14 February 3153

Liberation, Promise system

Wolverine Union Core Worlds

Five hundred thousand watching live at home. At least, five hundred thousand “real” humans. Who knew how many vatborns would be watching as well, since this was the only thing on any channel on the Wolverine Union capital of Liberation. The arena itself was filled to the brim with middle-class vatborns and lower-class bloodborns, all of them cheering for the youngest member of the Amaris family on this fortuitous day of his 19^th birthday. The Empress-In-Exile would be watching from her special box seat, while the Wolverine Khan would be at the holotable to analyze the entire fight.

Jordan Amaris adjusted his technoharness and made sure the connections to the cockpit’s interface were secure. His mind was slowly connecting directly to his DHX BattleMech. His senses slowly began to inhabit the 12 meter titan of ferro-fibrous, endo-steel and myomer. Primitive neuro-helmets couldn’t compare to the reaction time of a full interface cockpit like those used by the Union in their standard machine now. The technoharnesses also prevented some of the neural-feedback it could have on traditional interface. “Today, I prove to everyone that the Amaris family is not just a group of posers sitting on a throne of lies,” he thought to himself. None of his brothers and sisters had wanted to become MechWarriors. What was the point of training for years to pilot a machine to fight when vatborns and bioroids could do it for you? Even the mighty Clan warriors nowadays were more busy doing the strategizing from behind the lines, with only those too old to serve going out in blazes of glory with the vatborns. War in the Wolverine Union had changed compared to those barbarians in the Inner Sphere or those sociopaths in the Clan Homeworlds. The actual people did not need to die anymore, they had people made to do that for them.

The Union population was mostly vatborn nowadays. Taking a hint from the Wolverines that had joined the Rim Worlds remnant, massive facilities now grew and trained “purpose built” humans for tasks the Union required. True Bloodborn like Jordan Amaris, born of a living mother and father, always had a higher status simply due to their birth. While the Clan “trueborns” saw themselves as better due to their gene typing, the new generations of Clan warriors were also bloodborn, just from carefully selected breeding stocks. People no longer wanted to be warriors anyways, there was too much risk involved. Better have vatgrown soldiers do the fighting, no loss there.

But Jordan Amaris believed that the people still would look up to a warrior-king. He was last in the line of succession, sure, but if the people supported him instead of any of the other members of the Dynasty, he would be installed on the throne when his mother died. The old bitty was bound to move on sooner than later, even with all the medical help she was getting. His older brother was the favorite to take the throne now, mostly because girls loved his haircut and he had bribed many of the Clanners with “fun battles”. Gordon loved to play war, but he had no idea what it was like to be in a war. Jordan didn’t really know either, but at least Jordan had gotten shot for real in training.

The white sun would have blinded anyone not wearing protective glasses right now. The DHX cockpit sensor was now filtering the superlight and showed the arena in which Jordan Amaris would be fighting. A fake desert, fitting with the current status of Promise, the sun which changed color depending on the season. A quick review of his weaponry was in order. The DHX was a 90-ton “flat” machine, with a pair of 110mm cannons in the arms and a pair of pulse lasers in the torsos. Anti-missile made it even safer for the commander sitting in the cockpit. Worst comes to worst, extended range medium lasers would cover at short ranges. His mother would never have let him go in the Line version of the DHX, even though Jordan probably would have preferred it. More close range weapons, better for brawling. In this version of the DHX, he’d have to play it safer, stay out of sight and pop out for kill shots. He had no bioroids tied to him this time, it was him versus a vatborn commander sitting in a booth, with 3 traitor ‘mechs tied to him with basic bioroids.

The introduction of the bioroids had been a game changer for the Union. Vatgrown still required the same “standard” amount of time to be grown and trained to do their tasks as bloodborn humans, but bioroids could be grown and ready for action in only a few years. Of course, they had no higher brain function and could not “function” normally. They needed to be tied to a neural network, generally connected to a vatborn. In the arena, the control unit generally sat in the Empress’s booth, where their action were monitored by Clan officers to improve further results. A single person could control up to 4 bioroids on average, with some exceptional candidates having been controlling up to 6. The neural feedback from the bioroid death could cause the control unit to have nerve damage or even death. Obviously, those control units were generally vatborn, so no real loss there.

His targeting computer lit up. Hatchetman, Dragon, Horned Owl. Three machines used by the traitors, stolen from them and brought here for training purposes. Today, they would be there to make the people of the Wolverine Union cheer for glorious combat again. “Ave Imperatrix. Morituri Te Salutant,” Jordan said on his family private channel, hoping his mother had kept up with her Latin. Who was he kidding? Of course she knew her latin. Same with old Greek, old Mongolian and ancient Chinese. Mother was an historian more than a politician in the end. Hail of 2-class autocannon shells told him the battle had started. With the DHX fully tied to his body through the interface cockpit, people in the stands could have seen a BattleMech smile.

