Chapter 1 - Fallen Angels

- Sunspot Cafe -

He slouched in a booth, brooding, eyes hooded, seemingly oblivious to the ripping Bora technofunk beats shaking the establishment. A slightly disheveled mop of platinum-dyed hair obscured much of his face; parted off to the side, slightly longer than shoulder length. Firmly ensconced in his leather trench coat, head down, one thing moved. His eyes scanned the crowd frequenting the Sunspot rapidly, and thoroughly. He disliked being surprised, for one. He was also looking for someone.

Duncan dropped his guitar into it’s upright cradle, and slowly sauntered off the stage. His customary sardonic grin adorned his face. He wends his way to Butcher’s table, commenting briefly, chats for a moment with Faerie, and settles into conversation. It is his bar, after all.

A trio enters with a swagger - and stagger. The indomitable Misterfour, and his erstwhile companions; SFA and Griffin Moone. At the bar, Scarlet is gesticulating wildly to Dark Ice, recreating a recent engagement. Lucifer makes his way off the dance floor - with a madman’s walk, but a self-assurance only the founder of the Devil’s Fist can assume. A dark frame fills the doorway for a moment, an aura of menace momentarily palpable. One more step reveals the sober mien of the Pegasus master - Herr Bloodstar. The observer’s head shakes imperceptibly. What business would they all have here midweek? The question hangs unanswered as he spots a Lucri Causa patch on a nearby flight jacket. Jaycex back in the Fringe. Must be important for him to leave his tow untended in Solrain space. Quite the baron he’d become. He watched Jaycex make his way to Scarlet. Another familiar face also greeted him. Q, in Sunspot. Now this was getting interesting.

He listens in unobtrusively. “Yeah, we have our pirates, and dereg can be as bad as the Fringe sometimes. But the money!” He chuckles under his breath. Jaycex always was eloquent when the subject turned to money. Some things never change. “Glad to hear you’re doing well, Jaycex.” Came Q’s calm reply. “We need our interests represented in that part of the galaxy.” Jaycex’s reply is low and indistinct. Time to mingle.

Dragon has somehow procured a pretty brunette on one side of him, smiling congenially as he regales her with tales from the life of a starpilot. Bloodstar sits alone, back to the wall, with a dark mug between his hands. His eyes follow the dark-clothed figure across the room. He knows him, but can’t place him. It bothers him.

Misterfour has both booted feet up on his table, laughing uproariously at a comment from SFA. His eyes light in recognition of the man walking by, but he stays as he is, content in his circumstances. Lucifer smiles quickly, arms crossed over his chest, watching the goings on. He motions the black clad pilot over.

“So, kid. How’s the flux treating you? You made a little bit of a stir I hear. You were what rank?” He says quietly. “Well Dev, I’ll tell you. Nothing like flying a Peg. Those Phoenixes took getting used to. How’s IK treating you?” He replied. “You’ve certainly changed, kid. Not for the better, either. You left in a hurry a while back. Not a word on the comms for quite a while. Now the dye job. Why no word? I know it’s not money. I saw your stats through Octavia command a while back. You did rather well for yourself. Not to mention what you already had in contracts. So tell me, Razor. What’s eating you?” It was SoulReamer, Captain of the Devil’s Fist, who leaned forward now. Concerned.

“You ever felt stretched, Dev? Too many wars? Too much blood? I’m 23, man. Too young to be jaded. But it’s a struggle to get in that cockpit and face another flight - another loss, another friend gone, more on my conscience. Invasion threatening our Octavious holdings, or a Mech battalion to today’s hotspot. A fighter wing has to be deployed to protect a new colony. Search and destroys out of GBS, recruit flight training. Agents, counteragents, infiltration, diplomacy, alliances, non-aggression pacts. Expansion, beauracracy, gunning down Eels in Four Fingers, at the conference table an hour later. It’s too much. I really need a sabbatical.” Dev studied his friend sympathetically. A few heads turned at his last outburst - a little overloud. Some in recognition, some in annoyance. Devil doubts if he cares.

He shrugs off the heavy leather jacket, revealing a black uniform with yellow trim. New Dawn insignia emblazoned on the back, he notices as he turns to adjust his jacket. Military style side-pocket pants. Commander’s insignia on a short chain. He rakes his hair back from his face. Stylized Archangel and Phoenix earrings in one ear, New Dawn crest in the other. He looks tired. “Raz, I don’t know what to tell you. If you need to take a break, take one. Take all the time you need. Just don’t get too out of touch, you hear me? We need you around every once in a while.” “Alright. I’ll keep in touch.”

