Chapitre 38: Chapter 2
The next morning I woke, showered, dressed, and grabbed my Szabla. My Polish Sabre was an unornamented, no-frills weapon at first glance. It looked to be simple steel, brass, and leather to the uneducated, but thinking that would be a mistake. The blade was thirty-two and a half inches of tempered Ferro-Carbide metal, reworked into a light-weight, perfectly balanced, razor-sharp, edge. A going away gift from my father, he'd had the Ferro-Carbide blade made from part of the armor plating of a completely wrecked Mark thirty-nine Vincent-class Corvette he'd found during a LosTech Prospecting operation. With how badly the ship had been blown up in some forgotten skirmish of the Amaris Coup, all that was left to salvage from it were pieces of hull and a single, relatively intact, section of armor plate.
Lacking the ability to make more Ferro-Carbide armor, my father had opted to melt down the plate to forge blades for himself and me. It honestly beat the ostentation sorts of weapons found on noble scions across half the Inner Sphere. I'd seen FWL Nobles with gilded hilted blades, Lyrans with platinum-inlaid guards, Combine Nobles whose Katana had hilts of scrimshawed ivory, a Capellan with a Jade-studded pommel on his Dao, and in one notable case a Federated Sun's noble with so much gilt and jewels on his basket-hilt that I honestly couldn't figure out if he'd been serious about dueling or not. I'd take my low-key but functional Szabla over any of those sidearms in a heartbeat.
Of course, my Szabla wasn't the only thing I had going for me to get Miles Brickey and David Grayson to underestimate me, though the seeming lack of embellishments and useless jewelry on my dueling blade would do a good job of that on its own, I also dressed myself to their expectations. A brown and crimson trenchcoat worn over a combat vest and fatigues, with a broad-brimmed gunslinger's hat, crimson sash, and combat boots. I didn't even bother to tuck my hair under my hat fully, and there was a tantalizingly exposed ponytail to grab hold of in a fight. I looked like the stereotypical, ill-disciplined, periphery pirate or bandit, which was no doubt going to cause both of my opponents to look down on me, just as I'd planned.
By the time I was ready to go, it was close to nine-thirty and that meant that Katrina would be waiting for me downstairs in Roger's Cantina. Nodding at my appearance in the mirror, I made my way down to the Cantina via the lift. The lifts in Roger's Cantina played the same sort of music that was played in the Cantina Proper, and the Cantina always played some sort of tune that you'd find in a mech bay somewhere in the Sphere. It was one of the reasons the Cantina was a favorite of the students of the Blackjack School of Combat. Right now, it was pumping out a slower, pulsing, beat that had the distinct whining horns you'd find in the Aurigan Reach in the Rimward Periphery.
As I stepped out into the Cantina Proper, nodding to Roger, who even this early was situated behind the bar, I spotted Katrina. She was dressed in Lyran Blue Riding pants, knee-high boots, a pair of leather gloves, and a sleeved, Lyran Blue vest over a white ruffled blouse. At her belt hung a steel smallsword with its hilt wrapped in fine silver wire. Her blonde hair was even clipped up in an updo to avoid giving a prospective opponent a convenient handhold. If I looked like an uncouth Periphery Brigand, she looked every inch the Duchess she would become once she inherited her father's holdings, refined, assured, and ready to fight, not that I expected her to do much fighting. As I entered the Cantina, Katrina looked over to me and cocked an eyebrow.
"You're wearing that?" She asked.
"They think they're getting an upjumped Periphery Pirate's Son. This plays into that. It'll make them cocky." I shrugged.
"And cocky combatants make mistakes." Remarked Katrina.
"They just finished their first year, they haven't even started on field exercises yet. They won't have learned the lesson that there's always a bigger fish." I nodded.
"Interesting way to phrase that." Pointed out Katrina.
"It's common on worlds where the highest native lifeform pre-colonization was fish or ones with a lot of surface water." Cut in Roger.
"Yeah. I grew up primarily on Butte Hold. There are all sorts of nasty sea critters in the deeper oceans there. Remind me to tell you about the Helmeted Leviathans sometime, or the Vampire Cuttlefish. Luckily, less than half the planet's surface is water, and only around thirty-one percent is oceans, with the rest bound up in rivers and lakes." I grinned.
"I grew up on Towne what seems a lifetime ago. I'll see your Helmeted Leviathans and raise you Seraphim Swimmers." Chuckled Roger.
