Chapitre 1: Cp10
10
December 3, 2991
Federated Suns
Crusis March
Cholis
Morten Estate
Stephan looked over the reports on his office desk. The last of the hired survey teams had reported back, giving him a total of 103 newly scouted systems in the Morten Protectorate mapping database, but they hadn't deigned to deliver a briefing on the matter. Instead they'd just transmitted the data down to the planet and, after receiving it and asking a few follow up questions, the First Lord had released the last of their promised payment and they were now charging their jumpship's capacitors and batteries intending to get out of this system as fast as possible and onto their next employer.
The other Lords hadn't seen this yet, and he had been browsing through the results looking for any diamonds in the rough, when he'd come across a temperate planet previously not on the Federated Suns' charts that was inhabited by about 22,000 people the survey crew guessed.
And they were starving.
The Captain of the survey team had said they felt so bad for the people they left a few crates of supplies behind, but got off world as fast as they could for fear of a riot charging the jumpship and trying to get onboard. The settlers had nothing of value, the report detailed, and were largely agriculturally based with a defunct city, origin unknown, to the north of the farming settlements.
Something bad had happened there long ago and only the farmers seemed to have survived. The report indicated that a merchant ship typically stopped by once every two or three years to sell them goods in exchange for grain, but this year the weather had turned horribly bad and the fields were soaked endlessly…making it impossible to plant, let alone grow crops in the swampy marsh that had resulted.
What little stockpiles the farmers had were almost gone, and it was another 8 months until the start of a very long growing season on a planet who's year was 2.1 times the standard. The farmers could typically get in 3 or 4 crops in the same fields before the mild winter arrived, but there was only time for one more crop this year, and the fields were still a mucky mess that the farmers were working anyway trying to get something in before their supplies ran out.
Those farmers that didn't have reserves were already dead or dying, with fighting going on over what food was left, and various families joining together for self-defense against those who had turned bandit to try and survive.
Stephan knew House Morten wasn't ready for this, but these people most likely wouldn't last the winter, and according to the survey team a fifth of the population was already dead.
"Shit," he whispered as he looked over every detail that had been cataloged, on both the people and the planet. It seemed to be a decent place to live, despite the numerous mountain ranges that ate up what would otherwise have been good large plains for growing grain, but nearly half the planet was land and the gravity was only .9g, which made it appear to be a good spot to put a colony.
Except for whoever had done so. Their city had failed and mostly been abandoned, and now most of the surviving farm communities were going to die unless someone did something fast.
Even in the Inner Sphere you'd see planets like this totally ignored even if they were next door to New Avalon. Apathy was rampant there, and it didn't get any better in the Periphery.
If he didn't do something, most likely no one else would.
A knock on his door brought his head up, then it opened on its own as Grady stepped in without waiting for permission.
Not like he needed it anyway. He was basically a part of the House already, just not in name…which he had adamantly claimed he did not want. He just wanted to sit in a mech and shoot things for the rest of his life, not jockey a desk…as Stephan was doing right now.
"More trouble?" Stephan asked, exasperated.
"Not exactly. What's wrong?"
"A nice little planet nobody knows about has about 20,000 starving farmers on it that will be dead in a matter of months unless someone intervenes. How's your day been?" he asked sarcastically.
"Not that bad. Do we have enough food to send them?"
"We'll have to buy it since we don't have our own agriculture yet, but with that small of a population I think we can squeeze Cholis for it. But I wasn't ready to start claiming inhabited planets yet. Particularly ones that bandits seem to frequent."
"You need me out there?" Grady asked, and Stephan was damn glad he and some 62 other mechwarriors from Neubenn were already here with mechs ready to use…for the most part.
"Yesterday."
"How spread out is the community?"
"Mostly farms, so it's stretched. There's one dead city a few people live in. Not much there, and the fields have been so wet they've turned into muck…hence the food shortage."
"Mechs handle muck just fine as long as it isn't more than a few feet deep. How many people do you want me to take?"
"I've only got one jumpship here…not counting the Sequoia…and this is a two jump journey so I can't send it without burning an extra month those people don't have. That means two dropships and whatever cargo we can get on the jumpship, which isn't much."
"Can we steal two of the Ovo's from the Star's Herald?"
"Ovo's?"
"Oversized Overlords," Grady explained. "It's what people have been calling them."
"I like that better than 'ticks,' but they have no weaponry on them. They're pure cargo ships maxed out for every ton they can carry."