- Nuevo Dia Starbase -

He clicked off his comm with a wry smile. Zajj was at it again. It was a good sim, though. Got a little bit toasted last round, but that tends to happen with Zajj, Xander and Werewolf in there. Even semi-retired from ND, Wolf was good. He yawned as he popped the hatch on his sim pod, stretching to get rid of the inevitable cramps after two hours of the same seat. They’d been working a wing scenario - light assault versus heavy assault, to gauge the effect the lighter fighters could have on a heavier attack mix. Zajj, Tafflaff and Falcon were in their Pegs, along with Xander in his ubiquitous Mako. He and Rstar were in Archangels, with Shadow and Wolf in Warhammers. Werewolf had the highest rating, as a past master in Peg-railing. But the Solarii favored by the Archangel pilots were rendered almost completely ineffective by the speed and agility of the smaller craft. Not anything the Archy pilots weren’t accustomed to, though.

Werewolf and Zajj were already comparing notes on the sim, as usual. Not everyone knew they were close - but they were as closely matched a pair as any he’d seen. Seamless when they flew together. Xander was on his way over. “Sorry I kept tagging you Raz. Archys are too tempting from up top” he said. “I kept trying to stay edge-on to Zajj - only way the bugger misses!” Razor replied. They both laughed. “Trouble was, man, I was snipin. Pick em off from the edges. When you’d turn to avoid Zajj, you’d be screamin ‘shoot me’ from where I sat.” “Live and learn, man, live and learn.” Razor clapped him on the back and they all headed for quarters. Maybe try a free-for-all next time. Razor sighed. Solers just get the shaft. Powerful, sure. But so slow. When it hits, they complain - when they live. “Too powerful.” Never mind the fact that it takes hundreds of hours to achieve a modicum of success with them. The instantaneous explosion of a full sol impact does look impressive though. Almost looks easy. Oh well. Enough whining. He thought.

With new clans rising and falling daily, it seemed, the political landscape was eminently mutable - especially in the Expansion Regions. Add the influx of the formerly unobtainable “pirate” vessels, and the Fringe turned into a hotbed almost overnight. As a result, everyone had been spending more time in Expansion lately. The Flux wars were at a fever pitch in TRI space, New Dawn was pursuing a growth policy in the newly discovered “3rd world”, and that made things a bit tight. From the Fringe to the Inner Sphere, Sol to Unregulated, TRI to the 3rd World, New Dawn had their hands full.

Flux, bounties, pseudo-mercenary contracts, and a lucrative smuggling business had helped defray costs somewhat. But ships were expensive. As the recruiting influx reached it’s peak, TRI, not to mention the collective Fringe splinter groups, absorbed a huge pool of largely untested pilot trainees. The corporate sector accounted for a good number of jobs - freighters, shuttles, tows, and their like all required the services of dependable pilots. On the other hand, the trade upswing revived another time-honored branch of big business. Piracy. With TRI’s suspension of law in their space, and the customary absence of Star Patrol in Fringe affairs, both sectors now required bristling escorts to ensure much-needed cargo reached it’s destinations. New Dawn fighters were left unmolested in TRI space for the most part, by tacit agreement, but resupply and shipping convoys still had occasional forays attempted on them. Combat pilots who should have been fighting flux, on crew rest, or in training were assigned increasingly heavy schedules for patrol or escort duty. Quite a dilemma.

Falcon’s extensive experience in TRI diplomacy had proven invaluable for them - as did the excellent veteran skills of Werewolf and Zajj in the Fringe. A great bunch of pilots. But he only had so many. He mulled all this over on his way through Nuevo Dia Starbase - passing crew chiefs, controllers, techs, mechanics, and fellow pilots on his way. Absently returning smiles, salutes, and cheerful greetings, he finally reached his quarters. He palmed open the door, unsealed his boots, and activated his terminal. Time to start the other part of his workday.

- Praxus Starbase -

Misterfour paused outside a doorway. Just like every other doorway in the behemoth structure. Except this door bore the nameplate of one “SuperFurryAnimal”. It was time. Time to go clubbin. “Shuttle 07685 leaving in 12.5 minutes. All passengers please prepare for transit to New Vegas” the loudspeaker announced serenely. He smiled mischievously. He clicked the intercom. “You ready to go yet?” “Just one more minute!” The room’s occupant yelled. “If you don’t hurry up, I’m leaving without you. We both know your chances of acquiring a date without my help...” The door slid open. “Jase, fashion can’t be hurried.” “That requires fashion sense to begin with, numbwit. Hurry UP!” “Ok, ok, coming.” SFA muttered something about ancestry under his breath and grabbed his jacket.

Knight Lucifer sat in front of his triple encrypted, 250,000 credit terminal, and completed the final keystroke on the latest contract notice. Part of his agreement upon joining the Knights was unrestricted encrypted access to the outside datanets, free of surveillance. He laughed at the contract he just posted. Misspelled, illiterate, and uncouth to boot, the contractor was definitely no prize.. But he had cash. These punk kids were proliferating like rabbits these days. No doubt the contractee would be a contractor as soon as he saw it, he supposed. The money was great in the hitman business. Oh well. Sucks to be them. One of his enforcers would be dogging him shortly, no doubt. Very shortly, he amended. That kid’s been asking for it from a few of my guys. He attached his signature block perfunctorily to the notice. “Reamer.” Running a merc outfit had it’s perks, he supposed. Nice to be close to a wingleader or two now, also. Iconia had it’s connections. As well as it’s drawbacks. He shrugged. The man formerly known as “The Devil” signed off. Time to play.

- Nuevo Dia Starbase -

He checked the sims of the weapons loadouts again, to make sure they matched the energy ratings listed for the particular ship. In the real world, an energy guzzling weapon cmatched to a power light fighter could spell disaster. Careless pilots didn’t last long in the Fringe. He sighed. A lot of new ships to get checked out in. On the one hand, it was good to have a wide array of fighter chassis to choose from. A lucrative business for the design team, now gone their separate ways. Devilsclaw, Bloodstar and Shadow’s lament had done very well with these imported “Pirate” designs. Their respective shipyards were pumping out ships by the dozens, daily. Devil wasn’t too far off about his money situation. His private hangar had a dozen or so ships parked here and there, in various states of repair.

His crew chief was doing a great job refitting and maintaining them all. His assistant was working out well, too. 2 Archangels, a Mace, and a Pegasus were parked neatly toward the door. “Sunrise”, his pride and joy, had it’s quad solarii powered, at the ready in all other respects. He noted the extra polish and new insignia added recently. Chief is getting a bonus, he thought. He walked down the line. A brand new shipyard fresh Demon, a Hawk, Shrike, Gar and Piranha were lined up down one side. An antique Demon in the mid-stages of refurb, along with a Bora-era Mace were on the other. The spot for his long-awaited Enforcer was still empty. There was a waiting list from here to the Hub for that one. He had thought about buying a Treg - maybe a Midge, too. But who knows. The second Phoenix was still in the yard back on Octavia, not to mention the new Gunship he was paying on. The Condor he rented out would pay for it real soon though. He inspected the exterior hoses on his dropship. Maybe need a leak check. But they can wait. He smiled.

His MadKat II, Daishi, and Vulture sat powered down against the hangar wall. Hadn’t jumped in one of them for a while now. Busy busy. Good mechs, though. He laughed. A snapshot of clan life. Holdings in the Fringe, TRI, Clan space, 3rd world, and on the cusp of expansion everywhere. Getting stretched. Ha. To the breaking point maybe. Onward and upward, he thought.

- New Vegas -

A smile threatened to come over the comm in spite of himself. “Yes, my callsign is ‘Big Fat Jerk‘. So?” “Well, Pegasus 01974, it just seemed.... odd. Sorry.” “Control, do I have clearance for New Vegas 7, or not?” “Affirmative, uhh.. Pegasus 01974. Stand by for vector transmission.” “Roger, tower. Let’s just say... the Devil went down to Vegas, and leave it at that.” “Uhh, roger that. I think.” Devil banked into the holding pattern, per the flight plan, still grinning.

- Neechi Command -

Dragon stretched and picked up his guitar. He and Nasty had a jam session planned later. Aimlessly plucking at the strings didn’t get him much into the playing mood, though. A ground strike on Telaxon tomorrow - hopefully break up a pirate’s nest. He hoped his Mech jocks were up to it. And that there weren’t any surprises for them. Maybe brief them again before they went out... No. Can’t micromanage. Patrols were picking up an increased level of dAb incursions along the Twilight border, though. High rate of shipping attacks by the so-called “Rock” ships in Ripstar shipping lanes. Probably just more pirates. Still a big headache. Which he was definitely feeling right now.