Crossover Uncle Cordy's Bizarre Adventure (BattleTech - MechWarrior 5: Clans/Space: Above and Beyond)

[bullethead]

Prologue

Turtle Bay,

Smoke Jaguar Occupation Zone,

December 3050

saKhan Sarah Weaver glared balefully at the image on the screen before her.

CSJ Sabre Cat loomed against the infinite void, its massive frame a testament to humanity’s unyielding will to conquer the stars. A heavily armored Essex class destroyer, the Sabre Cat was a fusion of function and intimidation, its design honed for both fleet command and frontline battle. Over half a kilometer in length, the vessel's angular hull was clad in reinforced ferro-aluminum armor plating that gleamed faintly under distant starlight. Every inch of its surface radiated purpose: weapon systems, thermal exhaust, sensor grids, and armored access points.

The other ships of its battlegroup, four Invader class JumpShips, the Vincent Mk. 42 corvette Ripper, and the Sovetskii Soyuz class heavy cruiser Stalking Jaguar were irrelevancies. Yes, they had to be addressed, but the Sabre Cat was the heart of the matter. Her protege, commanding from that ship, would face judgment for his absence at a most crucial time for Clan Smoke Jaguar.

Her thoughts and simmering anger were dispersed by the words of her aide, a ristar who had proven herself when other elements of Beta Galaxy had to fill the gap left by the 362nd’s disappearance. “My Khan, Galaxy Commander Perez says he is ready to brief you aboard the Sabre Cat.”

“He had damn well better,” Weaver snarled, her dark face becoming a mask of rage for a brief instant. “Tell Star Commodore Delmar to dock with the Sabre Cat.”

“Aff, my Khan.”

Weaver briefly contemplated what her protege must be thinking, seeing the Texas class battleship Veiled Huntress bearing down on his command. If it was not fear, then he was a fool… or utterly confident that whatever secret he had was worth his life. And to be fair, since he somehow had more ships than he had started with, it might well be.

As soon as the ships were connected, she moved to the airlock, leaving her aide to handle any mundane matters that might occur in her absence. Once she floated through the lock, she was greeted by the familiar faces of Galaxy Commander Cordera Perez and Star Colonel Emilie Wimmer. The two were largely unchanged, but Weaver thought she saw a small scar or two on each of their faces that hadn’t been there before their departure from Santander early in the invasion.

“My Khan, a full briefing has been prepared for you, with all my senior officers.” Perez’s voice – one of his strong points as a leader among the Smoke Jaguars – rumbled. He carefully gestured down the corridor. “If you will follow me.”

The trio made their way through the corridors of the ship, which were mostly empty. A few techs worked here and there, and as Weaver passed one, she thought she saw something on the back of his neck. But her momentum kept her from stopping and investigating whatever oddity was happening with the lower caste individual. Before long, she was inside the Sabre Cat’s briefing room.

An assortment of officers and a few civilians – presumably the highest ranking techs and scientists – stood and saluted. Weaver returned the salute, then moved to the chair at the head of the table, while Perez moved to the seat directly opposite of hers. Considering the assembly before her, the Smoke Jaguar Khan let the silence stretch for a few seconds.

“Under normal circumstances, ships returning from a misjump would be a cause for celebration.” She could see concern flicker over the faces of most them, especially the civilians. But Perez and Wimmer were unconcerned – confidence, or foolishness. “Your disappearance had grave consequences, not just for the Clan, but for the entire invasion.” Her stern face emphasized the growing anger in her voice. “Not only was the rest of Beta Galaxy forced to make up for your absence, but had you been present, we could have captured Hohiro Kurita, an heir to the throne of the Draconis Combine. He escaped offworld in the time it took us to realize you had suffered a misjump.”

Weaver took a second to breathe. “Even worse, the disruptions caused to our timetables forced ilKhan Leo Showers to cut a deal with the Snow Ravens, giving them half of Santander…” Now she saw Perez and Wimmer stiffen, stung by the fact that their hard won gains had been given to an opportunistic Clan. “In exchange for reactivating eight cached Newgrange class Yardships and bringing them to the Inner Sphere to ensure that no other ships suffer a similar misjump.” The saKhan looked around the room. “This required the imposition of an operational pause of three months… which will expire in a few weeks.”

She looked around the room, daring them to guess why. “As you may have surmised, the other invading Clans pulled ahead of us as we reorganized to deal with your absence. Which is why I expect a full, detailed report on your whereabouts and activities these last few months, or you will all be Reaved for incompetence and dereliction of duty!”

Now there was fear flashing across their faces… except for Cordera Perez, who locked eyes with the saKhan. The audacity of the Galaxy Commander astonished her, but she did not let it show. Slowly, she settled into her seat, at which point the others followed. She leaned forward, never breaking eye contact with Perez. “Now, shall we begin?”

---

Author's Notes: Merry Christmas, ya filthy animals!

You might be wondering what would ever lead to the creation of a crossover between a (sigh) 30 year old cancelled Fox scifi show and MechWarrior 5: Clans? I was watching the AI upscaled "remaster" of Space: Above and Beyond on YouTube, which I highly recommend. The only cringe is whenever there's an attempt at a romance.

Anyway, in the final episode, during a specific scene, I thought about what would happen if Cordera Perez, the standout character of MechWarrior 5: Clans and known committer of war crimes, was present. And the result I imagined was him killing a man in such a cool manner, I had to write the story.

Also, since Lightning Count started writing The Greater Game, pitting "future of the 80s" BattleTech against "future of the 90s" scifi has felt like a fun vibe to me. I did have to make one wild ass leap with the number of ships shown in MW5: Clans' cutscene showing the 362nd Assault Cluster arriving at Turtle Bay. There's one weird ass ship in the bottom left corner of the scene that I cannot identify, so I decided to just make it another Invader class JumpShip.

If you don't have the game, check out the behind the scenes video where the mocap actor talks about the character.

 

[Spartan303]

Ah. Didn't think you had this ready so soon. I quite look forward to where this goes.

 

[Brutus]

Well, from the description and reading. Perez is humbled somehow and had a wonderful trip. Recruited new crew, mostly In-vitros. Fought actual aliens...

 

[bullethead]

Perez is humbled somehow

Bruh, I don't know how much you know about Cordera Perez, but humble is not a word that belongs in the same solar system as him.

 

[Brutus]

Bruh, I don't know how much you know about Cordera Perez, but humble is not a word that belongs in the same solar system as him.

So war crime o'clock is still on the table.

 

[Trace Coburn]

Considering where he wound up, it's entirely possible that the Chigs are now an ex-species.
I'd like to hope the Aerotech Corporation got theirs, too, considering their shenanigans were a huge chunk of why the whole war started, but something tells me S:AAB humanity just didn't have that kind of luck.

 

[Spartan303]

Considering where he wound up, it's entirely possible that the Chigs are now an ex-species.
I'd like to hope the Aerotech Corporation got theirs, too, considering their shenanigans were a huge chunk of why the whole war started, but something tells me S:AAB humanity just didn't have that kind of luck.

One of the show runners apparently did an interview and said that the war would have ended with a very unsatisfactory outcome for both Humanity and the Chigs. Neither side would have won the war and it would have ended with a stalemate/uneasy peace for generations to come. But Areotechs 'current' board would totally get what's coming to them but Areotech survives as a company and later ots 'Buisness as usual'. No telling who survives or not.