"One and one then?"
Stephan nodded. "I'm just wishing we'd bought a Merchant-class with a modification to mount more than two…and I can't buy or rent any more jumpships in time. I already inquired of our survey team, but they said they don't do cargo work and I don't have any way to make them. We have to move now."
"If you can get an OVO loaded, I can get a Company put together fast enough. Are we dropping off supplies or intending to stay?"
"What happens if raiders come and steal the supplies a few weeks after you leave?"
Grady grimaced. "Right, laddie. I wasn't thinking."
"Which means I've also got to send construction crews and the whole damn show that I'm not set up to do yet. We're almost ready to launch the Drymo mission and now this hits me."
"Can you just divert those assets to the other planet?"
"No, I'm afraid not. A lot of it is mining gear and stuff to build habitats on a dry world underground."
"Mud," Grady reiterated. "How's that for irony?"
"If you ever find irony, shoot it for me. That's a standing order."
"So we just dive into this and I hold the planet while you figure out the other stuff?"
"While Sarah and I figure out the other stuff. But we've got to get the first shipment of food there fast."
"No problem on my end. I'll get enough volunteers without having to order it. We've lived off dropships before…or at least I have. Other than being cramped it's not that bad."
"We've got enough prefab shelter kits lying around that you'll have something more than that, but they'll have to come in the second run. You'll be alone on the planet without a jumpship."
"If you never see it, you hardly realize it be there anyway. Not a problem."
"Three days, four tops," Stephan said, knowing that's how long it would take one of the 'Ovo's' to get down here…and hopefully with supply trucks waiting to load it up if Sarah could work her magic with the Brinestorm merchants.
"Consider it done," he said with a nod as his beard bobbed slightly with the movement. "However, before you get moving on this, there is another matter at hand."
Stephan's eyes narrowed. "What?"
"Arne is about to reach his quota of weeks served."
"Already?"
"Yeah, the laddie is a little eager beaver. I asked him where he wanted to go afterwards, and he said he wanted to know if there was some employment with us available. He didn't care if it was grunge work, he just wants to stay. Go figure that."
"What do you think?"
"I think you should have a talk with him and figure it out yourself," Grady deflected. "I'm not suggesting it, and I'm not nixing it. I haven't seen any red flags personally, but he is a bandit after all."
"Give me an hour to get Sarah up to speed, then I'll meet you at his quarters…or is he in the simulators?"
"He'll be in his quarters by now. It's almost dinner time."
Stephan looked at the clock, belatedly realizing he'd been staring at these reports for three hours, then stood up and rushed out, carrying the one in question with him as he went to find Sarah, hoping she could pull off a small miracle.
Arne was eating his tray of hot food delivered by a guard when there was a knock on the door. He looked up startled, because that had never happened before. There was always a knock at assigned times, for he'd never gotten a visitor and his schedule had never altered so much as five minutes.
The knock repeated again and he hurried to the door, not wanting to piss off whoever it was. He undid the bolt lock and opened it up to see the Mech Commander Gradir McCloud standing there with a stern look on his face.
"Yes sir?" Arne asked.
"You have company," he said, motioning Arne back as Security Chief Roger Penstrife followed him into the small living room, followed closely by First Lord Morten himself.
Arne Keev glanced around at the not so tidy quarters. "If I'd known I would have cleaned up first," he apologized.
"I've seen worse," Stephan said, pointing to the kitchen table. "Sit."
Stephan sat down opposite him while the other two men stood. Roger at his side with Grady walking around behind Arne and leaning against a wall so he could watch all three of them.
"Why do you want to stay?" the First Lord asked bluntly.
Arne had been expecting someone to ask him that, just not the head of House Morten.
"This is the most professional outfit I've ever seen. Even under house arrest you've given me better quarters than any of my former employers. Frankly, I don't want to go back to being a mercenary. I'd rather sweep floors here, if nothing else."
"You'd rather sweep my floors than pilot a mech again?"
"No, that's not what I meant. I don't have a mech anymore, and I don't think anybody is going to hire me to pilot theirs with a long list of more qualified candidates ahead of me. When my Centurion got trashed, that was the end of it. So all things being equal, I'd rather sweep floors in a place like this than live a less comfortable life elsewhere doing something I hated doing. At least here the location is good."
"And the simulator work?"
"I'd be happy to keep on doing it, if that's what you wanted of me."
"Better than sweeping floors?"