"As fascinating as this is, we have an appointment to keep. You're lucky that Lott's Revenge Memorial Square is only ten minutes or so away from here." Sighed Katrina.
"Just one more thing. Do you have my usual ready?" I questioned Roger.
"Right here." Grinned Roger, handing over a flask of Predlitz Krupnik and a single, Port Moseby Cigar Especial. I handed the flask and cigar over to Katrina, along with my bronzed lighter, who took them with an exasperated look on her face.
"I forgot about your post-duel rituals. Must you always have a drink and a smoke after each one?" She grumbled.
"I like to celebrate the fact I'm still alive after every life and death encounter. It's one more thing I inherited from my father. Magnus Poniatowski was a lot of things, but ungrateful to be alive wasn't one of them. I plan to expand the tradition beyond duels in his memory, so I suppose you'll just have to deal with the tradition, your Grace." I grinned.
As we headed for the Hovercar out front, Katrina grumbled something under her breath about it being a stupid periphery tradition but I let it go. I was too focused on the upcoming duels to contest that, plus I know she wouldn't have said anything with any real heat. As we drove the few blocks to the Lott's Revenge Memorial Square. I took a deep breath and focused up on the upcoming fight. I'd heard through the grapevine that Miles Brickey favored a Dussack. It was similar in weight to my Szabla, but shorter. More of a Hunting Sword than a Sabre. Meanwhile, David Grayson preferred the shorter, guardless, forward curved, Yatagan. This was thanks to his mother being related to House Jafik of Mosiro, though distantly. I did wonder about his having a more olive complexion than the recently deposed Earl Jonathan. Presumably, his older sister Fabienne had the same heritage. It'd certainly explain the palace coup she'd pulled off three years ago.
Regardless, what this meant was that I had a reach advantage on both my opponents I could use. If my first opponent was especially cocky, he might even be encouraged to try and charge inside my guard, thinking I wouldn't have the skill to know how to defend. That would allow me to slip in a duel-ending cut as he charged in before he could even hit back. That sort of tactic would only work once though. I doubted that if Miles went down to that sort of tactic, David would make the same mistake. It was worth a shot, though.
Eventually, we arrived at Lott's Revenge Memorial Square. It was a seldom visited plaza by the public because the large stone memorial that memorialized all the dead of the Blackjack School of Combat who'd been killed during the various succession wars drew in alumni and students from the school more than the average citizen of Lott's Revenge. We did tend to be a rowdy crowd, especially when mourning lost comrades. That lack of visitation by the average city dweller also made it a popular choice of dueling ground for those attending the School. As Katrina parked and we got out of the hovercar, I could see we'd drawn a small crowd of spectators. Drill Instructor Makaisson was there, accompanied by Kommandant Bigelow of all people, as were a few people I vaguely recognized from the class below mine and some who had to be Miles and David's classmates, as well as a rather haggard-looking man in House Grayson Livery that had to be David's Manservant.
As I walked up to the group and made my way over to the marked-out area for the duel, Katrina headed over to confer with David Grayson and his Manservant about the particulars, moderated by Drill Instructor Makaisson and Kommandant Bigelow to avoid too much argument and insult from the people who were supposed to be seconds. Of course, that just meant that Miles was free to toss off whatever taunts he pleased. He took in my carefully-crafted outfit with an air of utter disdain. His own outfit was far more in keeping what you'd expect from a noble scion. Black leather boots polished to a sheen with khaki riding trousers bloused into them and a ruffled shirt of FWL Purple. At his belt, his Dussack was an eyesore, with its wire guard covered in so much gold foil I wondered if his intent was to blind me with it.
"Poniatowski! Here I thought you'd run away!" Taunted Miles as I approached.
"I'm not a coward, Brickey. We're not even late, or are you going to disparage Lady Watson's time-keeping ability now?" I scoffed.
"Please, spare me your attempts to bait me, they're as clumsy as your outfit is crass." Sneered Miles.
I could see a few of our gathered spectators wince at Miles' taunts, the ones who'd been in the year below me and who'd seen me duel before. The spectators who happened to be in Miles and David's year regarded the older spectators curiously. I had to fight to keep a smile off my face at that, as it looked like they had no idea what Miles and David were in for. It was an indicator that both of my opponents had gone around telling their friends about their impending inevitable victory after they'd left Roger's Cantina last night. It also was a good indication that Miles and David still had no clue about what was about to happen.