Edit: I can not verify the authenticity of this statement.

 

[bullethead]

Chapter 1

Interstellar Space,
October 2063

Lieutenant Shane Vansen was bored out of her mind.

Sitting in the cockpit of an SA-43 Hammerhead fighter, the United States Marine was flying through an empty cube of space someone had stuck a number on for a simple reason. A few months earlier, unnamed aliens – called Chigs after the Earth bugs – had attacked a bunch of Earth colonies out of nowhere, then nearly beat down humanity’s already battered militaries in their home solar system.

At the Battle of the Belt – held in the asteroid belt between Mars and Jupiter – she and her squadron earned the name “Wildcards”, for their disobedience of orders… that pinned the Chigs in place so that the human fleet could return. Now she was Ace of Diamonds, and this was her reward. She was about to flick her radio on, when one of her squadron beat her to the punch.

“What are we doing out here again?” griped Cooper Hawkes, callsign Jack of Spades. Hawkes was an InVitro, a literal test tube baby who’d been popped out when his body hit age 18 and his mind wasn’t necessarily caught up to that. Plus he’d been out on the streets for a few years, until he’d gotten arrested for fighting cops after random assholes attempted to lynch him. He was only in the Corps because a judge had sentenced him to serve.

And then two weeks ago, one of the biggest, most powerful corps around – Aerotech – had brainwashed him as part of a weird plot to assassinate a French nationalist.

“An old Russian Federation corvette, one of their fission powered jobs, ran into some Chig patrols while scouting for wormholes,” Nathan West, callsign King of Hearts, replied, a mix of boredom and irritation in his voice. Vansen wasn’t sure if it was related to the mission or West’s mixed feelings about InVitros. West literally wouldn’t have been in the Corps if he hadn’t been booted off an Aerotech colony mission for an InVitro… something that had a sinister edge to it now, after what had happened to Hawkes.

“What is it with the Russians and fission reactors?” Paul Wang, callsign Joker, noted Chicago sports buff and the squad’s funny guy. “Back in high school, me and a buddy had to do a group project for history class. We wound up doing an entire presentation on how the Russians had non-stop fission reactor meltdowns and other screw ups for a half-century.”

“Oh God, don’t remind me,” complained Vanessa Damphouse, callsign Ace of Hearts and often called “Phouse” for short. A Caltech graduate with a degree in nuclear physics, she was probably the smartest person on the squadron, and was in the Corps to pay off her degree. Vansen was mildly amazed that the Marines had gotten her at all – Phouse’s skill set was perfect for the Navy. “There was an entire course on nuclear safety, and it was all ‘Here’s something the Russians screwed up, don’t be like the Russians’.”

Amused by this, and utterly bored by empty space – confirmed visually and by LIDAR, Vansen asked, “Any funny stories?”

As for Vansen herself, her story was fairly uncomplicated. The daughter of Marine officers, she joined the Corps to follow in her parents’ footsteps… And to avenge their deaths at the hands of rogue Silicates, AI that had been created to do various household and other low intensity tasks. And thanks to one programmer infecting them with a virus, they rebelled against humanity – the AI Wars, a decade of terrorism and counter-terrorism that resulted in the rogue AI fleeing into the stars.

Not too long ago, the Wildcards had a run-in with a squad of rogue Silicates, where Vansen learned the ugliest truth – her parents had been killed at random. They were simply victims of the “Take a Chance” virus that compelled the AIs to take risks or gamble. That brutal truth had nearly crushed her, but once she overcame it, Vansen was prepared to keep fighting until all the rogue Silicates were destroyed.

“Well, there was this one time where the Russians ruined a whole reactor, because it had liquid metal coolant, and instead of keeping the coolant warm, it cooled down and solidified.”

There was a pause, then Hawkes said, “That’s bad, right?”

A chorus of chuckles filled the line, but before anyone could reply, a blaring tone caused Vansen’s gaze to snap to her LIDAR screen.

“Heads up Wildcards, we have possible enemy contacts, 2 o’clock high.” She angled her Hammerhead up to get a better sensor image and minimize her profile, with the rest of the squadron following suit.

“Confirmed Ace of Diamonds, we’ve got at least a dozen Chigs on approach,” West reported, his voice tense. “Oh crap, they’re accelerating on an intercept course!”

“They spotted us!” Hawkes shouted.

“Ace of Diamonds, Ace of Hearts – I’m picking up 24 – two-four – Chigs on my LIDAR. Looks like bombers and a fighter escort.” That was Damphouse telling them all that things were going to be dicey. Due to early war losses, the Hammerheads were light on aerospace-to-aerospace missiles, and Chig bombers were better armored against frontal attacks than their fighters.

“We just had to stumble onto a raid, huh?” Wang groused, jinking his Hammerhead as the Chigs got within weapons range. Alien plasma bolts whizzed by the human fighters as the Wildcards opened fire with their chin mounted railguns. A trio of Chigs exploded, too boxed in by their compatriots to maneuver out of the way.

Vansen didn’t have time for jokes, instead flipping her communication system to a different channel. “Ace of Diamonds to Queen 6, have encountered Chig raiders. One-eight fighters, six bombers. Currently engaging and in need of backup, over.”

“Understood Ace of Diamonds. Hold tight, the Five-Nine are on their way,” Colonel TC McQueen, the Wildcards’ commanding officer, replied in his typical calm, commanding tone.

Switching back to the squadron channel, Vansen relayed the good news.

“That’s great, but what about the bombers?” Hawkes said through gritted teeth. It took Vansen a second to realize that the bombers and six of the fighters had peeled off from the dogfight and were heading off in the general direction of the Saratoga, the United States space carrier they operated off of. Which meant that the reinforcements were going to be busy sooner, rather than later.

“They’re the Five-Nine’s problem,” Vansen growled as she dodged and weaved away from a Chig trying to get on her tail. One problem with only having five fighters was the lack of a wingman to peel enemies off her six. But the dual railgun auto-turret on the rear of her Hammerhead helped make up for that.

After reporting that new nugget of information to McQueen, Vansen returned her attention to the dogfight. The Chigs were fighting hard, so there’d only been one more kill, but the aliens had successfully peeled Hawkes and West off from the rest of the Wildcards, and roughly half the remaining Chigs were trying to nail them. “Damphouse, Wang, on me. We gotta punch through before they get West and Hawkes.”

She was already turning her Hammerhead before the chorus of “Roger” hit her ear, firing off the fighter’s vernier thrusters to tip her right wing out from an approaching Chig’s line of fire. Her return fire didn’t hit him, but forced the Chig behind him to bank instead of fire. Then an alarm started blaring from somewhere in her cockpit.

“The hell is that?!”

“Guys, what the hell is that alarm?!” Hawkes sounded stressed out, and Vansen couldn’t blame him. In the middle of combat, the scariest thing imaginable was something you didn’t understand.

“Oh shit!” That was Damphouse, and if the easy going girl was cursing, you knew things were bad. “Spatial distortion alert! Right on top of us!”

