you owe Lord Vargas?"

"Miss Nora!" Aman squealed. "As I was telling your associates here I had every intention of repaying Lord Vargas in time, but-"

"Good, then we are in agreement. You will repay your loan today."

"I- I can't! Please, allow me to provide a portion of the debt!" the merchant beseeched. He fell to his knees and his great jowls jiggled with fear as he pawed at Nora's feet.

"How much are you prepared to deliver to us then? Today."

"500 gold!" the merchant shouted desperately. "Please! I have a family. I have several nieces reaching a marriageable age-"

"You have a debt, Merchant Aman," Nora said with a cruel smile. "You owe Lord Vargas 1200 gold. And you offer him a handful of coins instead?"

Nora shook her head and pushed the man away from her with her foot as she leapt to her feet. "No, I am thinking Lord Vargas will want me to remind you that there are costs to being late."

"What-"

Nora's open hand struck the side of the merchant's face, sending the fat merchant tumbling onto the ground as if he had been struck by lightening. The bandit raised her hand to deliver another thundering slap to the merchant's face when a loud, embarrassed cough interrupted her.

"Nora," Percival said, his voice rising lightly as if he was trying to apologize to her. "Lord Vargas asked me to find you, he wanted me to bring you to him. There's some sort of meeting. "

Nora frowned, delivering a swift kick to the mewling merchant. Merchant Aman let out a low scream of terror and covered his face.

"I see, did he say why?" Nora asked.

"There's some sort of meeting. Y'vanna is there and that woman from the Red Sails that's been hanging around Lord Vargas...Miss Belgard, I believe. Two others as well, Neh’miah and some sailor I've never seen before."

"Trouble, doubtlessly trouble if Y'vanna is there," Nora hissed. "No matter, her kind is not unfamiliar in this place. You may leave us, Percival, I will be there shortly."

The bartender jolted as if to move, but hesitated and turned to look at the big man standing next to him, "Ummm...I also need to...that is...I mean...This is Skarsat...He...he says he has an appointment with Lord Vargas."

"And you believed him?" Nora said with a raised eyebrow. She brushed a stray hair beneath the hood of her robe again, before delivering another heavy kick to the prostrate merchant as he rolled around on the ground in front of her.

"He made a most convincing argument," Percival replied with a visible flinch.

Nora shrugged, she did not place much faith in Percival and the stranger seemed to be the capable sort. He was big. Giant even. She could cut him in half and he would still be two modestly sized men. He was exactly the type of thug that Lord Vargas or one of his underbosses would hire to break the right amount of bones and extort an acceptable amount of coin. She did not take chances though. She was no drunken fool. The bandit rested her right hand demonstratively on the pommel of her sword as her gaze carefully measured the towering man, "What's your business with Lord Vargas, stranger?"

---

Skarsat had watched the scenery in front of him with a fair degree of amusement. Even if he had not been the one he was, just watching Nora deal with the sheer amount of almost pathetic pitifulness was entertaining to a certain degree. It was not like Skarsat was completely oblivious to the concept of mercy, but with those traders it was always the same thing: They wanted something they couldn't afford, so they made deals with people they should have known better and avoided in the first place. Then they couldn't keep up to their part of the deal and the real trouble began. The final act always were the thugs like him -- and obviously her -- trying to crush the sand that had been in the gears from day one, even if that meant applying so much force that the gears themselves were torn apart.

A little bit of a more welcoming greeting towards himself would have been in order, though... Skarsat crossed his arms in front of his breast and leaned against the wall a little more markedly. "I could ask you the same thing, but I don't because I know I'm not the local authority and I could already partially witness what happens when people overstep their competence here." At that point his eyes darted down towards Percival. "However it could also be considered overstepping my own competence if I tell any stranger about my personal business. Wouldn't you agree?"