“Truly, Khan Whitfield,” asked Empress-In-Exile Carolyne Amaris. “The Fortress Wall has fallen?” Foxtrot Whitfield would have preferred to be sitting at his holotable to watch the match than next to the sickly form of Carolyne Amaris. With the Silence Field up around them, he could hear her troubled breathing and wheezing even more than usual. She disgusted anyone who saw her now, her dead skin making her look like a bad trideo monster. But now, the news from his spies was too important not to report. “Our agent on Terra has knocked the whole system down”, began the Khan of the Union. “Repairing it would cripple the ilKhan financially, and prevent the repair of their HPG network.” Carolyne smiled, but with the holes in the skin of her face, it would again be more in place in a bad trideo. “Whatever caused that HPG collapse in the land of the traitors was a blessing for us, Whitfield! Now, everyone that wants Terra can rush this new upstart pup.”

Foxtrot Whitfield took a quick look at the battle going on in the arena. The young prince’s pulse lasers were slicing through the Horned Owl’s body while a cluster shell from the autocannon hit the machine’s inside, knocking it down. A normal human pilot would have ejected. Not the Union’s bioroid, of course. Built to fight. Built to die. Biological machines which would scare any of their ancestors. A weapon to topple the traitors when they would need to take the fight to them. “He is foolish for trying to play soldier,” started Carolyne Amaris, “but I do believe his actions raise the morale of our people.”

Our people. The Rim Worlds Republic-In-Exile had taken in the Wolverines when they fled Clan space. The two groups shared nothing in common except for their hatred of the SLDF, the Inner Sphere and now the Clans. Two centuries of scheming and building their nation as one unit allowed them to accommodate all the other exiles from the greater human controlled space. First there were the “forsaken Clans”, those that either the Homeworlds or the Inner Sphere Clan had not deemed powerful enough to remain. Fire Mandrills now trained with Blood Spirits, sharing their knowledge and skill to the armies of vatgrown soldiers and bioroids. Ice Hellions raced in arenas like this one before training more vatsoldiers in the art of hit and run tactics. Zelbringen was no longer a care to them, just like it had gone out long ago for the Wolverines. Hatred was what remained for most of them.

Later on, two other groups came to join them, with the remnants of the Word of Blake armies and cult, which turned their mind to making sure the Union would be united in their purge of the taint of the Inner Sphere. Blake had forsaken the Inner Sphere. On the other hand, you had the members of the Society, the scientists of the Clans who had desired their own realm. There were very few of them, but the Union had given them everything they wanted or desired. Scientific advancement for the sake of science, no limitations. Their creation of the bioroid soldiers had put the Union across the line on wanting to take actual action against the traitors.

The Dragon was keeping Jordan Amaris’s DHX at range using its AC/2 and LRMs. Most of the missiles were shot down by the anti-missile before they could deal actual damage, but the prince could do little catch up to the faster heavy ‘Mech. The Hatchetman got closer, bringing its cleaver to bear on the prince’s assasult ‘Mech. The Khan knew what was coming next, he had seen the boy do this a hundred times already in training. Lowering the nose of his machine, he pushed into the Hatchetman’s attack rather than try to avoid it. The damage from the minor crash would not cripple either ‘mech, but from where he was now, Jordan could easily shoot all his lasers and score a killing blow. The medium ‘Mech took a step back as the plating on its torso melted off, before the engine went critical, leaving the 45 ton machine crumpled on the ground like a broken toy.

“So, now what should we do, Withfield,” asked the Empress, grabbing a date. “Do we order a full mobilization and invade?” The Wolverine Khan shook his head. “We have waited long enough, we can wait longer. What we need from them is to collapse even more and for the whole gimmick to fall apart. We already have agents on so many worlds, we have units ready for raids and to take over some regions for our own need.” The Empress cracked as she moved from her seat. Whitfield could never get used to that woman’s disease. “We need food, Withfield. Our armies have grown and keep growing, but we need ways to keep people fed, clothed, even if they are just vatborn. The traitors… they have food.”

Whitfeld stroke his beard pensively. The crone was right. People were starting to get restless throughout the Union. Food shortages were currently not at the top of their list of worries, but it could escalate quickly if Promise did not change back to yellow or red soon. The Outer Colonies could maintain themselves, but the Core Worlds were now getting overpopulated. Factories built weapons that were barely used, and some grumbling among the Core population was beginning to emerge in reports from the Watch. But even with how broken up the traitors were within the Inner Sphere, safety was important still.

