Cp11

11

December 20, 2991

Periphery

Unknown Planet

Dropship site

Grady's Rifleman marched through the mud, grinding out a perimeter around the two dropships and the nearby farmhouse. He kept two mechs out and about at all times as people were walking or driving what few vehicles they had out to the three prefab structures House Morten had already set up at the base of the hill in one of the farmer's other fields…though he didn't object, for there was nothing but mud there as well, and the food he'd been given was well worth the inconvenience.

In one of those Quonset huts was a makeshift dining hall, with another one connected to it through a short umbilical that held the cooks and kitchen. Hot meals were being served nearly round the clock, and while the people couldn't take the food with them, many were making the pilgrimage daily with their families to fill up their stomachs.

The rain was gone today, with clear skies and a heat wave that made everything miserable with the moisture in the air. So far there had been no fighting here, and while Roger had sent some 40 of his security forces here to handle the feeding process, having two mechs out and walking about seemed to erode any chance of problems…as well as to indicate who was now in charge of the planet.

There were no other mechs here that he could tell, or anything more than some trucks or farm equipment that had some machine guns mounted on them. Nobody brought those close, for fear of upsetting the food bringers. Their jump ship had already left after recharging, heading back to pick up two more dropships that would bring more prefab structures and food, but Paul Morten had come with Grady and was down there right now having a meeting with some of the larger land owners and what passed for a governor here. Most of whom looked quite healthy compared to the line of walking corpses that were coming to the landing zone.

The four Vtols they'd brought with them, flowing by pilots unknown to him that had arrived merely days before this mission had been executed, were still making runs out to far flung farms and villages, and their reserve of crates was diminishing fast…but he'd been told the Vtols were making second runs now, having found, marked, and delivered food to every location on the map that they could find.

The question was, how many mouths were there to actually feed and how long would what they have with them last, for there was nothing growing anywhere in the farms. The pilots had said the only fields with sprouts of green in them were currently underwater. The rains apparently would not stop, and the rivers here were beyond flood stage already, with those farms along them already destroyed, houses and fields alike.

Grady was glad he was just a mechwarrior. He envied Paul for his ability to handle such matters, but was glad his duties were limited to patrol and keeping possession of their new planet…which Paul had informed him would be called Turnix regardless of whatever name the locals used.

Which oddly the survey team had not been able to find out…

Paul Morten stood with his sandy blonde hair in stark contrast to his cape/jacket's deep black with red and silver trim as he raised a hand to settle down the 23 men assembled in folding chairs on the other side of a makeshift desk for him made out of a table, a thick canvas cloth covering it, and a somewhat more elegant backed chair…but this was as much field work as field work would ever get.

"I find it detestful," he said with a well-practiced command voice, "that you're bickering over the manner in which we are saving your lives. Your people out there are barely hanging onto life."

"They're fine now," one of the plantation owners by the name of Gomez said. "We're talking about the future. You can't just come in here and take over. We're members of the Taurian Concordat!"

"Are we?" another man said. "They never came to help us."

"Yes we are," Gomez reiterated. "And House Morten has no jurisdiction here to do any more than offer relief to the natural disaster we're undergoing."

"You ingrate!" someone else shouted, and Paul had to raise a hand again to get their attention.

"Explain something to me," he said, drawing the eyes of the few who wanted to keep arguing. "This is far away from any worlds known to be in the Taurian Concordat. What is the connection?"

"We're descended from their settlers," another man said calmly. "We're a colonial expansion."

"What ties do you have with them other than history?" Paul asked.

"We get one of their trade ships every few years," someone else scoffed.

"But why haven't they come to help you?" Paul pressed.

"Because we're unsanctioned," a booming voice said from the back row as a man with long white hair pulled back into a ponytail stood, with those around him immediately falling silent and Gomez glaring at him. "Our ancestors came out here far beyond the border to start their own world, but it was never officially made part of the Taurian Concordat."

"Damn you, Burt," Gomez all but snarled.

"We need the truth if we're going to forge a way forward with these people."

"What is your name?" Paul asked.