"Hell yes…sir."
"But you're still not willing to divulge information about the Red Baron?"
Keev tightened up so much it looked like his face was going to pop a blood vessel. "I mean no disrespect to you, sir, but I cannot betray a former employer. If there's one thing I have left it's that scrap of honor. I can't give it away. And if you become my new employer, I'd show you the same loyalty, sir."
"Then let's talk hypothetical, Arne. Say the Red Baron comes back here, and half of my mechwarriors are down sick and can't pilot, so I put some of the trainees and you into a mech to fill the slots. What happens then when it becomes current employer versus former employer? Where do your loyalties lie?"
"I said former for a reason, sir. When I was left here, my employment ended. I owe him nothing but my silence on his secrets. If I were to face off against him in one of your mechs, I'd do my damnest to kill him."
"Why?"
"My current employer takes priority, sir."
"But why kill him? Why not just defeat him or drive him off? Do you have something against him?"
"A great deal that I can't speak of, sir. But it's safe to say I never liked the man. I was just in it for the money."
Stephan's eyes glanced up to Grady, who just shrugged silently.
"Mr. Keev," Stephan said icily, forgoing his first name. "I'm about to give you a single shot at redemption. Waste it, and I'll boot you out the door so hard you won't feel the ground until you hit New Avalon. Is that clear?"
"Yes sir…I mean, no sir. I mean…what do you mean 'redemption?'"
"I have grunge work that needs done, and I'd like to spare my experienced warriors some of it if I can. I'm sending a heavy Company of mechs plus two scouts to an uninhabited planet. It's got a breathable atmosphere but no water in it, so you have to wear breath masks or you'll quickly dehydrate. It's not a nice place to be, and you'll have to live off dropships until the construction crews get something suitable built for habitation, but it'll put you back in the cockpit of a mech again. Bad duty, but still duty. Interested?"
Keev stood up so fast and saluted he nearly knocked his chair over. "Wholeheartedly, sir. I won't let you down."
"I haven't even mentioned pay yet."
"I don't care if you pay me or not if I can get back in a mech again."
"Given how much this expedition is costing, I might hold you to that," Stephan said, standing up and gently returning the salute. "Welcome to the House Morten mech corps. You can take your meals with the others from now on, but Roger is going to show you where you're permitted to go and where you're not. We won't have a guard on you anymore, and if you wander where you're not supposed to be even once you're out. So don't go exploring."
"I won't, sir. I promise."
"I leave him in your hands," Stephan said as he glanced to Roger and walked out, with Grady staying behind to further help with the quick indoctrination lessons as he was now under his command.
Keev didn't waste time wondering what was going on. He had a chance to pilot a mech again! So he just dove in head first and didn't look back, listening and nodding and making sure to put to memory everything both of them said.
Tomorrow morning he wouldn't be in the simulators. He'd be tested in an actual Phoenix Hawk, weapons deactivated, and put through some maneuvering workouts on the trails here. Within a month he'd be on another planet helping to provide security for a colonization construction effort.
His entire universe had just flipped upside down. He just hoped he could land on his feet, especially after Grady said no alcohol was allowed for mechwarriors.
Being a mechwarrior trumps getting drunk any day…and I'm already sober. I just have to make sure I stay that way if someone puts a beer in front of me. But if I can't do that I don't deserve a mech again. Their mech, their rules.
But I'm back to being someone again, not just another spec in a crowd of millions of nobodies. And with this lot, I'm not just somebody, I'm a respectable somebody. Now that's a first. A noble family's personal militia. The pay must really suck.
As he'd told First Lord Morten, he didn't really care about that. Being in a mech was all that mattered. And being in a mech alongside others who he didn't have to worry about shooting in the back on purpose was going to be a luxury.
Grunge work? Hardly. This was paradise.
And even after Commander Grady and the Security Chief left, he still couldn't believe what had just happened.
Three days later…
"It's always like this," a tech said as he pulled a large cubical crate containing the Vtol pilot's gear on a motorized dolly across the tarmac towards the largest Overlord-class dropship Jasmine had ever seen. "People think it's all fun and games, endless training, no action…then bam!" he yelled, clapping a free hand on the side of the crate. "The action finds you and the Mortens don't waste any time chasing it."
"You've been with them a long time?" Jasmine Targen asked as she paced the tech on the long walk towards the massive egg-shaped dropship while a smaller Union-class was being loaded with mechs on a nearby pad.