An explosion shook the arena as the DHX punctured the Dragon‘s body, blowing up whatever ammo was still kept into its magazine. Whitfeld took a quick look behind him, near his holotable. He saw the command pilot nose start bleeding. The Society medical crew started looking at it, then look at the terminals to make sure he could still go on. Probably the last mission for that vatgrown command unit. Not a big waste, he had been a mediocre carnival fighter to begin with. The main attraction would start soon. The boy was smart, he was already pulling back to his side of the arena. He is an arena fighter and not a soldier, but that is pretty much the best we have right now, thought Foxtrot Whitfield. Rumbling began as the last of the ‘mechs the command unit was tied to walked into the arena, an old Cyclops. Same weight as the DHX, primitive equipment compared to it of course. The Prince would also never know that the AC/20 was loaded only with blanks.

“Do you believe this new Star League can oppose us, Whitfield?” Carolyne Amaris almost spat the words “star league” rather than saying it. “We managed to get the second star league to collapse with minimal issues,” replied Foxtrot. “The House lords and the Clan Khan are all too selfish. Too short-sighted. The whole Republic of the Sphere thing was hilarious as well. We gangrened it in a matter of years. They had no power faster than we even imagined.” The Empress cackled, as her whole body made a disgusting crunching noise. Her body was falling apart, but her grey eyes were still full of life. “Our people want a real win this time, though. I’m not even talking about the nobles and your warriors. The Lower Clans want to show that they are worth something. The general population want us to stop living harvest to harvest, and they see we have armies ready for it.”

Long range missiles exploded near the prince’s ‘mech, shot down by the anti-missile. Solid slugs had replaced the cluster rounds in the DMX‘s autocannon to punch holes in the heavier armor of the Cyclops. The Inner Sphere giant needed to get closer to the DMX to bring its massive autocannon (loaded with blanks, but still) to bear, while Jordan Amaris kept his distance. Clan Trials and arena fights had trained him well, but how would he fare in an actual war, if he were to go? That was part of the reason why the Clans had failed so spectacularly during their invasion of the Inner Sphere.

“We can’t invade the Inner Sphere like the Clans did. This is a recipe for disaster. Even if we were to bring the numbers to the table, our men are not trained properly for it. Our supply lines would still be extended beyond relief incredibly quickly, even with the Galactic KF-drives. We must be more clever about this.” The face of Carolyne Amaris cracked again as she smiled. Foxtrot Whitfield remembered how good looking she was before The Curse took it away from her. Curse the Kerensky for creating that genetic disease. “We make sure our enemies are fighting each other and not us, first. Then, we strike the parts they abandoned or left aside already. Those Scorpions thinking they can build an Empire too. Not easy picking, but if we can turn their people to our cause, this is many worlds we can then use to build a base.”

The next crunching noise didn’t come from the Empress, but from the arena, as a pair of autocannon shells destroyed the Cyclops head module. Cheers resounded from the arena and the other nobles in the Empress’s booth. The pilot harness with the vatgrown pilot disconnected as the “man” fell to the ground, dead. Neural overload from having connected bioroids killed, not unusual, but it surprised a few of the nobles on site. “Mobilizing the entire force will take some time. We need to get the Outer Colonies to follow suit, and the Mandrills and Blood Spirits are never willing to do much with each other.” The Empress snarled for a second, then replied: “If we need to sacrifice them first, so be it. The Vipers and the Hellions are much more understanding of our plight.” There was truth in what Carolyne was saying. Everyone but the Amaris family and the leadership of the Wolverine are disposable, just like those vatgrowns and the bioroids. Whitfield knew even he was disposable in the face of the Empress-In-Exile, as another Wolverine would take his place if he were to go.

Jordan Amaris was doing a victory lap around the arena, cheers inundating all frequencies that weren’t blocked by the Silence Field between the Empress and Khan. “So we are going to war, Carolyne”, the Trueborn Warrior asked. “Oh yes, Foxtrot Whitfield, Khan of the Wolverines”, replied the diseased woman. “The Union is going to start on the path of its vengeance, and all those who slighted our family and your Clan will be punished.”

In the arena, a triumphant Jordan Amaris was doing another round. Even he knew that the fight was pretty much fixed. No anti-missile system would have protected him that well. Those autocannon shells should have done more damage then they did. Even the lasers barely had enough power to melt his armor. The people had gotten a good show, which proved “without the shadow of a doubt” that the Amaris were still great warriors, and that the traitors ‘mechs were no match for the new Union machines. Now, they would buy into what the Union was going to start.

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