"I am Burt Zen, and I own a large farming complex to the northeast. The last time I saw mechs here were when bandits came and stole half my farming equipment. Can you put a stop to such things?"

"Easily."

"And what do we owe you for this?" he asked directly, all eyes turning to see Lord Morten's response.

"For the food…nothing. But the planet now belongs to us. All of it. We'll respect your property rights…so long as you don't lie and claim stuff you don't actually have a right to. We're not here to steal your land, but we do need you to make better use of it."

"For what purpose?" Burt said, eyes narrowing.

"We intend to vastly upgrade your planet. I don't know what happened to the ruined city, but we intend to build up this world far beyond what was here before."

"For what purpose?" he repeated in a civil tone.

"We're in the business of protecting and spreading civilization. Not just here, but to other planets as well. To do that, we're going to need agricultural exports so we can feed other starving planets. That…"

"You see!" another man said, standing up and shouting. "They're going to steal our crops for their own people!"

"Are you that dumb!" Paul yelled back, silencing everyone else. "You've got nothing to steal, and we're givingyou food to keep you alive. If I wanted your land all I'd have to do is come back in a couple of years when you're all dead and take it then. We're here to help. Why can you not see that?"

"Because in our experience," Burt said while the other man remained standing, but was stammering as to what to say in response, "people don't help others without a motive. I assume there will be taxes?"

All eyes turned back to Paul, and most of them had fire behind those stares.

"My family learned long ago that taxation is something best left to the KISS method," he said, seeing no recognition of the acronym amongst the farmers. "It stands for 'Keep It Simple Stupid,' so when it comes to taxes, unlike almost everyone else in the Inner Sphere and probably the Taurian Concordat as well, we have only one. A 5% revenue tax on businesses."

The older man's eyebrows raised. "Revenue? And not profit?"

"Revenue," Paul confirmed, seeing pure hate from some of their eyes despite the fact they were in fact saving their lives…or maybe not theirs so much as everyone else's. "Profit is very dicey as to the definition of it, and like I said, we keep it simple. However, we do not consider farmers to be businesses. Hence, we do not tax farmers."

Their eyes cooled somewhat, but suspicion was still running deep.

"You leave farmers completely untaxed?" Gomez asked.

Paul shrugged. "When you buy something from a merchant, the money you spend on it goes to them and they pay the tax. When their customers have more money because we're not taxing them, the merchants gets more sales…and then we get more tax because it's proportional. We use the taxes to defend the planet, build roads that are not made of dirt," he emphasized, given the mud strips that now crossed between the villages, "and a lot of other things that benefit everyone. You keep your land, you grow your crops, and we'll buy them from you if you want to sell at a fixed price. If you can get more for them elsewhere, you're free to do so. It'll be a free market, but one dominated by House Morten's purchasing power."

"What of a land tax?" Gomez asked.

"There will be none. Is there one currently?"

"There are no taxes currently," Burt said, a mix of pride and sorrow at that. "There's nobody to collect them, but there was previously a land tax."

"What happened?"

"War happened and our city was caught up in it. There wasn't much of a government left afterwards, and everything of value was carted off world by the victors. Endely was under the protection of one warlord when it began, and the others picked it dry afterwards. I was 12 when it started. The farmers are the only ones who could survive afterward, and we've been picked at ever since, barely keeping enough food away from the bandits to feed everyone. Now this damn flooding won't stop and you show up. Don't mistake the ingratitude here. We are all very glad to see the food coming in. But we can't trust in good fortune. You must have some other agenda in play."

Paul reached down and pulled out a small bag from behind the table. It was barely a pouch, and he opened it, spilling a white grain on the covered tabletop.

"This is called Vristil. Ever heard of it?"

Heads that were glued to the grain shook in the negative.

"It prefers wet, even flooded ground so long as the water isn't too deep. If my information is right, you've got one more growing season left before winter sets in. As soon as your work crews get their strength back, I want you to start planting immediately. By hand if necessary. I've got another dropship coming soon with large amounts of this seed on it, but I've got some here now that can be planted as soon as you can get it out to your muddy fields."

"It grows in floods?" Gomez said, a screwy look on his face.