“Get us an escape vector!” Vansen shouted, remembering her space aviation training. Spatial distortion alert meant a damn wormhole was about to open, and fighters couldn’t survive being at the epicenter. And apparently that applied to the Chigs too, because the weapons fire stopped.

Then space started distorting in front of her, the stars stretching out like a soap bubble, causing Vansen to slam her fighter into reverse, the Gs pushing her towards gray out before she reduced thrust.

“7 o’clock low looks clear,” Damphouse reported.

“Full speed burn for five seconds, then rotate 180 to keep sensors on this,” Vansen ordered, spinning her fighter away from the bubble, catching a glimpse of at least one more in the process. “Hawkes, West – you catch that?”

“Loud and clear!”

“I’m doing it, I’m doing it!”

As the Gs kicked in again, Vansen kept a mental countdown in her head. When it hit five, she shouted, “Cut thrust, rotate 180!”

The Hammerhead groaned as it spun, swinging its nose towards the bubbles. In brilliant flashes of light, they turned into an armada of ships.

CSJ Sabre Cat

“Report!” Galaxy Commander Cordera Perez bellowed, partly out of anger, and partly because the bridge of his flagship was a cacophony of klaxons. Lower caste Jaguars hurried to deal with warnings and errors appearing on their control panels. A number of warriors, all with Enhanced Imaging implants, were dazed, but recovering.

“G-galaxy Commander, I believe we may have just suffered a misjump,” a female technician reported. Perez’s instinctual disdain for lower caste cowardice immediately evaporated when he heard the word “misjump.” It was the nightmare of everyone who had to travel the stars – a Kearny-Fuchida Drive malfunction.

If Cordera Perez believed in any gods, he would have called their survival miraculous. Since he did not, it was merely fortunate.

“Star Commodore Tiberius—” he turned towards the Sabre Cat’s commanding officer, a blonde haired man of the Hoyt bloodline. “—restore functionality as quickly as possible. We must minimize our period of vulnerability and regroup as soon as possible.”

“Aff, Galaxy Commander,” the naval officer replied, snapping off more orders as Perez looked out the bridge windows. Empty space was all he could see, but that did not mean no one was there.

“Star Commodore, Galaxy Commander!” a tech shouted, a few seconds before some of the alarms were muted. “Several ASF detected off our ventral bow, range 2 kilometers and growing!” The man winced as he realized he had been shouting unnecessarily, but he continued his report. “A total of eight, in three groups, and two designs not recognized by our systems.”

“Can we deploy our own fighters to deal with them?” Perez asked, turning towards Tiberius.

The Star Commodore shook his head. “We have not had enough time to clear out all the system errors. The only way to deploy the fighters would be to blow the bay doors, which is inadvisable without knowing if we can find repair facilities or the rest of the fleet.” His eyes narrowed. “Also, fighters are of limited range. There must be a mothership relatively nearby.”

“Focus your efforts on restoring power to the weapons,” Perez ordered, moving to the communications console. “In the meantime, I will challenge them and see if they dare face us.”

---

Shane Vansen blinked the stars out of her eyes from the flashes and shook her head. Checking her displays, she found them doing a reset that should only happen after close proximity to a nuclear weapon, which was not a comforting thought. Then she tried checking in on her squadron.

“Ace of Diamonds to all Wildcards, sitrep.”

“King of Hearts here, you all seeing this?”

“Jack of Spades here, my damn Hammerhead’s still rebooting.”

“Ace of Hearts here, does anyone recognize those designs?”

“Joker here, think the Chigs’ll take a rain check?”

Actually, that reminded her – what had happened to the Chigs?

Checking her LIDAR screen revealed that only three Chigs remained, tumbling through space. “Looks like most of the Chigs got shredded when those big boys showed up. Keep your heads on a swivel – can’t tell if the Chigs are dead or in the middle of a reboot.”

She tried the long-range comm system, but there was still residual electromagnetic interference, so that was a no-go. The Wildcards were on their own.

“Attention, unknown fighters,” an unfamiliar voice blared on every channel, sounding as angry as Colonel McQueen could when he got heated. “This is Galaxy Commander Cordera Perez of Clan Smoke Jaguar. Declare yourselves and your intent, or be destroyed. You have thirty seconds.”

The fact that this Cordera Perez – whoever the hell that was – spoke plain English shocked her, wasting a few precious seconds before she scrambled to her senses and set her comms to a general broadcast. “Galaxy Commander, this is Lieutenant Shane Vansen, 58th Squadron, United States Marine Corps Space Aviator Cavalry. We have no hostile intent, but must advise you that you are in an active combat zone.”

Beads of sweat soaked her uniform as she waited for those massive warships to pulverize her and the rest of the Wildcards. Then she noticed that the lights on all the new arrivals were flickering. Are they in trouble over there?

“Uh, Vansen? Looks like the Chigs are getting their shit together,” West broke in.

Checking her LIDAR, she could see the Chig fighters stop their tumble and begin maneuvering towards the flotilla of Smoke Jaguar ships.

“Thanks for the heads up, West.” Switching channels, she decided to give Perez the word, just so he wouldn’t feel encouraged to start blasting away. “Galaxy Commander, our opposition is moving towards your ships. We may be forced to engage in your airspace.”

“Understood, Lieutenant,” the Galaxy Commander – whatever that meant – rumbled. “Good hunting.”

“Okay.” Vansen blinked in disbelief. “Alright Wildcards, take out those Chigs.”

With the tables turned, the five Hammerheads made quick work of the three Chig fighters, reducing them to rapidly dispersing debris clouds.

“58th Squadron,” Perez announced, “there are a dozen vessels on approach. Are they your allies, or your opponents?”

“Standby Galaxy Commander,” Vansen replied. She looked over her LIDAR, then switched to the long range comm system. “Ace of Diamonds to Queen 6, did the Five-Nine ever make contact with the Chig bombers?”

“Negative, Ace of Diamonds. Sitrep?”

“Uh, we’re currently in proximity to unknown human warships operated by a ‘Clan Smoke Jaguar’ that appeared in our AO without warning. Seems the bombers doubled back and are on an attack approach.”

McQueen seemed absolutely unphased by the facts she delivered. “Understood. Do you require support?”

“Advise that Saratoga may need to get on the line with the Smoke Jaguar CO,” she told him. “Wildcards out.” To the rest of the Wildcards, she said, “Chigs are on the way back. Be ready for anything – I’m going to let ‘Galaxy Commander’ Perez know.”

The reply she got was both unsurprising and alarming. “58th Squadron, clear the line of fire.”

Alarms squealed as the massive ship ahead of them – which had the name Sabre Cat now revealed -- rotated its side to face them. The tiny fighters moved in the general direction of one its compatriots, a stubby, blocky ship a fraction of the Sabre Cat’s size, then stopped a good kilometer away. At least that way, Vansen thought, they wouldn’t give any jumpy smoke Jaguars an excuse to exercise an itchy trigger finger.

A bruising barrage of blue bolts rippled out of the side of the Sabre Cat, all aimed at the still distant and practically invisible Chigs. Half the contacts dropped off the screen after the first barrage, with a second salvo wiping out the rest. As impressive as the light show was, the actual effects on target were more impressive to Vansen – if humanity’s navies had that kind of range and firepower, they wouldn’t be anywhere near as badly pressed as they were now.