"Forty two years," he said with pride. "I was left behind when they were kicked off Neubenn by that Davion ass hole, but they found a way to get us here…those that wanted to come. So I'm back at it again and loving every second I'm away from those damn Derrens. They're fucking ruining our old planet, you know? They're not even wasting any time at it. Fired me and a bunch of the guys as soon as they had an excuse. Apparently our salaries cost too much. Irony has it, if they hadn't, I wouldn't have ended up here, so, sometimes trouble is a blessing I guess."
"I hope you're right about that," the Vtol pilot said, having been recruited off Chirikof at the promise of triple the pay she'd been getting there, but getting to Cholis only two weeks ago. A few simulator runs in that she was told she'd have to prove herself on to get active duty…and now she was being thrown into it before she'd even begun to pass their tests due to some emergency.
"Don't worry, lady. The Morten's never intentionally throw you into something expecting to lose people. They're careful that way, but when they see an opportunity to act they don't hold back. I just hope you've brought enough skills with you. I didn't even know we had any Vtols until the loading orders came."
"There are only six pilots in the training program, but I already know how to fly. I've been doing it for 18 years."
"Probably why they hired you then. Good timing, I guess."
"Yeah," she said, glancing back over her shoulder at an odd sound. A weird type of crane she'd never seen before, driving on some 8 wheels, had just risen up onto the pad carrying one of their helicopters in a semi-open crate. The rotors were off and stashed inside, along with what looked like padding at all the key points. "Why are our birds disassembled and boxed up?"
"Can't help it. We're got orders to load as many food crates as possible. Even one extra could save the lives of a small village for a week."
"What do you know about the mission? They didn't tell us jack squat."
"Starving planet, House Morten to the rescue…some things never change."
"They've done this before?"
"All the damn time, though this is the biggest rush job I've ever seen. Then again, we're all short staffed here. It takes times to build up a work force from scratch, you know."
"No I don't. I was just told the pay was good. I have no idea what's going on out here."
The tech smiled back at her. "Empire-building. House Morten has got a commission from the First Prince to come out to the Periphery and start claiming worlds for themselves…all independent like. You've signed on to a Periphery nation, believe it or not."
"How many planets do they have?" she asked, not really caring so long as the pay was good and she didn't get any shit duties…like being a bed warmer for a superior officer. That's the crap that had convinced her to go into the freelance market and get as far away from the Lyrans as possible.
"None. This is just their base of operations. Where you're going, might be the first. Don't know if this is a short rescue mission or they're moving in for keeps. I just know people are starving and you're delivering the supplies."
"Delivering?" she asked. "I thought we'd be flying cover?"
"Your birds have been fitted with wenches and drop racks. You're going to be cargo delivering too. I'd bet my month's salary on it," he said as they finally got to the ramp and skittered up the side as a low platform vehicle inched its way up beside them carrying a stack of meter-wide crates filled with emergency ration bars."
"Please tell me they left us some weapons?"
The tech smiled again. "Always. The Mortens love weapons. They're just kinda particular about when you use them. But you always got em."
"Good," she said, following the tech to a lift on the side of the massive bay where a mountain of crates already existed…along with two more Vtols in crates, stacked up on top of each other. "You weren't kidding about tight packing."
"I never kid about my work," he said, pulling her gear crate onto the lift along with her and rising up slowly to the height of a catwalk that ringed the bay.
"Where are we going?"
"I'm taking you to your quarters, and your gear has to go with you," he said apologetically.
"Tight packing," she repeated, not looking forward to this dropship trip. "Do I report to someone or just go along for the ride?"
"Ops officer, name's Carrensky. He'll find you shortly. House Morten is a tidy lot. We don't lose track of people or cargo. You'll like it here…if you're not one of the blood thirsty types. They don't last long here."
"Why not?"
"The Mortens don't allow gratuitous killing. They're more the prisoner taking type."
"Well that's good to hear," she said, memories of missiles firing down on crowds flashing into her mind and then banished immediately. She'd put the past behind her and it needed to stay there.
"Here you are," he said, finding a crew compartment door that opened up into what looked like a barracks…packed tight with bunks and storage crates.
"Are you sure there's room?" she asked skeptically.
"You're the last in here, but there's room," he said, expertly maneuvering the dolly inside and finding a small space underneath the remaining open bunk to slip it under. A bunk that you had to use a short ladder to mount…though in zero g that wouldn't matter, but if they were going to pull more than 1 g getting out to the jump point, it could matter greatly with a misstep, fall, and broken bones.