"It likes water. Lots of it, and it naturally pops up around lake shores. The Vristil is one of the ingredients in the food we are serving you in the other building. If you don't want to eat it yourself, we'll buy whatever you can grow before winter hits. After winter is over…and hopefully this rain is gone, we'll need you to start growing a long list of different grains, fruits, and vegetables. Importing this stuff from other planets is expensive, and the more of it we can grow here the better."

"And if the rains do not stop?" Burt asked.

"We work the problem," Paul stated flatly, not allowing any pessimism in his own voice. "Your fields can be terraced and drained to minimize the flooding in most locations. New ones can be carved out of the forests on higher elevation. Long term work can be done to make the rain less of a problem. Do you expect it to never go away again?"

"At this point we don't know what to expect. This has never happened before in the history of this colony."

"We'll make it work, even if we have to grow some crops indoors."

"Indoors!" Gomez said with an angry laugh that others mimicked.

Paul stared right at him, but the disrespect in his mannerisms wouldn't wash away.

"Previous to our current mission, House Morten ran a world called Neubenn in the Federated Suns. It has a population of 3.2 billion people, and I can assure you we had many fields that were entirely indoors to grow special crops that would not match the outside environment. It is not a new practice, even if you've never personally heard of it. I imagine there are going to be a great many changes here that most of you have never conceived of before…but those changes are happening whether you like it or not. You can either fight us on this and lose…and in that case we may very well take your land…or you can say 'thank you' for saving your lives and work with us, getting rich in the process. Your choice."

"I thought you said you'd respect property rights," Burt reminded him darkly.

"We do…until someone starts shooting at my people. That hasn't happened yet, but if it does don't expect us to just shrug it off. We don't kill people to set an example. We don't torture either. But if any of you start misbehaving, I will take your land as punishment. We don't plan on building any prisons right now when we've got a long list of other priorities. And if your land is all you care about, then that's what I'm holding as collateral to ensure your good behavior."

"What do you consider good behavior?" Burt asked, his tone no longer friendly.

"Don't kill, don't blow stuff up, don't steal, don't rape, don't do all the long list of things the bandits usually would. You can speak whatever words you want, I don't care. Just don't harm people. Is that simple enough?"

"It is…until there's a problem and a situation that was never mentioned that sees us lose our land."

"No rebellions, no murders, no theft, no beatings. Let's start with those four."

"And if one of my men does such things without my permission?"

"Turn him over to us."

"For execution?"

"House Morten does not execute prisoners. Ever."

"I still see plenty of wiggle room for you to come up with a reason to steal our land. You claim we misbehaved and just take it."

"If you want to be paranoid, fine. Go back to your farms and ignore everything I've said. But those mechs out there…they give me the power to do pretty much whatever we damn well please. I come here trying to help you people, and you're inferring I'm the bad guy. Well, we're not and we're not going to entertain any ideas that we are. What we are is in full control of this planet and you will live by our rules whether you like it or not. Do so, and you will keep your land. I cannot make it any clearer than that. Those of you who want to complain and accuse," Paul said, pointing to the door, "get out. Those who want to start planting crops, remain. I will work only with those who are willing. Not those who want to sabotage our efforts."

"And if we don't want to work with you," Burt asked, "the food goes away?"

"The cafeteria is right next door and it's open to everyone. Even the ungrateful brats I see before me now. That will not change. Go grab something to eat on your way out."

"Thank you, but I prefer our local cuisine," the elderly man said, turning and walking across the mostly empty building. As he did, about half the others got up to leave as well.

Paul let them go, then turned his attention to the ones who remained.

"Planting needs to begin immediately," he said. "I'm told there's a 72 day growth period until you can harvest. Who has the ability to start tomorrow?"

Four days later…

Arne walked his Phoenix Hawk down the Ebony Pearl's boarding ramp and onto the red/purple sand of Drymo for the first time, seeing the desolation and lack of terrain in all directions. He was on a big rock of a planet, and he could see why other mechwarriors didn't want to be here…but for him, this was the only place he wanted to be.

