Devon's eyes met hers just as she began. "He is not like you, you must know that." She paused,
"And despite your own honor you mustn't hold his own values against him. His life was largely
spent in the pursuit of revenge after all."
Her use of a contraction was only barely noticeable. Devon had been with the Inner Sphere
peoples for too long. His mind wiped his initial negative gut reaction away. Clan upbringing had
instilled such strict limitations on grammar since he was a child, but he knew there was nothing
truly bad with such a simple shortening of a word.
"I know I cannot hold it against him personally, but I must hold it against him from my half of this
team. With Sasha's membership in the Watch, only days remain before the whole Clan knows
of our employer's behavior." Devon cursed under his breath, something he rarely showed in
public for fear of some loss of face. Only Dana and Duo Maxwell were privy to such outbursts,
though one could hardly call them outbursts at all.
He closed his eyes in defeat. "If I've not fought Strider over this issue by the time my own
superiors hear of his actions, I face harsh punishment myself." He opened his eyes in a flash,
realizing his own accidental use of a contraction. He shook his head in the nonsense of it all.
"Sasha is a force to be reckoned with for sure, but you know she has her boundaries so long as
you are commanding. Her own strict rules will keep her away from Strider until you do what
you have to tonight." Dana said. She sighed and continued. "I only hope the little fireball will
keep her cool after tonight's match."
Devon thought briefly of Sasha Breen's devotion to the Watch, the Clan culture's only true
espionage agency. Her routine transmissions to the organizations were completely permitted by
the Inner Sphere commander as well as by Devon, her immediate superior within the mercenary
unit. Only out of respect or fear of Devon had the aggressive Steel Viper pilot yet to share
knowledge of Mike Strider's actions.
His eyes glanced back to Dana, "What Sasha Breen does, Sasha Breen does. There could be
no stopping her even if we wished to do so. Her Viper warriors have supported her again and
again. I have no doubt one of them would complete her work if she were unable to do so
herself."
Dana reached over to touch his arm, pushing ever so slightly into the soft muscle of his forearm
with her delicate fingers. She wasn't quite sure how to ask the question, but found herself asking
it anyways. "Do you fear him?"
Devon closed his eyes again. He knew much about the commander, much about the man's style
and his friendship with most of the Inner Sphere Mechwarriors and support personnel. Most of
all he knew about his speciality in tactics, whether it was defending against an overwhelming
enemy force, or planning an assault. Regardless of the man's abilities in the cockpit, Devon
couldn't be sure quite what to expect.
He opened his mouth, then closed it. He craned his neck across the pillow closer to Dana's, this
time looking away from the white ceiling and directly in her eyes. "I fear him in some ways. I
fear what he can do without lasers or missiles or autocannons. He is a gifted pilot in physical
combat, skills honed in that Berserker of his. I hope it does not come to that sort of combat."
As the minutes ticked by, Mike Strider prepared for the match in his own way...alone. Having
once piloted light Mechs for a short number of years, he might be at the top of his game in the
competition. He felt a certain guilt over his advantage, but was not openly showing much of it.
He knew Devon's accuracy with almost any Mech weapon still meant the duel would be an uphill
battle. He had only a few more hours before the actual match would begin. He began reading
the technical readout on the 40-ton Assassin for a sixth time, his eyes carefully skimming the
systems layout for any potential problems that might occur with armor protection, weak joints, or
God forbid, common weapons malfunctions.
The Mech’s weak weaponry would ensure a lasting battle and provide little room for trickery.
This would be a true test of BattleMech skill, especially if the fighting arena proved interesting.
Mike knew the danger his unit faced, especially if he was lost and unable to do anything to lead it
away from the danger it had recently faced from the Word of Blake's radical sect.
Coming across the notable pilot history for the Assassin's technical readout, Mike hesitated for a
long second. Touching his beard with his index finger, he pushed into the short goatee and
concentrated for only a moment. His eyes weren't playing tricks on him after all. His head had
been shaking ever so slightly again. The faint tremble shot warning lights through his head.
Something was definitely misfiring in his nervous system.
Jasmine. It was her that had put the whole idea in his head. She'd been the first to tell him
about his nervous shaking, or his "rattle" as he called it ever since then, though dozens of Striker
personnel confirmed it when Mike had actually asked them about it. It was funny how he'd
never really thought about it before. He'd never taken the tests, never confirmed that he indeed
had Parkinson's disease. He'd cross that bridge when he came to notice something else,
something worse. Mike pushed that thought to the back of his head.
The technical readout section referring to famous and infamous pilots was his favorite portion of
every readout manual. Not only did it speak volumes about mostly unknown Mechwarriors, not
to mention the infamous ones like the Bounty Hunter himself, but it always reminded Mike of his
own experiences with each particular Mech design and the pilots he'd encountered as a
mercenary. Whether it involved an enemy or a friend, Mike reminisced of how he'd survived a
bout with the particular design or how his allies had used it to some effect. And this time, it was
his friend that came to mind.
Norbert Owens. The short Mechjock from Terra itself, or so the man had always claimed, had
been piloting the Assassin for years. He's got to know the Mech inside and out. Regardless
of calling it cheating or not, Mike knew Devon could investigate every bit as much about the
Assassin Mech. For Mike, Owens was the key. It would have to be enough.
Sasha Breen scowled. Her face was twisted so far from its usual appearance, Rally knew she
was in a bad mood. He quickly dismissed his original idea of asking her some direct questions
about the evening's fight. Today, or at least this hour, was not a time to try her patience.
Rally closed in for the kill, walking tiptoed in his bare feet across the hard ferrocrete floor in a
circle around his prey. If he noticed how frigid the rock-like surface actually was, he apparently
paid it no heed. He and Sasha had spent three weeks training on it. Rally had adapted.