"Gotta go, lady. Nice meeting you…and good luck."
"Thank you," she said, eyeing the other pilots she'd met before, all of them Vtol. She hadn't seen any aerospace pilots yet, or their fighters. Then again, they couldn't carry cargo while the Vtols could.
"The things I do for a paycheck," she muttered, climbing up on the bunk and deciding to sit down and wait until this Carrensky found her…
5 days later…
The Gamma Stridercame into the unnamed system around the second star's Nadir jump point. It was a binary system, meaning two stars in the center that orbited around one another…which also meant 4 jump points to work with rather than two, and the ship's Captain had chosen the larger of the pair, giving them more room to enter. As was customary, they emerged dead center in the zone, then allowed the jumpship to begin drifting down towards the star ever so slowly to move them out of the center in case another ship would arrive.
While it was unlikely that two ships would emerge in the exact same point, it had happened before, so prudence had you entered at the center then migrated towards the edges…though they could have come out at any point within the jump point zone. Targeting the exact location from lightyears away was not for the light-hearted, but hitting the exact center was the easiest jump possible. Two ships jumping in tandem was harder, because they had to NOT hit the center. A whole fleet jumping simultaneously was virtually unheard of except in Star League legend. Normally they'd come in one or two at a time, then drift away from center, clearing it for the next group to arrive a set number of minutes later.
And since they weren't arriving with any orbital speed, the easiest way to clear the center was to just let the star's gravity pull you rather than use the thrust engines to push you further away.
As it was, there was no arrival incident here, nor the previous system they'd entered mere hours before. Thanks to the batteries on the jump ship, they could actually make two jumps in sequence…something the Sequoias could not do…and it had gotten the Gamma Strider here a grand total of 3 hours and 22 minutes after it had left Cholis.
The two dropships immediately disconnected and began thrusting towards the distant planet at 1.4 g…which was unusual for a Morten mission, but every day they could shave off the otherwise 13 day trip at 1 g thrust could save some more lives. So the crews had to suffer through the extra gravity created by the constant thrust, but the exchange was they'd be in space for almost 4 days less time.
Pushing the Human body beyond the norm was damaging, and while some missions for other Houses might see them pushing 2g…or even higher for some truly fanatical people…House Morten protocol was to keep it at or near 1g at all times.
But this was a time dependent emergency, so they were pushing the envelope a little…but wise enough not to push it too much.
Grady, riding in the Golden Pearl, was able to get some recent surface scans during the last day, with nothing to note of difference compared to the survey team scans. He chose an area of slightly higher elevation to the south of the center of the populated area, but a little north of the southernmost village. Most of the terrain was covered by farms, some small, some plantation-sized, and by the time the dropships had begun their descent into the atmosphere another front line had passed through, obscuring the surface with more clouds and more rain.
The dropships pushed through it easily enough, though he was sure he heard at least two lightning strikes on the hull that probably did armor damage, but everything inside was insulated so there was no loss of power or engine disruption. He stayed on the bridge as they set down on a hilltop that had been cleared of trees by farmers long ago…and in fact there was one house and barn a few hundred meters off. No doubt the occupants…if they still lived…were scared shitless as the two dropships came down on jets of fire that created steam clouds in the last few meters as they vaporized the water standing in a few small puddles on the hilltop.
Grady felt the ship list to the side as it landed, but the gear immediately compensated and evened it out. The hill's incline was gradual enough for the adjustment to happen, and he guessed the mud thickness up here would be less than elsewhere. He was glad he'd guessed right, for after that little adjustment the dropship held firm as the engines fully cut out.
It was night outside, and large flood lights illuminated the field they stood in…all of which was mud, no plants to speak of, but there was a small light on in the farm house, so somebody was apparently here.
"Start the unloading," he ordered the Captain. "Some of these people may not have many hours left in them, and we're not waiting til morning."
The next day, well past midday, Jared Simol Franson woke up from a nap in his rocking chair as an odd sound struck him. Malnourished and rationing what little food he had left, the 72 year old barely craned his neck up, not wanting to waste the energy checking on something that would be other than robbers. His livestock had already been stolen and killed, leaving him with only a cellar of beef jerky and some potatoes. The village shop had run out of food some two months ago, and his neighbors were stealing everything in sight to try and stay alive.