"I am Nora Harah Fifrawi," Nora said slowly in the language spoken by the nomads that traveled across the easternmost Lands of the Tork. Her words were slow, clumsy even, but there was a politeness to her speech that had not been present earlier. "I keep this place for Lord Vargas. I keep this place safe. I am the blade of this house. It would be easier for us both if you told me what your business is with Lord Vargas."

What a surprise! She spoke the tongue, even though she handled it so poorly it was almost excruciating. There was a slight, but still appreciative nod coming from Skarsat as he listened to her words. Relaxing his stance a little, Skarsat replied in the words native to this eastern part of the world for he was afraid she wouldn't be able to keep up with him using the tongue: "I don't know myself exactly what all this is about. All I can say is that I have an appointment and that it's actually overdue. Seems he's busy." That was the truth. Whether Nora would believe in him telling the truth was a different matter though...

---

"Lord Vargas is a busy man," Nora agreed with a shrug. Lies did not come as easily to her as matters of the sword, but she sensed no dishonesty in the big man. For the moment at least, he was not a danger, and he was not a threat. A man of his stature might prove useful even, she reasoned, depending on how far into the the bottle Y'Vanna had crawled.

Delivering a final enthusiastic kick to the back of merchant, Nora bent low and with a swift, well-practiced movement of her knife relieved him of the heavy coin purse that was tied to his belt. She waved two fingers at the weeping merchant as she slipped the coin purse into the sleeve of her robe with a satisfied cluck of her tongue. The two thugs moved from there positions leaning against the wall and grabbed hold of his quivering shoulders, dragging Merchant Aman screaming to his feet. The textile trader recoiled as Nora approached, but she merely tapped him gently on the cheek.

"Tharlas. Gilan," Nora said, addressing the two blocks of violence that stood next to her with a generous smile. "Please see Merchant Aman to his shop and help him recover the rest of the coin he owes Lord Vargas. With interest, if you would be so kind." Tharlas and Gilan nodded, shoving the sputtering merchant in front of them and out of the room with all the gentleness of a pair of stone masons.

Brushing off the tip of her boots, Nora turned towards the bartender. "Let us not delay any further, take us to Lord Vargas, Percival," Nora said, flashing a warning smile at the bartender who sprang out of the room with the utmost haste. She gestured for Skarsat to follow the barkeeper and trailed after the big man at a safe distance, her hand still resting comfortably on the hilt of her curved blade.

---

"Lord Vargas," Percival interrupted, trepidation so clear in his voice that Nora almost flinched. The man was a coward. He was weak. He was full of water. She saw the way he looked at the women in the tavern. She knew how they moved him and how they ensnared him with well-practiced flirtations. He was a crack in the security of the tavern. A threat to the sword she had forged. She would have to tell Lord Vargas. She couldn't allow the fracture to grow any larger.

"I have brought Nora...and...Skarsat, as you requested."

Falling Skies: Reboot (Mecha, Space Opera)

I'll be getting an OOC/Char thread out for us this Saturday!

@vietmyke

Sweet!

I think I'll have the Peregrine wrapped up by tomorrow, I've got my little notes for what I want to write out, but just no time to do it tonight.

Deadlands: Tales o' the Weird West

The setting/lore is highly compelling to me, my one question would be what the setup is in terms of plot? Are you aiming for a sandbox RP or a more structured narrative?

Falling Skies: Reboot (Mecha, Space Opera)

Having spent more time than I should looking at giant robots, this one speaks to me, although it's not at all what I want to write for this RP.

Big Stompy Robot

Submarine/Spaceship Stompy Robot

Falling Skies: Reboot (Mecha, Space Opera)

It sort of looks like a different take on a typical 'new guy' character, and I have yet to have had a test pilot in any of my iterations of this RP, so that'll be exciting. I have no issue with the character concept thus far, and I like the direction you took with it.