“Galaxy Commander, our mothership, USS Saratoga would be very interested in having a conversation with you.”

---

Author's Notes: An exposition heavy chapter, but since Space: Above and Beyond is pretty obscure nowadays, it's sadly necessary to do a lot of info dumping to get people up to speed. If you can't find time to get through the series premiere, check out SFDebris' two part review on his site.

This part of the story begins between episodes 7 (Eyes) and 8 (The Enemy) on Wikipedia's episode list. This was realistically the latest I could put it, because being a one season show, there's not all that much material to work with and not all that much time to sort out tech issues before the big ground assaults in the end of the show. I reverse engineered the date from the fact that episode 12, The River of Stars, literally takes place on Christmas, with the idea that there should be enough time for the upcoming two parter, plus some room for rando missions that weren't important enough for episodes.

Also, yeah, the Sabre Cat got lucky with the NPPC shots, since BattleTech capital weapons are bad at shooting fighters.

 

[Spartan303]

Yes....yes...I love it. I want more but also want more of Move, Counter Move too!

 

[bullethead]

Chapter 2

CSJ Sabre Cat,
Interstellar Space
October 2063

Galaxy Commander Cordera Perez cast his gaze upon his subordinates.

The vast majority of them were Star Captains and Star Commodores of the various other WarShips and the JumpShips that had been bid to take the world of Turtle Bay from the Draconis Combine. Star Commodore Tiberius and Star Colonel Emilie Wimmer were there in person, on the Sabre Cat’s bridge. The rest were holographic images in the bridge holotank.

“Star Commodore Tiberius, your report.”

“Galaxy Commander, all systems read as fully operational, and our weapons have proven to be so,” the Sabre Cat’s commanding officer announced. “However, my engineering crew advise against utilizing the K-F Drive without full analysis of the data from the misjump.”

The rest of the reports were in that same vein, with the JumpShip Star Captains the most anxious. Perez would have faulted them for that, if not for the fact that they were responsible for transporting most of the 362nd Assault Cluster’s supplies and the JumpShips themselves were pathetically fragile. If they were seriously damaged, the 362nd would have to abandon precious DropShips and their cargoes.

“Have any of our navigators made progress in determining where we are?” he asked next.

Uncomfortable looks were shared, all of them locking onto Tiberius, who at least had the decency to rise to the occasion. “Galaxy Commander, the information we have received is quite bizarre. Several highly identifiable stars are not where they should be. This has been observed and verified by navigators aboard all ships. But based on the preponderance of the data, we may be within a single jump of Terra. Somehow.”

That would make them a single jump away from the goal of taking Terra and becoming ilClan… if not for several inconvenient facts.

“Have we identified the fighters used by the 58th and their opponents? And for that matter, what do we know of this ‘United States Marine Corps Space Aviator Cavalry’ that they claim to belong to?”

More uncomfortable looks were shared.

“Galaxy Commander, the 58th’s fighters shared some vague design similarities with known designs, including the Visigoth, Lucifer, and Stingray. But no direct matches,” Star Colonel Wimmer announced. “As for the fighters they were facing… no known matches appeared in any of our databases.”

Perez’s curiosity was piqued, which was taking much off the edge of his growing frustration. “And what of the military they serve?”

Wimmer hesitated. “There is reference to the United States… but as a political subdivision of Terra, before the formation of the Terran Alliance, and nothing about about this ‘Marine Corps Space Aviator Cavalry’.”

“A mystery.” Growling disdain boiled in the Galaxy Commander’s voice. “We seem to be surrounded by them.”

“Aff Galaxy Commander,” Tiberius interjected. “The chief scientist aboard the Sabre Cat has suggested that we engage with the locals to gather more information to help determine what has happened.”

“Why?” Perez was baffled and annoyed by this behavior by the scientists. A misjump was a misjump. Yes, it was important to gather information to prevent it happening in the future, but the whole thing stank of prevarication.

“The scientists believe it necessary to determine exactly what happened,” the Star Commodore replied slowly, showing his lack of confidence in their judgment.

Perez merely grunted at this.

“Galaxy Commander,” that was Star Commodore Silvia Stiles, commanding officer of the heavy cruiser Stalking Jaguar. Perhaps the officer most likely to challenge him for command, at least among the naval personnel. “I am concerned about the fact that the JumpShips are within a known combat zone. We do not know if any of the combatants will adhere to zellbrigen. We must jump as soon as possible.”

Before Perez could say anything, Tiberius scoffed loud enough for all to hear. “Star Commodore, you are correct in that the JumpShips are in danger, but we have all just survived a misjump of epic proportions. Would you bid your life on whether the drive is intact and fully functional?”

As much as he hated to admit it, but Tiberius had the right of it. “We cannot risk another jump at this point in time,” he announced. “To do so would be potentially wasteful in the extreme. We could potentially destroy the very force that could take Terra and make the Smoke Jaguars ilClan!” He looked at each of them one by one. “That, I will not do. Instead, I will speak with the commanding officer of this Saratoga, and in so doing, obtain some of the information the scientists seek.”

He began pacing around the holotank. “What I require from you is a list of necessities that we must bargain for from these freeborn.”

USS Saratoga

Colonel Tyrus Cassius “TC” McQueen, formerly of the 127th “Angry Angels” felt uncomfortable in his service dress uniform.

The uniform dated back to the 1940s, which gave it a strong legacy. But it was neither as steeped in history as the Dress Blues, nor was it as practical as the Combat Duty Uniform jumpsuit he usually wore. It made him feel like a useless middle manager, instead of a United States Marine.

But he wore it because it was necessary, and if there was any consolation, Commodore Glen van Ross was also forced wear his service dress uniform.
McQueen made his way to the outboard airlock, where the shuttle from the Saber Cat was going to dock. Unlike the Inter-Solar System Cargo Vessels (ISSCVs) and Armored Personnel Carriers (ISSAPCs), there wasn’t a cargo module that could be retracted into the John F. Kennedy class carrier’s hull. So this airlock and a few others like it dotted the carrier’s hull, for these sorts of situations.

McQueen nodded at the honor guard, the Wildcards – in their dress blues, which was a mild bit of irritation for the colonel. They’d been cleared for duty after returning from the mission yesterday – no hard radiation exposure, just bog standard IR and EM. It was Ross’ idea to show the Galaxy Commander some respect, and McQueen had no issue with it, in principle.

Commodore Ross looked at him with a half smile. “Ready Ty?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” the InVitro colonel replied as the airlock cycled.

The airlock door opened, and out stepped Cordera Perez.

His sharp, angular features bore the wear of countless battles, each scar a silent testament to the price of duty. His uniform, pristine and unyielding in its design, bore an unfamiliar insignia – a radiant red starburst that seemed almost to pulse with the authority it represented. The light gray with red striping and the way the front seemed built out of multiple layers of material made the formal looking uniform seem martial in nature, compared to the business-like service dress uniforms. The only other marking that could be easily distinguished was a stylized image of a dark leaping cat – presumably the logo of Clan Smoke Jaguar.

The United States military personnel snapped into a salute, with Vansen announcing, “Galaxy Commander Cordera Perez, arriving!”

Perez cast his gaze over the room, sizing them up like a predatory cat, before finally giving a salute of his own. “Permission to come aboard?”