"My outfit is crass? Your outfit looks ridiculous! A purple shirt? And what's with all that gold on your blade? Are you going to cut me with your weapon or try to blind me with it?" I retorted.
"I'll have you know this shirt is made of the finest silk available in the Free World's League, but of course, I wouldn't expect some Periphery Brigand to understand the quality of luxuries like this. Look at your blade, plain steel with a simple leather-wrapped hilt. Hardly a blade fit for a Baron. Which only proves you have no place among the nobility." Shot Back Miles.
"If you're so assured of your inevitable victory, how about you put your C-Bills where your mouth is?" I tried.
"Oh? A wager? Interesting, I'd love for you to pay me to thrash you. What did you have in mind?" Queried Miles.
"Your house is a big shareholder with Kallon Heavy Industries, right? You bought in when they opened the plants on Loyalty and Bernardo, right." I asked.
"We are, though obviously not as large as House Marik and Houses Marik, Liao, and Nakoma. We do own a significant minority stake and the Director of Operations of the Loyalty plant is my cousin. What's your point?" Questioned Miles.
"Well, if I win, I want a license to produce the Rifleman Heavy Mech." I offered.
"Yes, your father somehow weaseled his way into being the largest minority shareholder in the Otisberg Mech Facility, didn't he? I can see how that might add legitimacy to that position and clean some of the stench of opportunism off that position. Very well, I can have a license made out to your house. However, if I win, you will deed me all your family's shares in the Otisberg Mech Facility. That ought to show my father my worth as heir." Nodded Miles.
I tried not to grin as I'd essentially just cheated my way into the ability to produce heavy mechs. True, it was just the Rifleman, which was honestly so ubiquitous as to be not worthy of note for an Inner Sphere Power, being produced by pretty much everyone. In the Periphery, though? That sort of license would put me well ahead of anyone else and I had just enough production capacity on New Ålborg and Zertarum to switch over production, provided I decide not to keep producing new light mechs for the Baronial Guards for a few years. That was a situation that would sort itself out eventually, though.
"Done." I nodded.
With that, Katrina and David returned, having hashed out the details of the duels between themselves with the mediation of Kommandant Bigelow. Speaking of Kommandant Bigelow, the formidable woman marched up to the raised steps near the memorial itself and nodded to Drill Instructor Makaisson. The short, Nordic, Drill Instructor with a face like a pitbull quieted the gathered onlookers via the simple expedient of firing his laser pistol into the air. The bolt of coherent light ionized the air with a loud crack and got everyone's attention. Once everyone's attention was on the Kommandant, she began to speak.
"Thank you, Drill Instructor. Now, we are here today to settle a matter of honor between Free Baron Jozef Poniatowski and Cadets Miles Brickey and David Grayson. The rules of these duels are as follows. Honor will not be satisfied until one party can no longer continue or until one party surrenders. If a surrender is offered, immediate quarter will be given so that the surrendering party may be taken to a medical facility. The bounds of the duel are to be a square area of no more than twenty feet by twenty feet, with boundaries marked out by flags at the corners. In addition, all wagers made by combatants, their seconds, or any onlookers will be paid in full no later than one week after the conclusion of said duels. The Blackjack School of Combat will see that they are. I believe Drill Instructor Makaisson has a full list of the wagers?" Recited the Kommandant.
Drill Instructor Makaisson stepped forward. "Wagers made for the first bout are as follows. Free Baron Poniatowski and Cadet Brickey have wagered all of Free Baron Poniatowski's shares in the Otisberg Mech Facility against the design schematics and license to produce the Rifleman Heavy Mech. An additional wager of five million C-Bills has been put up by the seconds for the first bout, Lady Katrina Watson and Cadet David Grayson, on the outcome of their respective combatants, of which half will go to the winning combatant while half remains with their seconds. In addition, shares of Defiance Munitions and Fairfield Munitions equalling a five percent stake in both companies have been put up as well as a five percent stake in Trellshire Heavy Industries by Lady Watson against a ten percent stake in Kong Interstellar and a five percent stake in IMB Systems by Cadet Grayson." He read out.
"That's a lot of shares of a lot of companies trading hands based on the outcome of this duel, so I expect everything to be honored promptly." Intoned Kommandant Bigelow.
"No pressure." I quipped.