@vietmyke

Glad to hear that this angle is fun, I wasn't completely sure it would fit, but now I really like the idea of her having a pretty different perspective to many of the other pilots/soldiers (coming more from a R&D environment). I think it will be pretty fun to write if I'm given a chance. :D

That being said, I am curious, when/where did she score the kills she currently holds? From her background, it seems she's spent her entire career thus far as a test pilot, and is getting her first taste of combat testing now. Did she get them while fleeing from the Garmr? If so that's a lot for a single pilot on their own. Just food for thought.

@vietmyke

I'd originally imagined her background as having involved some combat, but thinking about it, I think it's a bit more fun if the combat mentioned in her background is her first real, bloody taste of combat.

Building off of this train of thought, I've knocked her down to one kill, and I'll throw in some fluff in her background about the one baddie she shot down while escaping.

Regarding the mech- or what parts of it are completed, I like it as well. It kinda seems like its trying to combine the speed (and relative fragility) or a conventional aerospace fighter with the more maneuverable MAS. To be honest, the design philosophy seems very similar to Ingram's Sparrowhawk, but in the opposite direction in regards to speed and durability. All in all, excited to see how it all fits together.

@vietmyke

Full disclosure, my starting point was just wanting to write someone going really fast.

Jokes aside, I like the idea of the Peregrine being the opposite solution to the Sparrow.

I love the idea that two different R&D teams came up with their own solution(s) to the limitations and complaints about the Sparrow.

One team, created the Sparrowhawk, reasoning that some performance improvements would allow more armor and weapons. As your fancy sheet says, it provides the UEE with a very nimble/fast MAS that doesn't die from another MAS sneezing on it, and that can punch up in a big way. The resulting MAS might be slightly slower than the Sparrow but the difference isn't likely to matter all that much, especially when considering the gains.

Another team felt that slowing down the Sparrow was the wrong solution and instead focused on making a new MAS that emphasizes even greater speed. The Peregrine sacrifices the ability to take a hit based on the assumption that an up-armored MAS isn't gonna survive that much more and really leaning into the pilot pulling off some cool moves. I imagine it's the sort of crazy, high-tech plane that most rookies hate to fly, and that really requires the pilot to be willing to redline it, which is to say it's pretty awesome, but also constantly trying to kill the pilot.

---

Thanks for the feedback, was fun and helped me think about things a bit more!

I'll try to flesh out the Peregrine's sheet within the next day or two.

Falling Skies: Reboot (Mecha, Space Opera)

A name change later and some background changes later, I have a readable (hopefully) second sketch of my character.

Another day, another draft:

Pilot Profile: Alcántara, Clara

"If everything seems under control, you're not going fast enough." - Mario Andretti

Appearance: Clara measures in at a modest 5 ft 5 in when standing on the very tips of her toes. However, her short stature has noticeable advantages in terms of her comfort in even the most cramped cockpits and regarding her ability to tolerate higher g-loads. Pragmatic to the core and deeply dedicated to maximum efficiency in her private life, Clara keeps her chestnut colored hair cut short and rarely does much to maintain it. Her calm eyes are cast in a shade of gunmetal grey and mirror the mostly collected expressions that travel across her features. Hailing from Colony 725-T, she possess a pallor that is the composite of her parents and her skin is a light shade of olive.
Name: Alcántara, Clara
Age: 23
Rank:O-2 2nd Lieutenant
Callsign: Zoom
Kills: 1

Psychological Analysis: Steeped in more books and technical manuals than any one person should be, Clara Alcántara is a test pilot locked in an endless battle with gravity and the limits of human physiology. Pairing a natural technical aptitude with an intuitive ability to pilot Mobile Armor Suits, Alcántara possesses many of the traits required to excel as a test pilot. Calm and steady even under fire, Alcántara is able to think clearly and problem solve complex issues even when these issues occur in the middle of combat and at g's high enough to induce unconsciousness.

With deft movements of her controls, Clara flies through the midnight of space effortlessly, an interstellar feather gently drifting in the star strewn winds, and stoically accepts her place as a test pilot constantly fighting for more speed in a universe ensnared by gravity.