One of them lay dead out in his yard. He'd shot the kid when he'd tried breaking into his house, but he was too weak to do anything with the body other than drag it away from the broken window. But when Jared heard the sound of machines, he pried himself up out of the chair, dizziness forcing him to hold still for a few moments to get his balance, then he grabbed his shotgun and slowly walked to the door, opening it with stiff joints that ached more each day, and poked his head outside behind the barrel of his weapon.
He couldn't see anything on the road, but soon he realized the sound was coming from the air. And as if a huge bird passed over the treetops to the south, a helicopter like he hadn't seen since immigrating here came up over his house and hovered there, blowing wind down that scattered what little hair he had left.
Jared had no idea who they were, but if they were going to assault his house, at least he'd die fighting. Maybe that'd be better than waiting until his food finally ran out.
The helicopter…which many people just referred to as a Vtol, but was actually a specific type of 'Vertical Take Off and Landing' vehicle…hovered in place, nearby the single large tree near his house, with his barren fields spread all around as a light rain continued to come down and soak them. But as he looked up, ready to take a shot back but not going to waste ammunition at this range if he could help it, he saw a side door open up and something was dropped out.
It was a small box with a parachute on it…which did little more than to slow it's fall…before it crashed down into the mud outside.
The door on the helicopter slammed shut and the Vtol turned and flew off to the northwest, causing Jared to wonder if he had just hallucinated the whole thing. What the hell had just happened?
He waited a long time for the sound to go away, and then waited even longer looking and listening for any of his neighbors. After a while, with nothing seeming to happen, he opened his door and walked out through the mud…taking small steps so he wouldn't slip again…and approached the box ready to shoot it if need be.
When he got up to it, he saw it was a crate with two latches on the front and an envelope taped to the top. He ignored that and undid one of the latches, finding it hurt his hands to do so, but he still had the strength left in them to pry it open…for it wasn't rusted shut like so many other things on his farm. When it made a loud pop he looked up and around, wondering if anyone had heard it. After a few minutes of gazing every which way, especially down the road, he went about popping open the second latch which freed the case top.
He lifted it up, shocked beyond all measure to see rows of ration bars sealed inside individual plastic wrappers next to a line of bottles that contained colored water. Jared grabbed one of the bars, fiddling with the wrapper as his fingers were wet and it didn't want to tear open…so he just bit into the corner, tasting plastic and food so good he could have cried at once, but he didn't swallow. Instead he spit it into his hand and pulled the plastic off, then put the chunk of the ration bar back into his mouth and ate it.
His first instinct was to conserve, but he had a crate full of these bars, so he peeled off the now broken wrapper and nibbled away at it, feeling his stomach get so full he could barely finish it.
He had to get this crate inside the house nowbefore someone else found it.
He shut the lid and lifted…to no avail. It was too damn heavy for his weak body. But as he tried to pull it, it moved a few inches. So he did that, over and over again, and halfway to the house the food must have finally got into his system, for his strength started to return and he could pull it a foot or two at a time, and continued to do so all the way through his front door, turning to shut and lock it after he hurried back to get his shot gun that he'd completely forgotten about.
He dropped into his rocking chair, not believing he'd had the strength to do that…but also not understanding where this had come from. These ration bars…he'd never seen them in a store…and who would be giving them to him? He didn't know anybody that would even give a damn.
His eyes returned to the crate that was now sitting beside his rocker, and he saw three sides of the envelope on top were taped. The fourth was held shut by a small metallic pin. It took him a moment to realize he had to bend the pin to open it, but when he did there were two pieces of paper inside. One had pictures, the other was a letter that read the following.
AS OF TODAY, HOUSE MORTEN IS CLAIMING DOMINION OVER THIS WORLD AND ITS POPULATION. WE WILL PROVIDE YOU WITH FOOD NOW, AND MUCH MORE LATER AS WE REBUILD THIS WORLD. WE DO NOT KNOW WHAT LED TO THIS CATASTROPHE, AND ONLY RECENTLY DID WE EVEN LEARN THIS PLANET EXISTED.
YOU ARE NOW PART OF THE MORTEN PROTECTORATE, AND WHAT THAT MEANS IS NOT IMPORTANT AT THE MOMENT. GETTING EVERYONE FED IS. DO NOT FIGHT OVER THESE CRATES, SHARE THEM. THERE ARE MANY MORE COMING. WE HAVE FOOD ENOUGH FOR EVERYONE, AND WE WANT EVERY SINGLE PERSON STILL ALIVE TO BE REHABILITATED, BUT WE NEED HELP FINDING EVERYONE AND SPREADING THE WORD. IF YOU ARE ABLE TO HELP US WITH THIS TASK, PLEASE DO.