As Kommandant Bigelow, Drill Instructor Makaisson, Katrina, and David Grayson all moved their flags to stand at the corners of the agreed-on square, I moved to take a position in the middle of the area. Miles did likewise across from me as we waited for the call to start the duel to come. I drew my Szabla and held it in a loose outside guard, blade out to the side, though seemingly with an exploitable hole in my guard. The smirk on Miles' face as he saw that was too big to hide.
"Last chance to apologize, Miles." I said.
"Please, your guard is so full of holes it may as well be a wheel of cheese. This will be over in no time." Scoffed Miles as he drew his Dussack and held it up in a firmer, inside guard, with the edge of his Dussack facing inside his line of attack and his point facing straight forward enough to try and run me through. As Kommandant Bigelow called for the duel to start, that's exactly what he tried to do as well, taking advantage of my seemingly out-of-position blade to rush forward and attempt to thrust his blade into me. Unfortunately for him, this was a trap.
Polish Sabre, as I had been taught, had a number of cuts that other sabre styles more common among the Inner Sphere did not. Chief among them was the Polish Quarte, a full cut from right and below from an outside guard held out wider than normal for the preferred styles of the Lyrans or the Free World's League. As he came in, I simultaneously pivoted on my back foot while dropping my blade down under his guard and cutting up in just such a cut. My Szabla cleaved into his forearm from below, Ferro-Carbide blade carving into his arm with a thunking noise, even as his own attempt to run me through met nothing but air.
There was a spray of blood and a strangled scream, as my Szabla carved into his tricep and he dropped his Dussack to the concrete of the plaza. He stayed upright for a few moments before collapsing as I withdrew my Szabla. Kommandant Bigelow called an end to the first duel as Drill Instructor Makaisson applied field medicine to the wound and bundled Miles into a waiting ambulance near where Katrina had parked the hovercar. I looked over at David who looked white as a sheet at the easy way I'd dispatched his friend. He seemed to notice my gaze because his face went from pale to taking on a green tinge.
"I don't think I severed anything too important for modern medicine to fix. He'll live, though it'll be months of rehab before he's able to get into a Mech Cockpit again. Lucky him Blackjack's on break. I wonder if you'll be as lucky, David? Of course, you could always apologize for the things you said about my father. . ." I trailed off.
"Yes. . .Yes, I apologize. I shouldn't have spoken ill of your father, please forgive me." Blurted out David, relief at me giving him an out clear on his face.
"I accept your apology. Go see to your friend." I replied.
Katrina came up to me, handing me a cloth to wipe down my Szabla of blood. I did so and she handed over my flask of Krupnik, Cigar, and Lighter as I handed off the bloodied cloth. I took a long pull of the flask, feeling the honey and herb-based liqueur burn its way down my throat. As I did so, Katrina looked over at me inquisitively.
"What exactly does that taste like, I wonder? I've never heard of that exact type of alcohol before." She asked as I finished my first mouthful.
"It tastes like victory, Katrina." I grinned, before biting the end off my cigar and lighting up.
Katrina sighed and said, "Of course, you'd say that. Still, that was well done. You managed to nab the license and schematics for an heavy mech and two and a half million C-Bills for yourself. True, it's just the Rifleman, but that's still something. Congratulations."
"Thank you. You didn't make out too bad yourself either. Kong Interstellar has a license and schematics for the Black Knight, and IMB Systems makes parts for a lot of different Mechs. I can imagine your Father will be happy." I smirked, blowing out a plume of cigar smoke like a dragon of legend.
"Kong Interstellar can't produce the Black Knight anymore. Their facilities keep getting destroyed or damaged as priority targets. They've stuck to just repairs and refits for existing models for a few decades now. It's less liable to get their facilities blown up." Pointed out Katrina.
"I've got a feeling that the Succession War will be over soon. You never know what can happen in peacetime, maybe once the War finally ends, some shareholder can bring up the idea of rebuilding the actual production line for the Black Knight instead of just making spare parts for repair jobs?" I hedged, taking another sip from my flask.
"How do you know that? I know your people claimed your father had the gift of foresight, but surely that was just hyperbole?" Frowned Katrina.
"Call it a hunch." I offered.
"Well, forgive me if I don't exactly trust your hunch sight unseen." Retorted Katrina, dryly.
