LaSalle’s
Tuesday after lunch
Commander Joshua Bourne was having a rough day. Tech crews have been putting in an inordinate amount of Leave Requests and Sick Calls recently. Damn that Ginger Witch for putting out that cash reward for Chroniode Fragments. Now every tech geek who can read a scanner is out gallivanting through every remote area in the quadrant
.
Why is this such a bad thing and why does it have the Commander sitting in this particular spot you might ask? Well, with the sudden increase in absentees, equipment isn’t being researched, incorporated, and installed. Meaning mechs aren’t not only getting upgraded, but are getting behind on repairs as well. Which also is aggravated further with the increase of patrol hours being spent because tech engineers are loose in the Wilderness without as much as a 20 sided die for their defense. Combine these things with the fact that he was informed by Marshall Brose that this was all “his problem” now and you have a trifecta of why this qualifies as a rough day.
So five Gargleblasters into Lunch, Cmdr. Bourne sat. This day was not going to get better he could tell. Or was it… It was about this time that he heard a commotion down at the other end of the bar.
Half-Baked Harrison was getting into a heated exchange with the bartender. Dressed in Snavurm slacks, jacket, vest, and hat, Harrison cut quite the figure these days. Before the Drochah War, Harrison had been trying to sell people on the idea of Snavurm Skin Hats as protection against the electro-magnetic effects of Dreadwings. The thing was, no one knew of the existence of the beasties yet so no one had a clue to what he was blathering about. Fast forward one year and every pilot has a Snavurm lined headpiece or hat from Harrison’s backers. He had hit it big. This does not mean however that at any given time in a local drinking establishment that Harrison has two bits to rub together.
“Harrison! What’s all that noise you’re goin’ on about down there! Leave that poor Bartender alone so that he can pour us a couple glasses while you tell me what the scoop is.”
Bourne needed a distraction. Sometimes the best way to solve a problem was to let your eyes lose focus for just a second, and this was the perfect opportunity. Besides, Half-Baked was excellent company once you were a few Gargleblasters into a long lunch.
“It’s not my fault Commander! He called me a half-wit! Anyone who knows me knows for a fact that I’m 100% full-wit! Maybe even 175%!”
“It’s okay bud, I know your credentials. So what gives? What’s got you all excited?”
“Well I was out in the backside of Rizpah, when I ran into my old friend Speedy McDougal who just happened to have some juicy gossip.”
“Do tell!”
The bartender had just shown up with another Gargleblaster and what looked like a glass of Ambershard Squeezins’, only stinkier. Bourne pushed the drink over to Harrison with a gloved hand.
“Well. You remember back when the Rook was being developed and put into the Cogwerk ranks? Of course you do. Anyway, another thing happening about that time was the discovery of biological mecha, most specifically the Gigus. Why make this comparison you ask? Shut it. Let a man talk, yeesh. Where was I, okay. Well one of the Gigus discoveries was that cockpit of theirs that swallows the pilot through an extendable esophagus. Now what would happen you s’pose if you took one of these organic cockpits and put it onto a niode mech? Being as how they had both mechas available they tried it. What they came up with was the only Bio IT driven Rook to ever be made. They say that things got a little weird with the organic couplers when they came in connection with the niodium interchanges and the IT sorta “took over” the process and did it all on its own. Once completed, it broke from its moorings, found its pilot, swallowed him, then blasted out of orbit. Honestly, most were dumbfounded and didn’t quite know what to make of it. Luckily discoveries of the Skriag and the Nakshi were happening as well so they decided to just sweep it under the rug as a failed weekend project.”
“That’s quite a bit of back story for a drinking binge on Rizpah that has you so riled up today. Where’s this going Harrison?”
Bourne had caught the bartender’s eye and signaled for two more. This was getting good, and he wasn’t about to let anything get in the way of not hearing the ending.
“Well the thing lives out there by Speedy and it’s been driving him nuts. Its name is Hummer and it’s been living off of Dreadwings.”
“Wait, what?”
Bourne sat upright as things had just gotten interesting.
“How in the… did you see it?”
“Oh yeah, it’s most depressing. He scavenges ammo from old battle sites, shooting down Dreadwings as they fly over and eats them. Broadcasts his life story over all the short range frequencies, he’s really quite the pouty drama queen, always going on with the ‘Oh, no one understands me, I’m such a loner, why won’t anyone listen, life is just a cold vacuum’ I couldn’t take more than a week, it’s pathetic really.”
“Okay, wait a minute. So what you’re saying is, is that there is a weird Rook/Gigus chimera mech, running around in the jungle, eating Dreadwings and acting like a Goth Punk.”
“For starters, yes.”
“For starters…”
“That’s what I said! For starters! Anyway, Speedy was telling me about this time, say ten or so months before the last clan wars when Hummer had a big day.”
“A big day…”
“Blast, you’re just like a parrot! Quiet!”
“So like I was saying, Hummer had this big day. It was like every other day where Hummer wakes everyone up with his morose squawking, when something answered him. It was a Yallan that was suffering some damage from a recent attack by some Drochah forces that had left it confused and alone. Hummer went over to it, did that mecha talking thingy then went off into the jungle interior for a bit while the Yallan sort of hunkered down and waited.
After a bit, Hummer came back with a few servos and actuator parts, setting them down next to the fallen mech. That’s when things went a bit sideways.”
“What do you mean ‘sideways’?”
“Well, after setting down the spare parts, Hummer sort of hunkered down real close to the Yallan. That’s when Speedy saw Hummer extend his, uh, cockpit proboscis and, uh… “connect” it to the Yallan’s respective, uh.. cockpit docking unit.”
“Oh god”
“And what’s more intriguing is that Yallan? It carried the crest of General Nova’s R&D Division. You know, the NovaStar Consortium?”
“Okay, stop. So in your own convoluted way, what you’re saying is, is that NovaStar didn’t build the Humbaba, but lucked into it being born in their mech bay. Meanwhile, the father is running around in the Jungle, reciting Cold Play Lyrics while looking for organic IT mechas to diddle with and possibly eating tech engineers to take over as pilots for it’s brood?”
“That’s EXACTLY what, well, mostly at any rate, what I’m saying. Yes.”
“Thank you Harrison, you just gave me the new rumor to help me keep my Engineer techs at home working. Here, next drink’s on me.”
With that Cmdr. Bourne put a small stack of credits on the bar, saluted both Harrison and the Bartender, and headed to the door. Most productive meeting he’s had all week. Things are looking up! It’s amazing what one can accomplish Tuesday after Lunch.
<End Transmission>