"And despite your own honor you mustn't hold his own values against him. His life was largely
spent in the pursuit of revenge after all."
Her use of a contraction was only barely noticeable. Devon had been with the Inner Sphere
peoples for too long. His mind wiped his initial negative gut reaction away. Clan upbringing had
instilled such strict limitations on grammar since he was a child, but he knew there was nothing
truly bad with such a simple shortening of a word.
"I know I cannot hold it against him personally, but I must hold it against him from my half of this
team. With Sasha's membership in the Watch, only days remain before the whole Clan knows
of our employer's behavior." Devon cursed under his breath, something he rarely showed in
public for fear of some loss of face. Only Dana and Duo Maxwell were privy to such outbursts,
though one could hardly call them outbursts at all.
He closed his eyes in defeat. "If I've not fought Strider over this issue by the time my own
superiors hear of his actions, I face harsh punishment myself." He opened his eyes in a flash,
realizing his own accidental use of a contraction. He shook his head in the nonsense of it all.
"Sasha is a force to be reckoned with for sure, but you know she has her boundaries so long as
you are commanding. Her own strict rules will keep her away from Strider until you do what
you have to tonight." Dana said. She sighed and continued. "I only hope the little fireball will
keep her cool after tonight's match."
Devon thought briefly of Sasha Breen's devotion to the Watch, the Clan culture's only true
espionage agency. Her routine transmissions to the organizations were completely permitted by
the Inner Sphere commander as well as by Devon, her immediate superior within the mercenary
unit. Only out of respect or fear of Devon had the aggressive Steel Viper pilot yet to share
knowledge of Mike Strider's actions.
His eyes glanced back to Dana, "What Sasha Breen does, Sasha Breen does. There could be
no stopping her even if we wished to do so. Her Viper warriors have supported her again and
again. I have no doubt one of them would complete her work if she were unable to do so
herself."
Dana reached over to touch his arm, pushing ever so slightly into the soft muscle of his forearm
with her delicate fingers. She wasn't quite sure how to ask the question, but found herself asking
it anyways. "Do you fear him?"
Devon closed his eyes again. He knew much about the commander, much about the man's style
and his friendship with most of the Inner Sphere Mechwarriors and support personnel. Most of
all he knew about his speciality in tactics, whether it was defending against an overwhelming
enemy force, or planning an assault. Regardless of the man's abilities in the cockpit, Devon
couldn't be sure quite what to expect.
He opened his mouth, then closed it. He craned his neck across the pillow closer to Dana's, this
time looking away from the white ceiling and directly in her eyes. "I fear him in some ways. I
fear what he can do without lasers or missiles or autocannons. He is a gifted pilot in physical
combat, skills honed in that Berserker of his. I hope it does not come to that sort of combat."
As the minutes ticked by, Mike Strider prepared for the match in his own way...alone. Having
once piloted light Mechs for a short number of years, he might be at the top of his game in the
competition. He felt a certain guilt over his advantage, but was not openly showing much of it.
He knew Devon's accuracy with almost any Mech weapon still meant the duel would be an uphill
battle. He had only a few more hours before the actual match would begin. He began reading
the technical readout on the 40-ton Assassin for a sixth time, his eyes carefully skimming the
systems layout for any potential problems that might occur with armor protection, weak joints, or
God forbid, common weapons malfunctions.
The Mech’s weak weaponry would ensure a lasting battle and provide little room for trickery.
This would be a true test of BattleMech skill, especially if the fighting arena proved interesting.
Mike knew the danger his unit faced, especially if he was lost and unable to do anything to lead it
away from the danger it had recently faced from the Word of Blake's radical sect.
Coming across the notable pilot history for the Assassin's technical readout, Mike hesitated for a
long second. Touching his beard with his index finger, he pushed into the short goatee and
concentrated for only a moment. His eyes weren't playing tricks on him after all. His head had
been shaking ever so slightly again. The faint tremble shot warning lights through his head.
Something was definitely misfiring in his nervous system.
Jasmine. It was her that had put the whole idea in his head. She'd been the first to tell him
about his nervous shaking, or his "rattle" as he called it ever since then, though dozens of Striker
personnel confirmed it when Mike had actually asked them about it. It was funny how he'd
never really thought about it before. He'd never taken the tests, never confirmed that he indeed
had Parkinson's disease. He'd cross that bridge when he came to notice something else,
something worse. Mike pushed that thought to the back of his head.
The technical readout section referring to famous and infamous pilots was his favorite portion of
every readout manual. Not only did it speak volumes about mostly unknown Mechwarriors, not
to mention the infamous ones like the Bounty Hunter himself, but it always reminded Mike of his
own experiences with each particular Mech design and the pilots he'd encountered as a
mercenary. Whether it involved an enemy or a friend, Mike reminisced of how he'd survived a
bout with the particular design or how his allies had used it to some effect. And this time, it was
his friend that came to mind.
Norbert Owens. The short Mechjock from Terra itself, or so the man had always claimed, had
been piloting the Assassin for years. He's got to know the Mech inside and out. Regardless
of calling it cheating or not, Mike knew Devon could investigate every bit as much about the
Assassin Mech. For Mike, Owens was the key. It would have to be enough.
Sasha Breen scowled. Her face was twisted so far from its usual appearance, Rally knew she
was in a bad mood. He quickly dismissed his original idea of asking her some direct questions
about the evening's fight. Today, or at least this hour, was not a time to try her patience.
Rally closed in for the kill, walking tiptoed in his bare feet across the hard ferrocrete floor in a
circle around his prey. If he noticed how frigid the rock-like surface actually was, he apparently
paid it no heed. He and Sasha had spent three weeks training on it. Rally had adapted.
| Not Without Proof (1)... |
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