"Keep it in mind for the future, at least. You don't have to act on it, Kong Interstellar still makes plenty of money with spare parts and repairs as it is. Your father will be proud." I shrugged.
"It does, that's why I wagered for shares of it." Nodded Katrina.
By now, it was apparent that no second duel was going to take place and the crowd was starting to thin. I sheathed my Szabla and stood there drinking my flask of Krupnik and puffing on my fine Port Moseby Cigar while Katrina went to chat with Kommandant Bigelow for a bit. I eavesdropped for on the conversation for a short stretch and it seemed to just be Katrina getting assurances from Kommandant Bigelow that yes, both Miles and David would pay up or she would use her connections with ComStar's Mercenary Review Board to put a lien on Houses Grayson and Brickey so they wouldn't be able to hire mercenaries to pad out their Forces in the event of war until they paid up. With Calison so close to the Lyran and Capellan Borders, and Earl Justin Brickey a General in the Free World League Military, not being able to hire Mercenaries would be a problem for both Houses.
Idly, I wondered how Kommandant Bigelow had such sway with the Mercenary Review Board, but decided it didn't really matter too much. The Kommandant was a former Mercenary Commander herself and the Kommandant of one of the Lyran Commonwealth's major Military Academies. If anyone was going to have those sorts of connections it would be her. As Katrina and the Kommandant spoke, I basked in my victory some more, finishing my flask of Predlitz Krupnik in the time it took them to finish their conversation. Once they had, both Katrina and the Kommandant made their way over to where I was standing.
"That was an excellent display of how to turn an opponent's preconceived notions against them. You always were good with strategy, though." Nodded the Kommandant.
"Thank you, Madame Kommandant." I nodded.
"Please, Jozef. You've graduated, you don't have to use my title." Offered the Kommandant.
"Sorry Madame Kommandant, but I don't think I can. I'm afraid I'll always think of you as the Kommandant." I refused. It was true, but then I supposed there were certain habits that were just too hard to break for everyone. I'd imagine if the Kommandant's first commander were still alive, she'd probably have a similar hangup with them.
"I suppose I can't fault you for that. Discipline is something we try to teach early, after all." Nodded the Kommandant.
"Plus, I suppose having a Baron defer to you by your title has perks of its own." Chimed in Katrina.
"I suppose it does, though one does wonder about Duchesses." Grinned the Kommandant. Katrina just offered a sly smile at that.
"So, you've won your last set of duels on Blackjack. I understand your rent for your flat is only paid till the end of the week?" Began the Kommandant.
"It is." I answered.
"So the question is what will you do now?" Asked the Commandant.
"Now? First, I'm going to smoke the rest of this Cigar, then I'm going to pack my things." I answered.
"He can do it in an afternoon, too. His flat is depressingly Spartan." Jibed Katrina.
"Now now, we don't all care for things like antique furniture or random decorations. I've seen the portraits on your walls and the armoire in your bedroom. Honestly, if your family didn't already own the estate you were staying at before you attended, I'm fairly certain they'd have to buy one just to hold all that clutter." I shot back.
"There is virtue in packing light, Lady Watson. You won't always have the luxury of an estate." Agreed the Kommandant.
"Speak for yourselves, my next posting is on the Planning Staff of the Apollo Defense Force. Unless the Archon decides to federalize all Noble House Militias, I get to serve in style." Scoffed Katrina.
"Of course, only the best for the future Duchess." I nodded sagely.
"You're damn right." Grinned Katrina.
"Moving away from this derail, after you pack, what then? Straight to the Spaceport to book passage to New Ålborg?" Queried the Kommandant.
"After I pack? After that, I have to see a Lady about a Jumpship." I responded.
"What does that even mean?" Demanded Katrina.
"I'm sorry, my Lady, but a man needs to have some secrets." I chuckled.
"Please, I've seen you in the showers during field exercises, you have no secrets from me at this point." Scoffed Katrina.
"Oh my. How scandalous." Deadpanned the Kommandant.
That caused both Katrina and I to bust out into laughter as the Kommandant gave a fond smile before walking away from the conversation. Katrina and I talked for a few more minutes before everyone else vacated the square. Katrina gave me a ride back to Roger's Cantina in her hovercar as we engaged in friendly banter and tried to pretend that she wasn't going straight to a private dropship at her Estate outside Lott's Revenge to head to Apollo after this. She wasn't the only one. I was packing for a reason, after all, and would be leaving with Captain Gomez of the Jumpship Cardenia Claremont before the day was over to head to Iron Land and the SLDF Depot and Base there. We probably wouldn't see each other again for several months to a year.
Unfortunately, no one could pretend forever. Soon enough we were both back at Roger's Cantina and though we'd agreed to stay there for a drink, we also agreed it would only be one drink. Katrina didn't have time for anything else and I had to get packing if I wanted to make my rendezvous with Captain Gomez on time. It wouldn't do for the new boss to be late on his first day, after all. We joked and reminisced for another twenty minutes or so, but eventually, I was down to my last swallow of Beer and Katrina was at the same place in her glass of wine. It was time for the part that neither of us wanted to go through. The goodbye part.
"You know, it's funny. We've been a constant presence in each other's lives since we were ten years old. You've always been there, a giant, crazy, lovable friend who had my back against all odds, no matter what. It feels strange to think we won't be seeing each other for a long time." Frowned Katrina.
"I know. We both have our new duties to see to, though. When we were kids, we didn't have those and our Fathers were rich enough that we could visit each other whenever we wanted. It's weird to think that we'll be apart for so long, prevented from visiting by our new positions." I sighed.
"We will see each other again, though? This isn't goodbye for good?" Asked Katrina.
"Hell no. You couldn't get rid of me for good if you tried. I'm afraid you're stuck with me, my Lady." I grinned.
"Good. Then this isn't goodbye, just farewell for now." Nodded Katrina.
"I'll drink to that. Farewell for now." I agreed.
Both of us raised our glasses in toast and drank the remainder of our drinks. Then we stood up and hugged each other. Honestly, Katrina was so much smaller than I was that my hug practically overwhelmed hers, my giant, six-foot, muscled, frame enveloping her shorter, petite, five-foot-nine frame. We stayed like that, hugging and wishing each other well, for just a touch longer than might be considered appropriate for a minor Periphery Baron and an Inner Sphere Ducal Heiress, but I was pretty sure neither of us cared. Unfortunately, we had to break apart to pay our tabs. Then, with a nod, Katrina was gone, heading for her estate and new posting on Apollo afterward.
With a sigh and a bittersweet feeling in my chest, I went upstairs to pack. I didn't have a whole lot. The Flat had come fully furnished, and I wasn't a Holovid Junkie like some of my classmates, needing a Holovid player and entertainment system. Most of what I did for entertainment could be done on my Noteputer when it had to be done in my flat. A single wardrobe of clothes and uniforms, my Noteputer and a box of datachips, some alcohol and food in the refrigerator that I tossed into the garbage, my Szabla which I already had on, my modified Sunbeam Laser Pistol, which I belted on, power packs for my laser pistol, my Ablative/Flak armor vest, which I put on, and my Neurohelmet and Cooling Vest. All of it could fit more or less either on my person or in the back seat of my Hovercar.
By the time I was all packed up, it was inching toward four in the afternoon. I put everything into my Hovercar and made my way back into Roger's Cantina one last time to Drop off my Flat Key. I nodded to him as I slid my Flat Key across the bartop to him. He nodded back and took the Key, pocketing it.
"So this is goodbye, then, eh?" Grinned Roger.
"Looks that way. At least until I can figure out a time to head back here." I shrugged.
"Blackjack doesn't hold reunions often. Too depressing." Offered Roger.
"Yeah, but you never know when I might need to visit someone who can get Predlitz Krupnik through the Combine Border on short notice." I responded.
"Draconis Combine Customs Officers are like Customs Officers anywhere else in the Sphere. You just gotta know how to talk to them." Shrugged Roger.
"Still, thanks for going through the trouble. And for letting me rent a flat." I said.
"No problem, just remember Ol' Roger while you're out there being Lord of the Periphery. You never know when you might need a bottle of Krupnik." Grinned Roger.
"Or when you need a favor." I smirked.
"Now you're getting it. See you around, Kid. Take care of yourself out there." Smiled Roger, holding his hand out for a handshake.
"I'll do my best. So long, Roger." I answered, shaking his hand.
That done, I got in my Hovercar and made my way to the Lott's Revenge Spaceport to meet up with Captain Gomez. As I drove through the City, I couldn't help but feel a touch of melancholy. Blackjack had been my home for the past three years, ever since my Father had gotten me a spot at the Blackjack School of Combat. I wouldn't even be going back to Butte Hold, since Redjack Ryan had confiscated our holdings there when my Father died to parcel out to a number of his lackeys. It was like I was breaking with everything I'd known in my life up to this point and heading into the future, guided only by my dead father's plans and dreams of another life.