IF YOU ARE NOT, THEN KEEP YOURSELVES ALIVE UNTIL WE CAN ARRIVE THROUGH HONORABLE MEANS. A TRAGEDY LIKE THIS ONE BRINGS OUT THE WORST IN PEOPLE, AND WE DO NOT CARE WHAT HAS HAPPENED PREVIOUSLY. TODAY IS AN NEW DAY, AND THE ONLY COST FOR THESE RELIEF SUPPLIES IS THAT YOU FOREGO ANY VENGEANCE AGAINST YOUR FELLOW PEOPLE FOR WHAT MAY HAVE OCCURRED HERE. WE WANT EVERYONE TO LIVE, AND WE WILL JUDGE YOU ON HOW YOU BEHAVE TODAY GOING FORWARD. IF YOU WANT TO HATE OTHERS FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE FOR THINGS THAT HAVE HAPPENED, THEN DO SO, BUT DO NOT HARM THEM. EVERYONE IS UNDER OUR PROTECTION NOW, AND THESE FOOD SHIPMENTS SHOULD BE MORE VALUABLE TO YOU THAN YOUR VENGENACE.
IT WILL TAKE TIME FOR US TO TAKE FULL POSSESSION OF THE PLANET AND DEAL WITH ALL ITS PROBLEMS. FOR NOW, FOCUS ON THE FOOD AND HELPING EACH OTHER GET TO IT. THE ENCLOSED MAP SHOWS THE LOCATION OF OUR DROPSHIPS. HOT MEALS WILL BE WAITING FOR ANYONE WHO CAN ARRIVE THERE WHILE WE WILL CONTINUE TO DROP RELIEF CRATES TO THE PEOPLE WHO CANNOT TRAVEL.
PLEASE DO NOT SHOOT MY PEOPLE WHEN THEY ARRIVE TO DELIVER FOOD OR TAKE A CENSUS OF EVERYONE STILL ALIVE. THEY ARE FRIENDS HERE TO HELP YOU. IF YOU DO NOT BELIEVE THIS MESSAGE, THEN BELIEVE THE FOOD WE ARE GIVING YOU. FEAR, MISTRUST, AND DANGER ARE EVERYWHERE. WE BRING THE POWER OF CIVILIZATION FROM OFFWORLD, AND THAT POWER IS TO SAVE, REHABILIATED, AND UPLIFT.
THIS IS WHAT WE WILL DO HERE IN TIME. RIGHT NOW JUST EAT AND HOLD ON. HELP IS ON THE WAY.
Paul Morten
Lord of Economics Management For
House Morten and the Morten Protectorate
Jared couldn't believe what he was reading. He had no idea who this Paul Morten was, or the Morten Protectorate, and right now he didn't care that they were here to probably steal his land. They'd just given him enough food to last for months.
He'd never expected anyone from offworld would come and help. The Taurian Concordat was so far away, he didn't think they'd ever help. Was this House Morten from there? Or was this Morten Protectorate another Periphery state?
Jared had no clue what was going on…but something good had finally happened. Whoever this new noble house was, they had his loyalty already. He didn't have very many years left of life in him anyway, and it looked like he wasn't going to end up starving to death now…which is more than he'd been hoping for, just trying to make it one more day at a time and hold onto what little he had.
He understood the warning in the message too. These Mortens didn't want people fighting over the new food or following up on vendettas. And as much as he'd like to end the entire Brady family for what they'd done to his wife, he wasn't going to do anything to offend the hand that was now feeding him.
And besides, vengeance wouldn't bring back the dead.
But if one of those bastards showed up at his door, he was going to shoot first. With any luck, he'd never see any of them again for however long he continued to live.
But he would live to see tomorrow. He could already feel it.
Jared decided to take the letter at its word and reached down to grab another ration bar…as well as one of the bottles. He opened it first and took a sip…finding it tasted like sugar, only better. He drank a quarter of it then put the cap back on, then nibbled on another ration bar for the next hour. His stomach had gotten so small it couldn't hold it all at once.
Then he drifted off to sleep in his rocking chair, and for the first time in a long time, he could actually dream again…as his shotgun hung across his lap, ready for action if need be to defend his new stash of food.
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone