Debauchery Worlds 37 (Patreon)

Commissioned by Southmonk

Debauchery Worlds

Chapter 37

-VB-

Major Michael Anderson

Acre Rose, David II, Federated Suns

2981.08.04

Polis … was gone. 

Michael still remembered his favorite corner ramen stop, the clothing store that had once tried its best to bring fashion to an otherwise drab Combine world, and so much more. 

And now, there was almost nothing left of the city. 

Only two areas of the city survived: the extreme outer edge and the Marris Mercenary Company’s compound. 

And he was back in that compound for an unofficial inspection. 

See, the last reported number of dropships operated by the Marris Mercenaries was under fifty. 

That was no longer true. A cursory count of the dropships still moving mined space ores from the asteroid rings to the company’s factories now numbered in the low hundreds. This, of course, made the Leftenant Colonel Yeslie. After a week-long count of the busy dropships netted a count of one hundred thirteen dropships, the colonel ordered him to go and see what the hell was going on in the mercenary compound. Sufficed to say, he was not happy about the fact that a mercenary group that almost no one heard about before had more dropships than any other mercenary companies, including long-lived and successful ones like the Northwind Highlanders.

Hell, the McCormack’s Fusiliers, a venerable mercenary company under the Northwind Highlanders, operated a regiment of battlemechs and they only had twenty-one dropships! 

He lamented. Just how much bigger were the Marris Mercenaries going to become? Where did they get their materials and manpower? 

There were theories among the upper brass. The presence of heavily modified humans suggested that they must have some connection with the Magistracy of Canopus, whose advanced (or rather not deteriorated) medical technologies allowed for cybernetic and genetic augmentations. But no dropships and jumpships moved between David II and the antispinward, rimward Periphery nation. 

‘But then again, they have technology that no one has,’ Michael thought to himself as his driver came to a stop at the expanded compound walls of the mercenary company. 

He got out of the jeep and looked up at the looming scorched walls that the mercenaries had opted to not clean up, wearing the damages of a nuclear attack like a glorified scar. The gate was also similarly scarred, though unlike the walls, the gates looked like they had been repaired. 

He glanced behind him and saw the ruined city, which had a number of Marris mercs in hazmat suits doing clean-ups. 

Yes, apparently, the mercenaries took up the role of temporary government during the brief anarchy and started a number of projects, one of which included the radioactive waste clean-up and rejuvenation of Polis. 

Not that there were many people here to appreciate the shockingly generous effort.

Michael knew that the leftenant colonel allowed it and other projects like it to continue, though he did so very begrudgingly because, well, the First Prince said to leave the mercs alone. He also knew, secretly, that the colonel was more than happy to leave things like policing to the mercs, who weren’t getting paid for it right now. It may change in the future, but the merc-hating leftenant colonel was content to let it continue as it was. 

‘Maybe he’s even thinking about using it as a tool to bludgeon them later,’ Michael thought derisively. ‘“Look at these awful corrupt mercenaries beating down on the people!” or some drivel like it.’

It wouldn’t be the first time in the Federated Suns’ history.

Before he pulled out his radio to contact the mercenaries, the daunting double gates opened on their own. Metal gates groaned and ground as they slid into the walls, no doubt into pre-planned slots, and then finally stopped with a heavy crash. 

Michael cocked his head once before straightening and walking on through.

He noticed a pair of Marris Mercenary guards, recognizable for their red and white power armors, anti-material laser rifles, and fully-closed helmets. At least, those were the outfit of patrol and guard duty soldiers. 

“Major,” the one on his left nodded. “Welcome to Marris Home.”

He blinked. “Oh, you finally gave the place a name,” he remarked. “Did I miss the naming ceremony?”

The guard shrugged. “It’s what our people are calling the compound. We don’t care for names. Officially, this is David II - Factory Compound.”

“Ah. I see. And by your people, you are referring to your non-standard appearance humans, right?”

“Yes.”

He nodded. “I see. Well, I’m here today because my nominal superior is upset about the number of dropships you are operating right now.”

The guard gestured for him to follow while the other guard stepped aside, and he followed the guard to a four story bare plastic, glass, and steel building right next to the gate. Once inside, he followed the guard through the barebones office building to a private meeting room that had an oval table, half a dozen chairs, and a Tri-Vid projector at the center of the table. The guard nodded and left, leaving him alone in the room. He sat down and waited. 

Within a handful of minutes, the Tri-Vid projector turned on and the 3D image of Commander Marris showed up smoothly with stable yellow mesh base. 

“Welcome back, Major Anderson.”

“Thank you for the welcome, commander. May I assume you have already heard?” he asked. He knew that the guard’s helmets have intercom in them, so either guard he met could have reported it in.

“Yes, I did. And, officially, you can tell your ‘nominal’ superior that I can have as many as I want because I can make as many as I want.”

“And to the First Prince?”

Because that was his real job now. He wasn’t just the AFFS mercenary liaison. No, he was the First Prince’s liaison to the Marris Mercenaries. 

“I did say that I was going to operate independently from now on, didn’t I? I’m still going to fight the Combine.”

Michael stared at the commander’s face before his jaw almost dropped. 

“You’re going to wage a war … with the Combine?” he asked.

He knew that they had some fantastical technologies, including those FTL methods that was just out of this world and his imagination, but even then, it couldn’t possibly give Marris enough advantage to -.

“Oh,” he muttered. “Those dropships are all modular, aren’t they? They’re only mining right now because you’re assembling your forces.”

Commander Marris grinned. “Yes, I am. Isn’t it a good thing that I am on the side of the Federated Suns?”

Michael nodded slowly. “Yes. But … what will you do once you remove all Combine presence on a world?”

“It’ll be mine.”

He stared at the commander. “Yours.”

“Yes. Mine. Not the Federated Sun’s.”

“You intend to set up an independent nation…?”

The thought was … 

It’s never been done before. No mercenary company just has stopped taking contracts, conquer a core world at the heart of the Inner Sphere, and then declare themselves a nation. 

“It will simply not be a Federated Suns system or that of any nation. I am not interested in nation building.”

The man spoke contradiction with the surety of an idiot. 

He wasn’t going to argue over the legalities, consequences, or even the logic of it all. Instead, he nodded. “I see.” But he did not see. “I will … rely this information to the First Prince.”

“Speaking of whom, his Stomata is ready for the light commodore to take to New Avalon. I also left a few crates of our latest infantry weapons and power armors for him to enjoy as well. And before you ask, no, we will not be selling our more advanced weapons and armors for some time.”