The bane of any sane mechanic, Alcántara has made it her habit to push her MAS far past the bleeding edge of what could be considered safe or usually survivable. She rarely bring her MAS back in pristine condition and she's known for managing to buckle armor plating with high sustained g-forces more frequently than any manual says should be possible. Embracing the risk of being a test pilot, Alcántara lives her life on the cusp of G-force induced loss of consciousness (g-loc), Alcántara has a knack for making incredible high speed shots and performing maneuvers that threaten her own safety. While she can best be described as an aggressive pilot, Alcántara is not reckless, and she claims to risk only enough to accomplish the objectives of the current mission.

Seemingly unburdened by her professional career, Clara has managed to separate her persona as a test and combat pilot from her persona as Ana the person. She is friendly, if a bit reserved, and is amicable in most social situations. Far from a loner, she nonetheless takes care to spend time by herself and if left unattended she is likely to bury her face in one of the many books or convoluted technical manuals she keeps on her personal data pad.

Personal Record:

An Interview with a Test Pilot

"Steiner and Thompson?"

Clara shook her head, "Dead."

"You're sure?"

Another pointless question, another wasted breath. The briefing room felt wrong. The air felt hot. Her skin was on fire and she felt the adrenaline coursing through her veins, "I'm sure."

"How can you be sure, Lieutenant Alcántara?"

Alcántara tried to stare a hole through the scientist's skull. Five minutes, five minutes in, and she already wanted to vent him out of an airlock, "Thompson's reactor went critical. He didn't have time to punch out and even if he had, he would have been caught in the blast wave."

"And Steiner?" the Commander added, nodding respectfully. Clara trusted her. She was the real deal. A careerist through and through, but she wasn't bad, not as far as high ranking officers went.

"We had to split up. I broke left, away from the colony, he broke right towards the colony. A squad of Gramrs took him out. Souped up models. Veteran pilots. A new variant. I haven't seen a Gramr move like that before, not that fast, not that well. He bought me enough of a head start. I got one of them in a derelict field. The rest couldn't track me with all the radiation."

"Unfortunate, very unfortunate, the data those suits carried was invaluable," Zamorano began. Clara listened to the Chief Engineer, burying her anger beneath tired eyes. He didn't know. He didn't understand. He hadn't watched her friends die. He didn't care. All he cared about was telemetry. Steiner had warned her. She'd tried to tell her.

"What my esteemed colleague is trying to say," the Commander interrupted, cutting off the scientist with a sharp wave of her hand in his direction. "What we would like to say is that we are sorry, very sorry to hear about the tragic deaths of Lieutenant Commander Thompson and Lieutenant Steiner. They were good pilots. They were good people. They were our friends and they will be missed."

"They knew the risks, they knew what they signed up for, Commander Wright," Clara replied half-heartedly, feeling a sob tugging at back of her throat. Thompson deserved better. Steiner deserved much better. The UEE owed them more than some weak condolences in a briefing room.

"What happened out there, Lieutenant?" Wright continued, her voice laced with carefully chosen sympathy. "This was supposed to be the final flight test. Rules of engagements precluded-"

"The Coalition happened," Clara replied bitterly. "We were following the projected ingress route when-

"You were supposed to avoid engaging enemy forces! You were only supposed to watch them! You were supposed to evade them if they spotted you!" the engineer shouted, his red turning a unflattering shade of red.

"We tried. They ran us down. We didn't have any other options and so we fought."

"That's not good enough, Alcántara! Not good enough by a long shot. You're supposed to be the best. You're a test pilot, you're supposed to be the very best the UEE has to offer!" Zamorano roared, jabbing his data pad with his finger as if he was stabbing a knife into her heart with each jab.

"Chief Engineer Zamorano," the commander attempted. "Please keep your voice down-"

The engineer brought his data pad down on the table so hard that Clara was surprised that the screen didn't crack. "Mars Military Institute. Top of your class. 52nd Research and Development Squadron. Three years. Thompson and Steiner were supposed to be just as good! Better even! You were supposed to bring back my prototypes in one piece!"

"ZAMORANO! ENOUGH!" Wright ordered, her clinched fist hammering down on the table. "I've heard enough about your precious prototypes to last me a lifetime. If you can't control yourself, then I will have you escorted to your quarters. Is that understood?"

"Yes," Zamorano said with disinterested shrug. Clara could see the sweat pooling at edges of his forehead. He knew better than to play games with the Commander. She didn't make idle threats, and she outranked him. She outranked him by a couple of decades.

"What about my MAS?" Clara interjected, hoping to catch the Chief Engineer before he recovered.

"My prototype?" Zamorano hissed. "Scrap."

Reeling, Alcántara gripped onto armrest of her chair. She knew the mission. She had worked on the project for two years. She knew everything there was to know about the prototype MAS. Everything that mattered and then some. She had loved her MAS. She had loved her MAS like an old friend. And now it was gone. They were gone. All of them.

"There wasn't much left of it after you crashed it into the hanger bay," the engineer lectured, with a disgusted frown. Clara could feel the scorn emanating off of him. He was annoyed. He was more than annoyed. He was furious. And it almost made her glad that she had sent the prototype careening into the wall of the hanger at close to 350 kilometers per hour. If only it hadn't been the only one. Clara winced. They'd only ever had three working prototypes. Two years and all they had to show for it was seven wrecked Mobile Armor Suits and twice as many bodies.

"And the data? Did we manage to-"

"We managed to recover it! No thanks to you. It took us five hours to dig the black box out of the wreckage and ten more to salvage the data."

Clara took a deep breath, loosening her grip on the edge of the chair, a smile tugged at the edge of her mouth. She could die happy. They could take her wings, they could bury the data, but she knew, and they knew. She hadn't let them down. She'd landed a burning prototype MAS at 500 kilometers per hour without so much as a single functioning guidance system and they couldn't take that from her. No matter how hard they tried. No matter what old friends the Chief Engineer called on.

"Do you have anything else that you would like to add, Alcántara?" Commander Wright said.

"Ma'am, just a question," Clara replied, straightening up in her chair. "Is the project canceled?"

"Canceled? No, no by the Heavens no," Wright said with a chuckle and as she turned to Zamorano, it seemed to Clara that even the Chief Engineer was on the verge of smiling. "The data you brought back to us was lovely. The Brass were pleased, real pleased in fact. A twenty-five percent increase in performance is no small thing and for three suits to take out most of a Coalition task force is no small feat."

"I'm sorry, what?" Clara managed, feeling her heart pounding against her ribs. Her bruises screamed with the effort and she felt suddenly light headed.

Commander Wright smiled gently, offering a knowing look, "Congratulations, Lieutenant, flight testing of Project [-Redacted-] has been deemed a complete success. Combat testing is set to begin within two weeks and effective immediately you are transferred to the 7th MAS Squadron, 101st Legion."

Equipment: Like any sane military personnel operating in an active war zone, Clara carries a standard issue UEE sidearm on her person and a well-stocked MAS pilot survival kit in her MAS. Minimalistic in terms of her possessions, Clara does keep an encrypted data pad stuffed to the brim with old books and highly classified technical manuals.

MAS Profile: SRS-717 Peregrine Prototype

Appearance: Painted a dashing shade of blue with gold trim, the Peregrine is a sleek MAS that screams speed, speed and lots of speed.

Flight Mode

Mobile Armor Suit Mode

Designation: SRS-717 Peregrine Prototype
Role: Rapid Response / High Speed Scout
Chassis: Light
Description: Featuring a high-powered generator developed in a joint project between Dassault Aviation and the UEE, the Peregrine is a sate-of-the-art prototype MAS designed to provide unparalleled speed and maneuverability. Boasting a surprisingly powerful armament for a light MAS, the Peregrine is a notoriously difficult MAS to operate and requires a skilled pilot comfortable operating at the very limits of human physiology to reach its full potential. Stripped of any armor that might limit maximum performance, the Peregrine sacrifices direct pilot and MAS survivability, and instead relies on almost completely on the pilot avoiding any incoming enemy fire.
Systems:

• Rheinmetall MK 508 - 120mm Autocannon (Primary) - A prototype weapon developed as a private venture by Rheinmetall and submitted to the UEE in response to a requirement for a new heavy MAS weapon for use against newly developed Coalition MAS appearing on battlefields across UEE controlled space in growing numbers. Relatively light for a high caliber autocannon, the MK 508 has proven to be well suited to this role and is capable of brining down even heavy MAS with only a few hits. To allow the MK 508 to be mounted in smaller MAS, the cannon is quite compact and has been optimized for a high rate of fire at the expense of long range ballistic performance.
• (Primary) -
• Missile System (Secondary) -
• EB-21C Compact Beam Saber (Secondary) - A compact plasma beam saber, with limited power capacity, the EB-21C is intended to be utilized for quick strikes targeting critical components of enemy MAS or vehicles.
• Dassault Aviation DA-597 Flight Boosters (Utility) -
• Countermeasure System (Utility) - Countermeasure systems are often used by lighter MAS's to avoid missiles instead of using body mounted machine guns to intercept them. Using chaff and flares, countermeasure systems have limited number of uses before needing to rearm.

Falling Skies: Reboot (Mecha, Space Opera)

<Snipped quote by Rapid Reader>

The machine I was planning on running with my character is a 'Sparrowhawk', essentially an uparmored Sparrow set into a medium frame, trading mobility for some durability, so I'm sure we can work something out in the opposite direction! A lot of these labels in the suit Builder are just labels, not all suits are built equally.

For example the Sentry and Sentinel, both are medium suits, but the Sentinel's tech data seems to imply it is just better than the original sentry in terms of mobility and armor and that is okay. Its a newer machine, and more expensive to produce, its natural that it'd be better than the Sentry in most aspects. The goal is to keep things flexible enough for players to fulfill their respective power fantasies when it comes to mechs, without going overboard or making them all-powerful

@vietmyke

Sounds great, I really just want to channel all I've managed to read up on in terms of fighter combat (with a MAS twist).

---

I'll toss in my very WIP very Zen test pilot, turned combat pilot up here as well.

Pilot Profile: Alcántara, Clara

"If everything seems under control, you're not going fast enough." - Mario Andretti

Appearance: Clara measures in at a modest 5 ft 4 in when standing on the very tips of her toes. However, her small size has noticeable advantages in terms of her comfort in the cockpit and ability to tolerate increased g-loads. She keeps her chestnut colored hair cut short and rarely does much to maintain it. Her calm eyes are sea-green and mirror the gentle expressions that frequently dance across her mouth. She possess a pallor that is the composite of her parents and she has light brown skin.
Name: Alcántara, Clara
Age: 23
Callsign: Zoom
Kills: 5

Psychological Analysis: Steeped in more books and technical manuals than any one person should be, Clara Alcántara is a test pilot locked in an endless battle with gravity and the limits of human physiology. Pairing a natural technical aptitude with an intuitive ability to pilot Mobile Armor Suits, Alcántara possesses many of the traits required to excel as a test pilot. Calm and steady even under fire, Alcántara is able to think clearly and problem solve complex issues even when these issues occur in the middle of combat.

With deft movements of her controls, Clara flies through the midnight of space effortlessly, an interstellar feather gently drifting in the star strewn winds, and stoically accepts her place as a test pilot constantly fighting for more speed in a universe ensnared by gravity.

The bane of any sane mechanic, Alcántara has made it her habit to push her MAS far past the bleeding edge of what could be considered safe or usually survivable. She rarely bring her MAS back in pristine condition and she's known for managing to buckle armor plating with high sustained g-forces more frequently than any manual says should be possible. Embracing the risk of being a test pilot, Alcántara lives her life on the cusp of G-force induced loss of consciousness (g-loc), Alcántara has a knack for making incredible high speed shots and performing maneuvers that threaten her own safety. While she can best be described as an aggressive pilot, Alcántara is not reckless, and she claims to risk only enough to accomplish the objectives of the current mission.

Seemingly unburdened by her professional career, Clara has managed to separate her persona as a test and combat pilot from her persona as Ana the person. She is friendly, if a bit reserved, and is amicable in most social situations. Far from a loner, she nonetheless take care to spend time by herself and if left unattended she is likely to bury her face in a book or one of the many convoluted technical manuals she keeps on her personal data pad.

Personal Record:

Sacrifice

"Steiner and Thompson?"

Clara shook her head, "Dead."

"You're sure?"

Another pointless question, another wasted breath. The briefing room felt wrong. The air felt hot. Her skin was on fire and she felt the adrenaline coursing through her veins. "I'm sure."

"How can you be sure, Lieutenant Alcántara?"

Alcántara tried to stare a hole through the scientist's skull. Five minutes, five minutes in, and she already wanted to vent him out of an airlock, "Thompson's reactor went critical. He didn't have time to punch out and even if he had, he would have been caught in the blast wave."

"And Steiner?" the Commander added, nodding respectfully. Clara trusted her. She was the real deal. A careerist through and through, but she wasn't bad, not as far as high ranking officers went.

"We had to split up. I broke left, away from the colony, he broke right towards the colony. A squad of Gramrs took him out. Souped up models. Veteran pilots. A new variant. I haven't seen a Gramr move like that before, not that fast, not that well. He bought me enough of a head start. I lost them in a derelict field. They couldn't track me with all the radiation."

"Unfortunate, very unfortunate, the data those suits carried was invaluable," Zamorano began. Clara listened to the Chief Engineer, burying her anger beneath tired eyes. He didn't know. He didn't understand. He hadn't watched her friends die. He didn't care. All he cared about was telemetry. Steiner had warned her. She'd tried to tell her.

"What my esteemed colleague is trying to say," the Commander interrupted, cutting off the scientist with a sharp wave of her hand in his direction. "What we would like to say is that we are sorry, very sorry to hear about the tragic deaths of Lieutenant Commander Thompson and Lieutenant Steiner. They were good pilots. They were good people. They were our friends and they will be missed."

"They knew the risks, they knew what they signed up for, Commander Wright," Clara replied half-heartedly, feeling a sob tugging at back of her throat. Thompson deserved better. Steiner deserved much better. The UEE owed them more than some weak condolences in a briefing room.

"What happened out there, Lieutenant?" Wright continued, her voice laced with carefully chosen sympathy. "This was supposed to be the final flight test. Rules of engagements precluded-"

"The Coalition happened," Clara replied bitterly. "We were following the projected ingress route when-

"You were supposed to avoid engaging enemy forces! You were only supposed to watch them! You were supposed to evade them if they spotted you!" the engineer shouted, his red turning a unflattering shade of red.

"We tried. They ran us down. We didn't have any other options and so we fought."

"That's not good enough, Alcántara! Not good enough by a long shot. You're supposed to be the best. You're a test pilot, you're supposed to be the very best the UEE has to offer!" Zamorano roared, jabbing his data pad with his finger as if he was stabbing a knife into her heart with each jab.

"Chief Engineer Zamorano," the commander attempted. "Please keep your voice down-"

The engineer brought his data pad down on the table so hard that Clara was surprised that the screen didn't crack. "Mars Military Institute. Top of your class. 52nd Research and Development Squadron. Three years. Thompson and Steiner were supposed to be just as good! Better even! You were supposed to bring back my prototypes in one piece!"

"ZAMORANO! ENOUGH!" Wright ordered, her clinched fist hammering down on the table. "I've heard enough about your precious prototypes to last me a lifetime. If you can't control yourself, then I will have you escorted to your quarters. Is that understood?"

"Yes," Zamorano said with disinterested shrug. Clara could see the sweat pooling at edges of his forehead. He knew better than to play games with the Commander. She didn't make idle threats, and she outranked him. She outranked him by a couple of decades.

"What about my MAS?" Clara interjected, hoping to catch the Chief Engineer before he recovered.

"My prototype?" Zamorano hissed. "Scrap."

Reeling, Alcántara gripped onto armrest of her chair. She knew the mission. She had worked on the project for two years. She knew everything there was to know about the prototype MAS. Everything that mattered and then some. She had loved her MAS. She had loved her MAS like an old friend. And now it was gone. They were gone. All of them.

"There wasn't much left of it after you crashed it into the hanger bay," the engineer lectured, with a disgusted frown. Clara could feel the scorn emanating off of him. He was annoyed. He was more than annoyed. He was furious. And it almost made her glad that she had sent the prototype careening into the wall of the hanger at close to 350 kilometers per hour. If only it hadn't been the only one. Clara winced. They'd only ever had three working prototypes. Two years and all they had to show for it was seven wrecked Mobile Armor Suits and twice as many bodies.

"And the data? Did we manage to-"

"We managed to recover it! No thanks to you. It took us five hours to dig the black box out of the wreckage and ten more to salvage the data."

Clara took a deep breath, loosening her grip on the edge of the chair, a smile tugged at the edge of her mouth. She could die happy. They could take her wings, they could bury the data, but she knew, and they knew. She hadn't let them down. She'd landed a burning prototype MAS at 500 kilometers per hour without so much as a single functioning guidance system and they couldn't take that from her. No matter how hard they tried. No matter what old friends the Chief Engineer called on.

"Do you have anything else that you would like to add, Alcántara?" Commander Wright said.

"Ma'am, just a question," Clara replied, straightening up in her chair. "Is the project canceled?"

"Canceled? No, no by the Heavens no," Wright said with a chuckle and as she turned to Zamorano, it seemed to Clara that even the Chief Engineer was on the verge of smiling. "The data you brought back to us was lovely. The Brass were pleased, real pleased in fact. A twenty-five percent increase in performance is no small thing and for three suits to take out most of a Coalition task force is no small feat."

"I'm sorry, what?" Clara managed, feeling her heart pounding against her ribs. Her bruises screamed with the effort and she felt suddenly light headed.

Commander Wright smiled gently, offering a knowing look, "Congratulations, Lieutenant, flight testing of Project [-Redacted-] has been deemed a complete success. Combat testing is set to begin within two weeks and effective immediately you are transferred to the 7th MAS Squadron, 101st Legion."

Equipment: Like any sane military personnel operating in an active war zone, Clara carries a standard issue UEE sidearm on her person and a well-stocked MAS pilot survival kit in her MAS. Minimalistic in terms of her possessions, Clara does keep an encrypted data pad stuffed to the brim with old books and highly classified technical manuals.

MAS Profile: Max Speed

Appearance: a
Designation: P - Prototype
Role: Rapid Response / High Speed Scout
Chassis: Light
Description: a state-of-the-art prototype MAS with a heavy emphasis on high speed and high maneuverability at the cost of pilot and MAS survival
Systems: a

Falling Skies: Reboot (Mecha, Space Opera)

@Jarl Coolgruuf, @Rapid Reader, glad to hear it! Let me know if there are any questions!

@vietmyke

I'll be sure to bug you soon, probably about ways to either soup up the venerable FTX-003 Sparrow MkIII M or to make some similar "goes very fast" prototype sort of mech.