Maybe it was McQueen’s imagination, but it seemed like Perez resented having to ask the question.

“Permission granted, Galaxy Commander,” Ross replied, and the two US senior officers approached Perez. The Galaxy Commander met them halfway, with a middle-aged man of mocha complexion and graying hair following quickly. This man wore a jumpsuit in the same colors, but was clearly of lesser importance, possibly even a civilian. Then all eyes turned to the Smoke Jaguar guards that stepped out and stood next to the airlock.

They wore more or less the same uniform as Perez, but were two meters or more tall, and muscular to an absurd degree. One was a brunette with pale skin, and the other was a clean shaven man with skin as dark as Commodore Ross, but both were clearly there to make a point. The smirk on Perez’s face told McQueen that he had planned this from the start.

“Elementals,” the Galaxy Commander explained. “They serve as infantry in the Clan.” He then gestured to the older man beside him. “Tobias, chief scientist aboard my flagship, the Sabre Cat.”

“Your infantry must be of the highest caliber, Galaxy Commander,” Ross complemented the man before gesturing to McQueen. “May I introduce Colonel Tyrus Cassius McQueen, commanding officer for all United States Marine Corps aviators aboard the Saratoga.”

Perez sized up the colonel, seemingly dismissive of the uniform itself, but something like respect appearing when he locked eyes with McQueen. “The 58th Squadron would be under your command, quiaff?”

Unsure of what that last word meant, but understanding the tone, McQueen nodded. “They are.”

“I would be very much interested in meeting them.”

“You already have, Galaxy Commander.”

A brief look of surprise crossed his face, then he turned to take a better look at the Marines. When he turned back to McQueen, the smirk was back and he gave a slight bow. “You do me honor. Which is Lieutenant Vansen?”

The Marine in question stepped forward and announced herself.

Perez walked over to her, flicking his eyes from her feet to her face, before nodding in approval. “You were almost Smoke Jaguar in your decisiveness in our last meeting.” He turned towards the Marine colonel. “A compliment to your leadership.” He moved away from Vansen, who stepped back to her original position, then gestured towards the door. “We have much to discuss.”

“This way, gentlemen,” Ross replied, unbothered by the Jaguar’s brusqueness. McQueen fell in line behind the commodore as they weaved through the tight corridors towards the wardroom. He could feel Perez’s gaze burning a hole in the back of his neck, and he was already expecting the inevitable question.

Curiously, the Galaxy Commander held it until they were face to face, entering the wardroom. “What is that thing on your neck, Colonel?”

“A navel, Galaxy Commander. All InVitros have one.” That question let slip that the Smoke Jaguars didn’t know about InVitros, which was a clue, but a puzzling one.

“An InVitro, you say…” There was something odd about Perez’s expression, a mix of curiosity and… newfound respect? He said nothing as he entered the room, but shared a significant glance with the scientist Tobias.

Once all men were seated, Ross opened the discussion. “Who wants to go first?”

“I believe ours is the simpler story to tell,” Perez asserted. After the Commodore nodded, he made his statement. “We suffered a misjump while traveling from Santander’s World in the Periphery to Turtle Bay in the Draconis Combine.”

McQueen had never heard of any of those names, but he got the gist of the story.

“A misjump?”

“The common term for a Kearny-Fuchida drive malfunction,” Tobias explained.

Ross flicked his eyes over to McQueen. Both men had never heard of such a device, but they couldn’t rule out an AeroTech black project. The military-industrial juggernaut might have the money and political pull to hide a flotilla like this. “I see. Have you suffered any casualties or major damage?”

“Neg, our systems are functional, but we would ask for safcon to a world with a drydock. We wish to fully inspect our drive cores before using them again.”

“That sounds reasonable,” Ross replied, “but I’ve never heard of this ‘safcon’. What does that entail?”

Perez seemed annoyed by the question, but kept it out of his voice. “Safe passage to a location.”

“That might be doable, depending on what assets are available,” Ross hedged. “But to be honest, considering the state of the war effort, you’ll probably be expected to pitch in on defending your ships.”

“Understandable,” Perez assured the commodore. “Now that we have answered your questions, it is time for you to tell us what is going on.”

“Well, Galaxy Commander, you have the privilege to be on the front lines of humanity’s first war with extraterrestrials.” Ross’ southern twang made the blunt proclamation no less surreal than it would have been a few months ago.

So it was unsurprising that Perez seemed incensed by the answer. “Is this a joke? We know there are no aliens capable of building spacecraft within a thousand light-years of Terra!”

The fact that he called Earth “Terra” and said “a thousand light-years”, when human expansion was barely pushing 20, were giant red flags, and McQueen could see that Ross had noticed that too.

“Galaxy Commander,” the commodore spoke in a conciliatory tone, “this is no joke. Up until a few months ago, we didn’t know about the existence of aliens either. They attacked two of our colonies – Tellus and Vesta – without warning. They wiped out huge portions of our naval assets thanks to superior faster-than-light drive technology. We barely defeated them in Earth’s solar system, thanks in part to the 58th – that’s how they got the name 'Wildcards.' Your flagship wiped out a flight of their bombers and fighters. The aliens are real. We don’t know much about them, but we know that much.”

A fuming Perez looked at both men on the other side of the table, trying to determine if they were blowing smoke up his ass. McQueen put it at even odds that he’d storm out of the room and return to his ship.

Then Tobias spoke up without prompting for the first time. “With your permission, Galaxy Commander?” After receiving a grudging nod, the scientist continued. “The Galaxy Commander is having a hard time reconciling your account with the historical record,” he explained. “So I must ask, what year is it, by your calendar?”

Ross looked over at McQueen, uncertain where this was going. “2063.”

“Ah, I see.” The scientist nodded, as if all the pieces were fitting into place. “We are from 3050. But not your 3050.”

Earth Forces Command,
Groombridge 34

In the cold void of space, the twin red dwarfs of Groombridge 34 gleamed like embers against the canvas of the cosmos. Orbiting this binary system, colossal military stations – each controlled by one of the dominant nations on Earth – stood as humanity's first line of defense. Bristling with heavy armaments and repair bays, and encased in layers of armor, they commanded a strategic point on the frontier. The hum of warships docking and departing was a constant, an anthem of vigilance in this celestial outpost.

Nearby, a habitable planet orbited Groombridge 34A, also shared by the various nations of Earth. Early in the war, as part of a Chig misdirection operation, a rain of alien transports had dumped hundreds, if not thousands of enemy infantry onto the planet. With the planet considered insecure, control of humanity’s space military, the hastily organized Earth Fleet, was now done from the safety of the fortified logistics facilities.

There wasn’t a single unified command structure or station, at least not yet. So updates and decisions were constantly ping-ponging from station to station at faster-than-light speeds on secured channels. All involved thanked deities they might not have believed in that it was working as well as it was.

“Update on the Saratoga situation,” an American admiral transmitted. “Apparently these ‘Smoke Jaguars’ are from another reality. Their FTL drives are no-go until full system inspection, and their transport elements can only push 0.1G delta-v.” There was a sigh, apparently over the low acceleration and multiversal nature of the mysterious newcomers, but also over the fact that they were time travelers. That detail wasn’t being shared, because it would just cause more questions. “We need tow assets, and preferably some additional escorts. None of the other Jaguar assets can hit more than 1G delta-v.”

“Bloody odd, that,” replied a British admiral. “What, haven’t they got inertia dampeners?”

“No,” was the American’s flat reply.

The Brit cursed. “I’ll see what I can scrounge up, but I can’t make any promises.”

“If they are still on the Grid 1-1 and 2-1 line, I can redirect a Helium 3 convoy to rendezvous,” a female French admiral replied. “They’re leaving 40 Eridani and a cyclic wormhole puts them nearby.”

“What are we talking?” the American inquired.

“Richelieu and two destroyers, plus four transports.” Richelieu was a French battleship, one of the few capital ships left that could put out enough firepower to kill a Chig warship. 40 Eridani was on the bleeding edge of human territory, so the French had apparently decided a battleship was a good insurance policy.

“I’ll take it,” the American replied.

“No combat effective units, unfortunately, but if you need tow capacity, I have a half-dozen battered frigates that could serve,” the People’s Liberation Army Space Navy representative added to the pot.

“I’ll check the mass figures on those transports and get back to you,” the American assured him. “Anyone else?”

“Four heavy tugs,” a Russian admiral offered. “No escorts, unfortunately. We are stretched too thin.”

“Only a pair of frigates, unfortunately, and with barely any resupply,” the Brit updated them all. “They just docked and the crews haven’t been given leave yet, fortunately. I can get them going on 24 hour turnaround, but they need dock time and R&R when they get back.”

“I’ll take it,” was the American’s immediate response. “Just make sure they can last a week and a half out there.”

“We might see the Chigs attempt to storm the far end of the wormhole,” a rear-admiral (a kaisho-ho, but everyone called him the English equivalent) of the Japanese Space Self-Defense Force. “Should we move Escort Squadron 1 there?”

The JSSDF forces were holding down the fort, guarding each and every one of the wormholes leading to and from Groombridge. Sending the escort carrier and three destroyers through might help the slow moving convoy, but it would expose Groombridge to a potential sneak attack. The rest of the admirals rejected the idea on those grounds. Humanity’s position was still too weak – they were months away from replacing capital ship combat losses, never mind what a potential disaster the loss of the stations themselves would be.

“What are we going to do about Aerotech?” the British admiral asked, referring to the elephant in the room. “They’re going to want their piece of the Jaguar pie.”

“I say good luck to them,” the American chuckled. “But in the interest of being fair, we’ll let everyone have their shot at making nice with them. We’ll probably give Aerotech limited exclusivity on the FTL drive, but that’s up their alley anyway. So long as Aerotech doesn’t monopolize things, we’ll just let things play out and reap whatever benefits can be had.”

---

Author's Notes: Well, I have interesting news. I have managed to get my hands on the two tie-in novels for Space: Above and Beyond. One of them is really late in the season, so it'll be a while to check that out. Just flipping through that one has told me that it's a SAAB ass story, so it'll probably get tossed in here.

So this is the biggest bit of suspension of disbelief in the story, because it presupposes that Smoke Jaguars won't do something dumb and obviously against their own long-term self-interests. You can imagine many scenarios where Uncle Cordy is bullheaded enough to go through with another jump after their misjump, and how most, if not all of those, end in tragedy. Those would be boring, but potentially hilarious stories.

Also, I had a lot of fun imagining Ross, McQueen, and Cordera Perez talking to each other, because they all have very distinctive voices. If it wasn't for the copyright bots, I'd be tempted to do a mash up video of the three of them talking.

 

[Blasterbot]

I will just imagine that the mech warrior 5 Smoke Jags have somehow managed to find a brain or two to split between the commanders. shocking I know but perhaps they perished in the OT.

 

[The Whispering Monk]

I will just imagine that the mech warrior 5 Smoke Jags have somehow managed to find a brain or two to split between the commanders. shocking I know but perhaps they perished in the OT.

I've always love the idea of the SJs being less mustache-twirly and actual capable villains.

 

[Blasterbot]

I've always love the idea of the SJs being less mustache-twirly and actual capable villains.

I'm just saying if I had to make a clan force I'd probably paint it up as Smoke Jaguars. I'd play to the hilt as the mustache twirling Saturday morning cartoon villains. everyone loves to hate them so they like them as the opfor.

 

[Spartan303]

Also, I had a lot of fun imagining Ross, McQueen, and Cordera Perez talking to each other, because they all have very distinctive voices. If it wasn't for the copyright bots, I'd be tempted to do a mash up video of the three of them talking.

Dooooo eeeeeet!!!! Do it now!

 

[bullethead]

Chapter 3

CSJ Sabre Cat,
Interstellar Space
October 2063

The USS Saratoga was visible through the Sabre Cat’s bridge window, and Cordera Perez spent some time pondering it. The vessel mostly resembled an extruded trapezoid, with weapons and other components bolted on the top, widest side. He could not determine what the weapons were, precisely, although he had noted what appeared to be a capital missile launcher, along with various weapons turrets on the flights to and from the ship. In the rear was a trapezoidal conning tower, although its profile was more rectangular from the front. It was oddly large and vulnerable, a weakness not shared by any of the ships in his fleet.

Feeling calm and analytical, he moved to the holotank, where he again met with Star Colonel Wimmer and the various WarShip and JumpShip commanders… as well as Chief Scientist Tobias.

“So, scientist,” the Galaxy Commander could not keep the venom out of his mouth, “why were we not informed that we were potentially in the past of another universe?”

To his credit, Tobias seemed unphased by the hostility being focused at him. However, he seemed unaware that Perez was greatly considering a Trial of Grievance against him, or was simply confident that the Galaxy Commander would not kill him for his impudence. The scientist seemed unaware that there Perez need not kill him to make his dissatisfaction known. “Because, Galaxy Commander, there was no data to come to a conclusion. Which is why I did not object to going over to the Saratoga – it was the logical place to obtain more information to help determine the nature of our misjump.”

“But there must have been some clue that made you favor one conclusion over others,” Star Commodore Tiberius pointed out.

“Aff, Star Commodore. The shifted positions of the stars pointed to one of two possible conclusions – another universe, which has long been theorized by science, or displacement to an era where humanity somehow gained the ability to move the stars themselves.”

Star Commodore Silvia Stiles had managed to keep her thoughts to herself, but now she made them known to all. “How is it possible that freebirths have discovered artificial gravity, inertial dampening, interstellar space flight, and aliens so early in human history?”

“I cannot answer that, Star Commodore, without greater access to the historical records of this reality,” Tobias replied, unbothered by the question. “Clearly, inventions and discoveries were made by this humanity far sooner than in our own. And the presence of sapient aliens at all points to some kind of more fundamental difference from our own reality.”

“Will any of this affect our ability to use our own technology?” Tiberius asked.

“The laws of physics are clearly close enough that many of our systems are functional,” Tobias pointed out. “Any divergences are likely in higher order physics, so our K-F Drives may not work properly… or at all.” He paused and grimaced. “That will require a good deal of experimentation and analysis to determine.”

The various subordinate officers looked at each other uncomfortably, suddenly aware of the possibility that they might never return to their home reality.

This did concern the Galaxy Commander, but he was a Smoke Jaguar. A war such as this offered many opportunities for conquest and glory. But he was not blind to even greater opportunities, although his first priority was the protection of his command. One did not rise to the rank without possessing a degree of cunning and the ability to see the obvious, after all.

“The commanding officer of the Saratoga, Commodore Glen van Ross, has been in communication with his superiors,” Perez informed them, retaking control of the conversation. “They have managed to organize a convoy that will escort our DropShips and tow the JumpShips to a planet in the Groombridge system. It is one of their forward operations areas, and has facilities for maintenance and repair.”

“What was bargained for access to these facilities?” Wimmer asked.

“Nothing – so far,” Perez informed them. “The primary focus of the Earth Fleet – which is the combined human force – is to move us to more easily defended territory before the Chigs can return in force to capture us.” He gave them a grim smile. “I expect revised bargain proposals in the near future.”

He paused, then looked over at Wimmer. “They have agreed to your bargain, Star Colonel, and authorized a… liaison force to be attached to the Saratoga. They are as interested in seeing how our equipment fares against these aliens as we are.”

He paused again, looking at all his senior officers. “It will take us seven days at 1G acceleration to reach the wormhole that leads to Groombridge. From this point on, all units are restricted to energy weapons and gauss rifles, when applicable.”

“Aff, Galaxy Commander!” they chorused.

“Will the JumpShips be able to survive that acceleration?” Tiberius asked, looking over at Tobias.

“If they slowly accelerate and decelerate, there should be little to no danger, but the scientific and technical contingents will naturally examine the issue and verify that it is safe,” the scientist assured them.

“Can our ships even transit these… wormholes safely?” A JumpShip Star Captain inquired.

“I made some inquiries about that while aboard the Saratoga,” Tobias informed them. “It appears that most of their civilian shipping has no FTL drives of their own, just transit drives to get them through the wormholes and to their destinations. Minimal stress is placed on the ship, so long as it maintains a safe distance of at least a kilometer from the ‘walls’ of the wormhole.”

To forestall any further dragging out of the discussion, Perez reasserted himself. “We have done our due diligence and determined this to be the safest course of action. What matters now is preparation for the journey. Dismissed.”

The holographic officers disappeared, with Tiberius and Tobias moving away not long after. Star Colonel Wimmer lingered, which was as expected. “Star Colonel Wimmer, have you determined who will be sent over to the Saratoga?”

“Aff, Galaxy Commander.”

“Summon the commanding officers. I wish to brief them… personally.”

USS Saratoga

The squadron briefing room was packed.

For some arcane reason, the briefing room overlooking the 58th’s usual Hammerhead deployment bay (and presumably all the other briefing rooms) had removable chairs in it. As Shane Vansen led her squadron into the morass of squadrons fighting for seating, it struck her as ridiculous that Navy personnel bothered removing and adding chairs just for specific briefings. If she was running things, she would’ve just hard bolted the chairs to the deck and been done with it.

The whiteboard at the front of the room, which she could barely see through the crowd, had been adorned with several foreign flags. Which was pointed out by her squadron, as they jostled their way toward a set of seats. She didn’t particularly care, but she could foresee a nightmare if there were going to be multiple different nations operating fighters in the same space.

Not even 30 seconds after they sat down, Colonel McQueen entered the room, causing everyone to stand at attention. After telling everyone “be seated”, the colonel looked them over, then began the briefing. “As you are aware, we have been in contact with a flotilla of ships belonging to a ‘Clan Smoke Jaguar’.” When no one raised any questions, he continued. “Earth Fleet brass has assigned the Saratoga to be the air support element of a convoy escorting the Jaguar flotilla to the Groombridge wormhole.”

McQueen then began pointing out and listing the various other Earth Fleet ships. With a sinking feeling in her gut as the list grew longer, Vansen predicted what the colonel’s next words were going to be. “As you can see, we’re it when it comes to air cover.”

The leader of the 62nd Squadron raised his hand. “Sir, don’t these Smoke Jaguars have any fighters of their own?”

“They do,” McQueen confirmed. “But they’re holding them back, for two reasons. First, to deny the Chigs intel on their capabilities.” That got groans from all around the room. “Second, every plane they lose is one they can’t replace. So until they have a supply chain for replacements, they’re not taking any risks with theirs.”

Vansen couldn’t argue with that.

“In addition,” McQueen sounded somewhat reluctant or exasperated, perhaps both, which made her ears perk up, “a detachment of Smoke Jaguar infantry and mechanized combat units has been assigned to the 58th. They will consist of five Elementals and an ‘OmniMech’ star, which is also five units.”

A bunch of consolatory pats on the shoulder and words of sympathy were sent the Wildcards’ way once the news broke. Stunned, Vansen couldn’t think of anything to say in protest, utterly blindsided by this move. That meant Wang was left to raise his hand and ask the question on the rest of their minds.

“Sir, any chance these ‘OmniMechs’ are some kind of transforming giant robot?”

“You’ll probably find out at the same time I do,” McQueen replied, obviously annoyed by the whole situation. “The plus side is that we won’t have to worry about them until about a day before the rest of the convoy goes through the wormhole. We won’t be following them – the Saratoga is still a front line asset, and we’ll go where we’re needed.”

There a few grumbles of disappointment or discontent, but they died down as the briefing continued, with McQueen laying out the squadron rotations, rules of engagement, and other details that Vansen couldn’t particularly care about. Not when the nightmare of having an element from a completely foreign culture embedded in her own unit was here. As the briefing wrapped up, she approached McQueen, aware that the eyes of other Wildcards were on her.

The colonel noticed her approach, picked up a tablet, and handed it to her. “The Smoke Jaguars sent over their rules and regulations ahead of time. Take some time to read them.”

“Um, thank you, sir.” Vansen tucked the tablet under her arm, then took a deep breath. “Sir, I would like to protest the assignment of a foreign military detachment to the Wildcards. We have not been trained or prepared for this type of role in any way, and the Smoke Jaguar force is not compatible with our role as aviation cavalry.”

For his part, McQueen seemed more amused than anything else. “Is that all, Lieutenant?”

She almost opened her mouth to say something else, then thought better of it. “Yes sir.”

“Well, to be fair to you, you’re not the only one who thinks it’s not a great idea,” McQueen admitted, much to her surprise. “However, Galaxy Commander Perez specifically requested it, and the brass are looking to get in good with the Smoke Jaguars. So we have to deal with it. Understood, Lieutenant?”

“Yes sir.” She hoped she didn’t sound as small and pathetic as she felt.

“Dismissed.” McQueen walked out of the room with a tablet of his own, and the rest of the Wildcards gave her sympathy pats and words of consolation on the shoulders. Except for Hawkes, who awkwardly shuffled off after the pat on the shoulder. Alone in the briefing room, she could only think of one word to summarize the hell her life was going to be.

“Shit!”

CSJ Sabre Cat

Star Commander Jayden stood in the center of the Galaxy Commander’s austere office, his sharp, light-gray eyes scanning the room with a mix of curiosity and vigilance. His gaze lingered on the faintly glowing screens embedded in the bulkheads, their data feeds casting a cold, pale light that accentuated his angular features. His skin, fair and unmarred by battle, seemed almost too youthful for someone aboard a vessel steeped in war, but the slight shadow of stubble along his jaw ran counter to that impression.

His hair, a sleek brown, was neatly combed back, though a few rebellious strands caught the dim light as he moved. The uniform he wore, an immaculate blend of light gray with crimson trim, hugged his lean frame with precision, the high collar brushing against his neck. The subtle insignia on his collar marked him as an officer, though his expression carried none of the arrogance such a rank might suggest—just an intense focus and the faintest trace of apprehension.

The muted hum of the Sabre Cat’s engines seemed to amplify the tension in the air as Jayden’s eyes darted to the corner of the office, where a tactical display flickered with supply statistics and consumption rates. His hands, pale but steady, rested against his sides, fingers twitching slightly, as though anticipating an order that had yet to come. In the faint glow of the displays, the soft lines of worry etched into his features became more apparent—a reminder that, beneath the polished exterior, he was as human as the rest of the crew.

He was joined by a female Elemental of the 362nd that he barely recognized, possibly from the all-Elemental Stealth Trinary, which had 75 of the hulking battle armor soldiers. Then again, the two Assault Supernovas had multiple Novas – essentially a binary of ‘Mech and Elementals – so that was also a possibility. This Elemental had a vague resemblance to Star Colonel Wimmer, who was in the office as well, although her face was not as puffy as the Star Colonel’s.

Also in the room was the Star Captain of the Broadsword class DropShip designated Condor Four Zero Niner. Star Captain Beltorchika was a blonde woman with the enlarged blue eyes of the pilot phenotype, and a mercurial personality, from what Jayden remembered. He and the rest of Cobalt Star did their best to avoid interacting with her – which was mildly annoying, due to the fact that they had a positive relationship with the rest of the DropShip’s crew.

All three stood at attention in front of Perez’s desk and Star Colonel Emilie Wimmer, feeling his probing gaze upon them. After several minutes of quiet examination, he gave his first order. “At ease.”

The three of them shifted into a slightly relaxed, wider legged stance.

“Star Captain Beltorchika, Star Commander Jayden, Point Commander Elena, your units have been chosen to serve as an independent reconnaissance element of the 362nd,” Wimmer informed them all. “As you are all aware, we have suffered a misjump. What you might not be aware of is the fact that we are in an alternate universe, where humanity is at war with aliens.”

Only Elena started in surprise. Jayden’s sibkin Liam had done a little light hacking, and found some scientist caste discussion about that. (Jayden had been worried that this was the reason why he had been summoned by the Galaxy Commander.) Star Captain Beltorchika seemed utterly unsurprised, probably because she had observed the engagement immediately after the misjump. Jayden himself only turned his head towards the Star Colonel.

“In addition, we have traveled nearly a thousand years into the past,” Wimmer added, as though things weren’t bizarre enough. “While the rest of the 362nd proceeds to the Groombridge system, where human military naval maintenance facilities are located, your units will be attached to the USS Saratoga, a carrier WarShip. Cobalt Star and Dagger Point will be attached to the 58th Squadron, United States Marine Corps Space Aviator Cavalry, and under the command of Colonel Tyrus Cassius McQueen.”

At this point, Jayden had many questions, but Beltorchika beat him to the punch on the most problematic one. “Galaxy Commander, who is the ranking officer for this command?”

“Star Commander Jayden is in overall command,” Galaxy Commander Cordera Perez declared, in a tone that brooked no argument. “Star Captain Beltorchika, you are in command of your DropShip and its use when it is not involved in the deployment of OmniMech or Elemental forces.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her stiffen and raise her chin in dissatisfaction. I will have to watch out for her, he thought in irritation. Since this is the Galaxy Commander’s order, no Trial of Grievance against me can change official command. But she might still challenge me, unofficially.

“Star Colonel, is this independent unit considered a Nova?” he asked, trying to change the subject.

“There was some consideration to having your units combined into a Nova,” Wimmer told the two commanders. “However, since we do not know the tactical doctrine of these Marines, nor the best way to leverage your units against these aliens, they remain independent for maximum flexibility.”

The next several minutes were fairly bland and minimal briefing, which did not tell him all that much, besides the fact that the aliens were called “Chigs” and that energy weapons (or gauss rifles) were the preferred weapons to use. Then they each received a copy of the Uniform Code of Military Justice on a data slate, which were presumably the equivalent of the Clan’s own rules and regulations. After a few more minutes detailing that collecting isorla was encouraged and what information could be shared without having to get authorized by the Galaxy Commander – basically anything Chig related, the trio of officers was dismissed.

Except for Jayden.

“Star Commander, I have an additional task for you,” the Galaxy Commander informed him, standing up to emphasize this point. “I have reason to believe that the humans of this reality have created Trueborn – they call them InVitros.”

The shock Jayden felt must have been apparent on his face, because Perez nodded solemnly. “Aff, it surprised me as well. That is why I am tasking you with observing these InVitros in the field and reporting their battlefield performance to determine if the technology of this reality is worth further investigation.”

“I can do that, Galaxy Commander,” Jayden assured him. “How will I be able to identify them? Are they as obvious as Elementals?”

Perez chuckled at that. “Neg, nothing quite that obvious. There is a… feature, on the back of the neck, that signifies that someone is an InVitro. The officer you are to report to, Colonel McQueen, has it. Others among the crew may be InVitros as well.”

“And if McQueen is the only InVitro aboard, that tells us that the technology is likely worthless for producing warriors,” the young Star Commander reasoned.

“Exactly!” Perez seemed pleased that Jayden had made the deduction, and out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Wimmer nodding – either in approval or encouragement. “You will encrypt these reports and route them to me and Star Colonel Wimmer, since we will be in charge of approving technology exchanges.”

“Aff, Galaxy Commander, I understand.”

“Good,” the Galaxy Commander rumbled. “I expect you to use your best judgment and uphold the honor of the Clan. These freeborn have demonstrated discipline and a capacity for honorable conduct, but do not allow yourself to become lax in their presence.”

“We will not,” he assured Beta Galaxy’s commander.

“Excellent. Confer with Point Commander Elena before departure – whatever equipment you take with you will likely be the only source of spare parts for the foreseeable future,” Perez added as a final parting gift. “Dismissed.”

---

Author's Notes: So some people were wondering how and why Smoke Jaguars would deign to work with freebirths. This is a logical question for anyone who has not played MechWarrior 5: Clans, where Uncle Cordy works quite smoothly (for the most part) with a ComStar demi-precentor. But there's another reason: Uncle Cordy has BIG IDEAS, that are all about the GLORY OF SMOKE JAGUAR.

Being the Wildcards is suffering. They just want to fly planes and fight Chigs, but they were in the wrong place at the wrong time and volunteered themselves for this.

For those who don't know, Jayden is the wet behind the ears scrub player character from MechWarrior 5: Clans. He is straight out the sibko, with Santander's World being the only real campaign he's fought in. Despite being a Smoke Jaguar, he manages to be pretty alright, mostly because he's not an asshole.

Also, for whatever reason, his Star used one Broadsword DropShip for all their missions on Santander's World, but when the 362nd hit Turtle Bay, his Star starts ping-ponging between different Broadswords. So I just assigned them to that Broadsword.