He moved his mech away and started to get some distance, having been ordered to establish a perimeter at two kilometers out as more of the bigger dropships came down around her from the Sequoia that had brought them here to land in a zone some 5 kilometers long and three wide just to the north of the abandoned mine. Arne was to patrol in a box two kilometers longer than that on either side, giving him a lot off running room to do as another Phoenix Hawk under the control of Niles Shander came out behind him and headed the opposite direction.

The heavy mechs were staying put for the moment unless a threat was found, but there was nothing out here to be threatening and no other jumpships were in the system. They were alone here with nothing but a few old buildings at the mine to keep them company…but inside the big dropships were construction crews, a lot of them. He'd heard the scuttlebutt about them draining almost all of Cholis's construction work force to aid House Morten's own in the preliminary work here. He wasn't sure exactly what they were building, but they wanted it built fast, hence the extra help. And with all the cargo capacity in the Sequoia, they could bring in as many people and work mechs as they wanted while Arne and the heavy mech Company kept them safe from what, he didn't know, but if the Red Baron was looking for some payback and found out about this mission, he'd be ready to stand alongside the others and stop him.

That said, he didn't even know where this place was other than that it was one jump away from Cholis. He knew it was called Drymo, but it didn't show on any map he'd ever seen, so he doubted the Red Baron would be able to get any of his spies to tell him where it was. And when a jumpship left a system, they had dozens, if not hundreds of stars in range they could potentially jump to. So without a location, you were essentially lost in a haystack and unable to track.

Which meant this assignment was going to be boring…but he was in the cockpit of a mech again, and that was exciting enough for him. He was interested to see what they were going to build here, and how fast they could get it done, and he had the best seat in the house for it as he cruised his Phoenix Hawk over the crushed stone pebbles, avoiding a small boulder here and there, and took in the vast emptiness of the planet after having been confined to a dropship for days.

"Hello Drymo, wherever you are. We're going to get along just fine, you, me, and this little kitty kat of a mech," he said, patting the control console where there were no buttons as he let out a long sigh of relief after all he'd been through over the previous year. Now he was back in a mech…even if it was a scout mech…with live weapons. He'd gone from enemy to trusted employee, and he wasn't going to give House Morten any reason to rethink that decision. He had an in here, and he wasn't going to waste it. Most people didn't get a first chance at a real life, let alone a second, and he wasn't going to screw his up.

And the fact that this planet was named Drymo after he'd gone a year without a single beer…well that irony just cemented in him the need to fully let go of the past and embrace the future. A sober one, apparently, but recently he hadn't been thinking it was that bad.

"Mech or alcohol? I choose mech," he said, deciding not to even look for a beer if he ever had the chance to. That was in the past now, and this planet's name would be a constant reminder of that until his subconscious finally let it go. And let go of the mercenary life. He was legit now, and while he didn't really understand what that meant, it felt good regardless.

And the mechwarrior Company he was attached to was actually giving him a chance rather than snubbing him…or worse as others had done in some of the outfits he'd been in…and he didn't even own this Phoenix Hawk. But then again, none of them owned their rides either, and that probably had a lot to do with the attitude difference.

"House Morten for keeps then," he told himself and the planet stretching out before him on the viewscreens…which had the actual cockpit windows covered…but even that didn't bother him now. He could see well enough, and what he saw looked and felt like freedom.

The freedom only a mechwarrior could experience, riding a walking war machine around a world dependent on you for protection…or suffering from your predation. Arne guessed the latter was a part of the past now as well, and protector it was from this point forward.

Odd, but he didn't dislike the sound of that as much as he once had.

And the patch on his jacket shoulder made it official, with the emblem of the Morten Protectorate declaring to all exactly what their mission was…protection. 'Don't take what you can't hold' was their motto, he'd been told, and he liked being one of those that was charged to hold it against whatever may come.

The Phoenix Hawk stomped on, laying down the first step of footprints that he and Niles would be pounding into a trail over the coming days. Predators protecting prey rather than stalking it as they marked their territory.

Yes, it felt good to be back in the saddle…and to be part of a real team this time. One with a fucking huge jumpship the likes of which he'd never seen before in his life…