Still, if this be my destiny, I'd seize it with both hands and not let go until I had everything I could grab within my grasp. My father had said the dreams I'd had of being another person reading about the Invasion of the Clans were a real thing, after all. My father hadn't been wrong about important things before, so I'd need to grab everything I could to resist the tide of metal and genetically engineered warriors. It would behoove me to do so in a way that ComStar wouldn't find out as well. At least until I could survive an attack aimed at crippling everything I could build. Doing so was probably going to be a long time, which meant I had to commit and not look back.
So that's what I did as I drove toward the Spaceport, committed myself to the destiny that had been thrust upon me. As I pulled up to the Lott's Revenge Spaceport, I made my way over to Dropship Pad Lambda Seven where the Leopard-class Dropship Lynx waited to take me up into orbit to meet with Captain Gomez aboard a Jumpship registered to my new LosTech prospecting Company. As I got out of the Hovercar, an older, Olive-Skinned Man wearing a shoulder rig with a holdout pistol over a white shirt greeted me. He had a Captain's insignia pinned to one of the suspenders of his shoulder rig.
"You the new boss? I'm Captain Cicerelli of the Lynx. We're just waiting on our refuel before heading back up to the Cardenia Claremont." Nodded the Captain.
"I am. Jozef Poniatowski, nice to meet you." I nodded.
"Listen, some of the other captains've been wanting to meet you. We all respected the Hell out of your Old Man, and folks've been curious what you're like. When you get done with meeting with Serena, we'll be in the Captain's Lounge on the Claremont. You can meet everyone then, yeah?" Questioned Captain Cicerelli.
"Sure thing. Just need to know where it is." I answered.
"Just ask a tech, every tech on the Claremont knows the layout of the ship better than the back of their hands. You can't go wrong with that." Grinned Captain Cicerelli
And with that, a crew of porters came out to grab my belongings and load them up into the dropship. I followed them aboard and was soon ensconced in the mess hall eating honest-to-God latkes. Apparently, my Old Man made sure to hire a chef who knew how to make several dishes that he enjoyed. Latkes, Polish Sausages, and Pierogi were all fried up daily for the crew and were surprisingly popular, even though there were fewer Poles than I expected for one of my Father's companies. The grease was just what the doctor ordered after having a couple of drinks on an empty stomach.
Soon enough, the refueling had finished and Captain Cicerelli had called for everyone to brace for Escape Velocity. The launch countdown came on over the shipwide PA system that communicated general alerts, probably for my benefit, since the Captain wanted to make a good impression on the new boss. When it reached zero, there was a rumbling in the deckplates and the ship lifted off, burning for orbit. That's where Captain Gomez and the Claremont were waiting for the rendezvous.
It's also where I'd take my first steps into my future. . .
XXXX
AN: Bit of a long one this time, but I decided to condense a lot of stuff into one chapter. This chapter marks a big transition in Jozef's life, narratively speaking, and it still isn't over yet. However, if I'd kept writing, this chapter would have been over ten thousand words, and there's no way to do that without being annoying.
Katrina will show up again in the future, her father is going to be one of Jozef's main allies in the Lyran Commonwealth going forward, and she is going to have a much bigger role to play once Jozef has everything settled in the Periphery. I don't want to incite any shippers in the audience that may be reading, but once Jozef has Butte Hold again, he'll actually be a viable candidate for a relationship with Katrina in terms of Noble Politics, which he isn't now. Whether they give that a try or not, remains to be seen.
As to the duel, most of what I wrote there are actual Sabre Techniques, though I tried to be more descriptive than just saying what move everyone was using when. Hopefully, you guys enjoyed the scene, but essentially, Miles was trained by a noble master at arms, but was inexperienced and cocky and Jozef's style of swordsmanship hasn't been in fashion among the Noble Houses since the Principality of Rasalhague was a thing. It didn't help that Jozef deliberately dressed and acted in a way that would get Miles to fall for his trap. Hopefully, that came through.
At any rate, next up will be the Meeting with Captain Gomez and we'll finally see what exactly Past Prologue pulled out of Epsilon Pegasus and the Columbus Base.
Stay tuned. . .
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone