Forging Freyja - Chapter 7.3

Lummatii
Lothian League
Marian Hegemony
The Periphery
4 September, 3149




     Three hours later, the door to her cell opened. The Warden stood in the entrance, his bandaged nose a reminder of their previous meeting. Freyja wasn't exactly thrilled to see him, but after three hours in the courthouse jail cell, she was happy to at least be hopefully going somewhere. Thus far, her only entertainment had been when her cell mate, obviously the town drunk, had awakened from his slumber, said a few unintelligible words, and then proceeded to vomit profusely all over the floor. Nobody had come to clean it up, even after the man passed out again, and the smell was becoming quite ripe.

     "Get up and get moving," barked the Warden. She got to her feet as quickly as she could, and one of the Warden's men quickly cuffed her hands in front of her and gave her an unceremonious shove out of the door. They passed through another gate, and proceeded down a long corridor.

     "Where are we going?" she asked.

     "You're going to stand on charges before the Lord Governor. You should count yourself lucky, little bitch, that his lordship is holding court today. I promise you'd have not wanted to spend a night in my jail." Warden Connors seemed quite pleased with his boasting.

     "No doubt. I'm sure the company is quite lacking," she quipped.

     "Mind your tongue and your place, you damned little slave wench. Your sass will be the end of you."

     She pondered on responding, but thought better of digging herself any deeper of a hole. A few moments later, they entered a spacious office, where a broad shouldered man with graying hair sat in a large plush chair behind a solid, ornate wooden desk. Two uniformed guards flanked him, and he shuffled a pile of papers away as he took off a pair of spectacles. The warden shoved her into a plain wooden chair set directly in front of the desk.

     "That will be all, Warden Connors. I'll send for you when I've reached my decision," the Lord Governor said in a brogue similar to, but slightly more refined than that of the warden.

     "You're sure, My Lord?"

     "Aye, I'll be getting the truth of the matter from the girl, and we wouldn't want any improprieties, would we, Malcolm?" With that, the Warden turned and left with his men. The Lord Governor picked up a piece of paper, and looked at Freyja for a moment before he began speaking. "So you're the girl that bloodied my warden's nose? I was expecting someone a little more.....substantial."

     Freyja said nothing, and the Lord Governor appeared to be sizing her up. She sat as still and as firm as she could. She felt as though she should be more scared than she was.

     He held up the paper in his hand. "You made quite the impression. Old Warden Connors threw the book at you when writing up these charges. Two counts of assault on an officer of the law. Slander against an officer of the law. Disturbing the peace. Resisting arrest. Fleeing the scene of a crime." He set the paper down on his desk. "I'm not concerned with the fluff he added. We'll concern ourselves just with the matter of assault. Are you guilty of those charges?"

     She nodded. "Yes, my lord. I struck both the warden and his lieutenant."

     "Unprovoked, in the middle of a courthouse, you decided to strike two officers of the law?"

     She paused for a moment, choosing her words. "I was not unprovoked, my lord. The warden was insulting and trying to provoke my companion."

     "Your master, you mean. Warden Connors can have a way with words, but you, a slave, found cause to strike him over it? Did he strike you first? Or threaten you or your master in any way?"

     She looked down. "No, my lord."

     "This whole matter seems very straightforward then. You had no cause to attack my warden. I shall levy a fine against your master, and you will remain in custody until such time as he pays it. How he punishes you for it is up to him. "

     She looked up at the Lord Governor. "Begging your lordships pardon, but it hardly seems fair, my master paying for a transgression that was mine alone. If it pleases your lordship, I would face the punishment for the crime myself, rather than have my master inconvenienced for something that was beyond his control."

     The Lord Governor looked at her confusedly. "You don't conduct yourself as a slave. And no, it is not fair that your master suffer the burden of your foolishness, but you are a slave. You've no way of paying any fine that I might levy for the attack. And should I have you jailed, that would just as much punish your master by robbing him of your service for a time." He stroked his graying beard thoughtfully. "The only other option would be punitive corporal punishment. You are sure you wish to keep your master out of this?"

     "Yes, my lord. The fault is entirely my own, so should the punishment be."

     He summoned both Warden Connors and Ned Bakker, and within minutes, both had joined the proceedings. "Right. So, the girl has confessed to the unprovoked attack upon the Warden and his guard, and accepted responsibility wholly for her actions. That leaves only the matter of sentencing. This is both assault on an officer of the law, and by a slave no less, and so is no light matter. I'm sentencing her to twenty lashes, to be administered by the Warden, publicly. We'll get it over with an hour from now, and she'll remain on the commons until first light. Then you can have her back."

     Ned Bakker spoke up, "Excuse me Lord Governor, but couldn't this matter be settled easier by a simple fine. There's no serious injury, aside from the esteemed warden's nose. I could pay it and we could go on our way, out of your hair."

     "I had initially thought of a fine as well, Ned. But the girl impressed upon me the reality that the fault was hers entirely, and her desire that she alone should bear any consequences. And I agreed. We can't have slaves going about striking people, officers of the law no less. And Malcolm was the one mostly wronged, so he'll have his measure of revenge. It suits everyone fairly, and that's how it has to be, Ned."

     It seemed like one of the longest hours she could recall, sitting in the cell again, waiting for her punishment. Finally the warden arrived, and led her outside to the town commons. News apparently had traveled fast, as a substantial crowd had gathered. The air was beginning to chill as the sun was setting. "You will learn your place, today, that I promise you, girl," the warden said with a grim almost smile on his face as he unlocked her handcuffs.

     Two guards led her up the several steps to the raised platform, no doubt normally used for public addresses, performances, and the like. For today's production, however, there stood two poles, each with a length of rope attached. The ropes were tied around her Freyja's wrists, forcing her to stand with her arms outstretched in a Y shape, facing the crowd. The warden appeared from behind her and addressed the crowd. "The Lord Governor has declared a sentence of twenty lashes for this slave who not only defied her master, but assaulted officers of the law. Let this be a lesson in restoring and keeping good order."

      He turned and walked behind her, accepting a short whip made of some fiber that to her eyes resembled myomer from one of the gathered guards, and tucked it into his belt. He then drew a knife and slipped it into the collar of her tunic, slicing downward, rending open the shirt and her bra to leave her back totally bare and exposed.

     It was as if time froze as she waited for the first stroke. When it came, she winced visibly as a line of pain exploded across her back. The warden made sure to pause between each strike, calling out the corresponding number. After the fourth stroke, her eyes began scanning the crowd. It was such a varied and mixed lot of people, most with rather apathetic looks on their face. Of course there were a few who looked on in horror, or fear. And there were more than a few who looked on with glee. In that moment, it was as if a clarity came over her mind. She had felt alone before, but now she realized that she was truly lost and alone in an unforgiving world. She could not just continue on as she had, biding time as if some miracle was going to rescue her back to her former life. She had to adapt, or be swallowed up by the world she found herself in.

     With each stroke, the crowd seemed to get more involved, and by the twelfth, some in the crowd had started to call out the number along with the warden. Her back was awash with pain, and she could feel blood trickling from several of the blows. On the most recent strike, she had bitten her lip from the pain to keep from crying out. She could not break in front of this crowd. She would not.

     The warden paused and walked close to her, leaning in and speaking in her ear, quietly enough so the crowd would not hear, "Cry out. Beg for mercy. Scream. You will break, girl, I promise you."

     She met his gaze. "Fuck. Off."

      The warden laughed. "That's better, at least now you're speaking like the gutter you belong in. None of this pretense of meek nobility." He returned to his work, the crowd chanting along. Seventeen rang out, and she stumbled slightly with the strike of the whip. The warden paused again, walked a complete circle around her, then stopped in front of her.

     She locked eyes with him again. She could see the disdain in his eyes, but she could also see anger and frustration. "I will not give you the satisfaction. So get on with it and go home."

     He shook his head in frustration, and wound the whip up around his hand. Then, slowly and deliberately, he put all his weight and strength into a punch that struck her just below her rib cage. She recoiled and fell to her knees, the world around her going black around the edges as she gasped to recover the air that had just been smashed from her diaphragm. For a moment, she thought she was going to pass out, but she recovered enough to hear the warden say "Eighteen" with a look of determination on his face.

     She continued to gasp for air as the world swam around her. Lights were beginning to blur, form colors, or gain halos. Warden Connors looked down at her and she saw him whisper nineteen but did not hear it as he struck out this time with a kick. His boot connected with her left side, and pain shot through her torso as she struggled to remain upright.

     He reached out and grabbed her by the chin. "Enough with you." With that, he backhanded her solidly across the right side of her face. The last thing she remembered was the coppery taste of blood, and then everything went black.

     She came crashing back to reality to ice cold water hitting her in the face. She gathered that she could not have been out for more than a minute as she shook off the water and felt pain shooting through her ribs. Breathing was a struggle. Her eyes shot around, catching sight of the warden walking towards her. He knelt down beside her. "I trust you have learned your lesson, slave. Try not to die of cold before your master picks you up tomorrow. You are a thorn in my side, just as he is."

     As the sun set, the crowd dispersed, and she was left wet and shivering as the autumn chill settled over the area like a ghost. She lost track of how many times she passed in and out of consciousness. The night was a blur of emptiness, cold, and a fear that she fought desperately not to give in to.

     Her next coherent memory was of being carried into her room back at the Bakker estate by Ned, and hearing Clarissa's forceful voice. "Good lord, what happened Ned?"

     "The stubborn girl went and got herself twenty lashes from the warden for starting a fight or punching him or something."

      "Why didn't you just pay a fine and be done with it?"

      "The damned fool of a girl went and talked Lord Governor Sharper into assigning the blame squarely on her. I've no idea what she was thinking. There's easier ways to get out of service than this."

     "Oh shut up, Ned Bakker, you know damned well whatever it was, it wasn't that. Have some tact, the girl is in a right state. Did they leave her out all night?

     She opened her eyes, finding herself sitting on her bed, with the Bakkers arguing in front of her. "I can hear you two, you know?"

    They both paused and put their hands on their hips. Ned spoke up first. "What in Blake's Blood were you thinking, girl? I gave you instructions to stay out of trouble. Instead you punch the warden and get beaten to within an inch of your life?"

     She looked up at the two of them. "At the risk of sounding impertinent, no, you did not, my lord. You told me to look after master Peter, to act in his service, and to take account of the fact that I have no standing. I did all of those, sir."

     "What are you talking about?" Ned was both angry and confused.

     "The warden had it in for him. Or more appropriately, for you, sir. He was baiting the boy, and Peter almost swallowed it. I struck the warden because master Peter was going to do it first, and I couldn't allow that."

     "You couldn't allow it? I think you're getting your roles reversed there, girl."

     She stood up, anger in her eyes, her one arm holding up the mess of her tattered top, the other pointing at him. "Don't call me that, don't dismiss me like that. I just got beaten in the service of your family, and you're too stupid to understand it." Ned took a step back. "If Peter had hit that damnable warden, yes, you'd probably have gotten off with paying a fine, but he'd have had a mark on his record for assaulting the authorities. If he's set on military service, that would have practically destroyed his shot at Mechwarrior training. I did what you asked and protected him. And yes, I could have let you pay off my punishment and probably gotten off scott free, but I'll be damned if I'm going to be indebted to you one ounce beyond what I already am. By all rights you own me in this damnable, fucked up place, but I refuse to sell my soul to you as well."

     At first everyone stood frozen, unsure of what would come next after such an outburst. As her anger flared out, Freyja stepped back and sat back down on the bed and began to sob. Ned started to speak, but Clarissa cut him off with a look. "Ned, perhaps it would be best if you just left me to handle this. I'll tend to her injuries and calm her down. There will be plenty of time for discussions later."

     At first he seemed disagreeable to the idea, but after consideration, he nodded and left the room. Clarissa sat on the bed beside Freyja. "Freyja, please let me help you?" she phrased it as a question. Freyja saw what seemed like genuine concern in the other woman's eyes, and nodded. "I'm going to give you some morphine, then we'll get you cleaned up. Alright?"

     Freyja nodded, and felt a needle prick in her arm. After a few moments, the pain started to subside, and she let herself drift off to a restful sleep.

(Prologue)

     "She's sleeping now. Physically she'll be fine, I've cleaned her cuts, I doubt there will even be much scarring, if any. I think she's got a cracked rib, which will take some time to heal, you'll have to go easy on her for a while. But mentally, I'm not sure."

     Ned sighed. "What do you mean?"

     Clarissa frowned. "Don't be an oaf, Ned Bakker. She's been putting on a brave face with her politeness and deferring to us. But she's not a slave, Ned, not in her heart. And she never will be. She's a frightened young woman torn out of her world, by us, trying to survive. I don't know what that means going forward, but you can't just treat her like any other slave. Not if you want her to survive."

Forging Freyja - Chapter 7.2

Lummatii
Lothian League
Marian Hegemony
The Periphery
4 September, 3149





     The chill of the morning had slightly given way as the sun rose, but a steady breeze managed to work it's way through the city streets and buildings to ensure that no one forgot that the Autumn season had arrived with a vengeance. The provincial capital city of Abercrombie reminded Freyja of some of the ancient Terran city-states that she had read about in history studies. The city proper was ringed by a wall of moderate height, with a dotting of farms outside, and fairly densely packed buildings within. The streets were winding, and the majority of the buildings no more than three stories in height.

     It lacked the feeling of modernity that she was used to in a city. While there were certainly plenty of vehicles on the streets, there were just as many carts, pedestrians, bikes, and scooters. It also had a rough, dirty quality to it, as though it were perpetually wet or dank.

     At the heart of the city sat the Lord Governor's estate, a palatial stone edifice reminiscent of renaissance era European structures on Terra rather than the more Romanesque feel that one would expect of a Marian city. Nearly all the landmark buildings were clustered close to the palace, including the courthouse and what appeared to be a seemingly impressive library.

     Freyja stuffed her hands in the pockets of her jacket as she walked along the cobblestone street toward what appeared to be the main public entrance of the Governor's mansion, trailing only slightly behind Ned and Peter Bakker.

     "My audience with the Lord Governor is for about an hour from now," Ned said as he gestured toward the estate in front of them, coming to a halt and turning to Freyja. "I'll be suitably early, so as to show my respect for his lordship. Peter, you'll have to present your papers to the clerk at the Warden's office, inside the courthouse. I can't imagine it will be too busy today, but best not to putter about beforehand, you two should go straight away. Remember, Freyja, stay close to Peter. I want you to look after him, but remember, you've no standing here. Most everyone here in the city is a pleb, if not a patrician, you'll show them due deference and remember that you're here as a servant of master Peter."

     She nodded and looked around. "I understand, my lord. I'll cause no fuss."

     Ned clasped Peter by the shoulder. "I've already arranged our lodgings for the night at the Black Horse Inn, it's only a few blocks from the courthouse. You can't miss it. Go there straight away after you have your papers registered."

     With that, Ned made his way towards the mansion, and Peter and Freyja walked the short distance to the courthouse building. Security seemed nothing to speak of, they were met only by a single disinterested guard inside the door. If the door guard seemed disinterested, the clerk behind the marble half wall that greeted visitors was positively annoyed to be there at all. He tersely directed them to a desk to their left, where another less than enthusiastic public servant accepted Peter's paperwork and explanation, and left with only the briefest instructions for them to wait until he returned.

     After a long ten minutes, a pair of men walked towards them. The clearly dominant of the two was a rugged man, slightly short of two meters in height and with a glint in his eye that rang of trouble eyed Peter for a moment before speaking with a brogue that dripped with contempt. "Ah, so this is Ned Bakker's boy, eh? Come to declare himself all grown up and ready to serve if need be, no less. And who is this that you brought along, young master Peter, your nanny to mind you?" He chuckled, seemingly quite proud of himself, reinforced by his compatriot who joined him.

     "Yes sir, I am Peter Bakker. And this is Freyja, one of our house staff. Not my nanny. If you're quite finished sir, might I ask if my registration is complete?"

     The man's expression turned sour. "I'm Malcolm Connors, the Lord Governor's Warden. And you, boy, will be done and registered when I say so, not before. I'm a little disappointed your father didn't accompany you, he and I go way back."

     Peter tensed slightly. "He's here to pay our taxes to the Lord Governor. And I've heard of your dealings with my father. Tried to con us out of our lands, as I recall."

     Connors took a step closer. "Mind your tongue, boy. I'm sure you think yourself quite the man, but slander me like that again and I'll have your hide. You'll learn to respect your betters. Your father is a pretender as a lord, always has been. And I'll wager as his son, you're probably one too. Runs in the blood."

     As Peter took a step forward and began to speak, Freyja stepped in quickly and put her hand on his arm to signal him back. "Don't, Peter. The Warden here is trying to bait you"

     Connors scoffed. "I'm supposed to take you as a man when you can't even keep your servant bitch in line and quiet?" He turned his glare to her. "And you, wench, will keep your place. No slave comes into my ward house and puts on such airs around me."

     She met his glare with fire, before realizing her mistake and looking down trying to feign meekness. Connors paused for a moment, then grabbed her by the chin, forcing her to look up at him. "This one has a fierce streak, boy. Best tell your father to watch out. What does she do for you anyway?"

     Peter said nothing, and Freyja's heart began to race as the Warden did not soften his grip. "Did your father buy her for you to make a man of you? That would be like him, wouldn't it?" Connors laughed heartily, and his compatriot reinforced him with an affirmative.

     She could sense Peter tensing beside her. The situation was rapidly spiraling out of control. "She's a Mechwarrior, she works our Mech at the mines. And she's ours, let her go.....sir."

     After a few tense seconds, the warden released her with a slight shove backwards, then let out a laugh as he turned to his lieutenant. "Even better, Kilgore. Ned Bakker isn't even man enough to pilot his own Mech anymore, can't trust his little boy here to do it, so he has to buy a girl that's practically a child to do it for him. I'll wager-"

     It was then that things got out of hand. Freyja had watched young Peter fight to hold his anger back, and suddenly he was about to lose that fight. She saw him tense, and knew he was going to strike out. In that instant, she made a choice that she wasn't sure was brave or stupid. She leaped forward and smashed her fist into the Warden's face with all the strength she could muster, catching him unaware and striking him squarely on the nose, which gave way with a crunching sound.

     The Warden staggered back, clutching his nose as blood began to pour from it. His lieutenant stood dumbfounded, his sycophantic laughter evaporating into a blank expression at the unexpected outburst by the slave girl in front of him. She did the only thing she could think of, slamming a kick into the man's groin and doubling him over before turning to Peter.

     "Run."

     "Miss Freyja, you just....we can't....wha-"

     She cut him off by grabbing his shoulders. "Run, master Peter, just fucking run!"

     He gathered himself and in his mind decided to defer to her, turned, and ran. She turned for a second to survey the scene, one officer doubled over and the warden staggering around still bleeding from his broken nose. She locked eyes with the clerk who had taken Peter's paperwork earlier, who had returned and held a piece of paper in his hand, staring dumbfounded at the scene in front of him.

     Then she turned and ran as well. She ran out the door onto the street, frantically looking in all directions, wishing she had taken better care to survey her surroundings when they had arrived. Finally she just picked a direction and ran, pushing past started people on the streets, and making it several blocks before she heard the shrill sound of constabulary whistles. She paused again, trying to discern what direction the sound was coming from, but it was hopeless in the crowded confines of the city. She caught sight of Peter in the distance, stopped and frantically looking around just as she was.

     She turned in the opposite direction from him and started to run again. Then she heard a shouted command to stop. She spun her head around, looking for her pursuer, but in doing so, lost track of where she was going and crashed into a woman. She quickly pushed the woman away, but before she could resume her flight, she felt a sharp pain in her back, then almost instantly her muscles spasmed and cramped, and she collapsed to the cobblestone street.

   

Forging Freyja - Chapter 7.1

Lummatii
Lothian League
Marian Hegemony
The Periphery
3 September, 3149




     "Thank you for joining us this evening, Freyja." While she still found herself rather uncomfortable with her current situation, Freyja couldn't deny that Clarissa Bakker had gone to great lengths to make her feel at ease. In the time that she had served the Bakkers, she had come to see the qualities that must have made the lady of the house a good medic in her days in the military. She had a warm and welcoming quality not only to her words, but in her eyes, that helped calm anxiety in many people.

     "Of course, it is always my pleasure, my Lady," Freyja replied as the cover was removed from the platter that held the steaming bird that would serve as the evening's main dish. At first she had been nervous dining with the family, but as time had passed and the invitations grew more frequent, she had come to almost enjoy them.

     "Today marks six months since you came to us, Miss Freyja. I hope after that passage of time, that you find life here perhaps not altogether as grim as you may have feared back then." Ned Bakker's tone was cordial, but far less reassuring than his wife's. He was kind enough, but she found sometimes that he had a distant quality to him that did not foster the same kind of trust as Freyja was only just starting to build with Clarissa.

     "Yes, my Lord. And I am grateful for that," she said as she cast her gaze slightly downward. Where she had no problem meeting the warm, grey eyes of Mrs. Bakker, she still found her tone and manner to be overtly deferential around Ned.

     The dining room was a large one, but the size of the table was always adjusted to the number of guests. Careful arrangement of the furniture kept a warm and close feel to the room when the size of the dinner party was small, as it was tonight, though it could easily be moved and expanded to seat many more guests. Ned sat at the head of the rectangular table, and his wife at the opposite end. Ned was dressed in a suit, as he always seemed to be, this one of a gray fabric that seemed to catch the light of the candles illuminating the room rather remarkably. Clarissa wore a dress, as she often did, of a deep blue color that contrasted vividly with her pale complexion, but paired almost exactly with the blue gemstone that was the centerpiece of the choker style necklace she wore.

     The children were seated on opposite sides of the table, the son, Peter, at his mother's right hand and their daughter, Madeline, at her left. Madeline wore a dress not dissimilar to her mother's, although of a far lesser quality fabric and with a far more conservative and practical bodice. Peter wore an almost military style shirt, of a gray that matched closely his father's suit.

     For her part, Freyja always felt under dressed for these dinners, making due with the limited wardrobe she had brought with her. She wore snug fitting black trousers, tucked into her best knee-length boots and a rather simple white cotton blouse. She had, at least, taken the time to meticulously braid her golden blonde hair.

     The meal progressed, and Freyja was careful not to eat too quickly. One of the first things she had noticed about her time in servitude was the degradation of her manners when it came to eating. She normally ate alone, and quite quickly, simple meals prepared by the house staff, and at her first few evenings dining with the Bakkers she had noticed that she ate rather quickly. Since then she had made a point to slow down, returning to the manners in which she had been raised.

     The main course had concluded and the kitchen staff had brought out glasses for some kind of local wine. As the last of their glasses had been poured, and just as Freyja reached out and touched her glass, Ned Bakker spoke up, and she froze.

     "I'm curious, Miss Freyja, when were you planning on telling me that you have been instructing my son in BattleMech piloting?" His gaze fixed on her like a TAG laser.

     Her eyes darted across the table to Peter, who looked practically mortified, before she brought her gaze to settle on Ned's hand, unwilling to meet his eyes. After several seconds of silence, she found her voice, if somewhat weakly. "I..my apologies, My Lord. I..."

     As she searched for words, Ned cut her off, though not forcefully, "You didn't expect that I would find out, am I right?" When all she managed was a nod, he continued, as her heart pounded in her chest. "Young lady, when things go on around here that I don't know about, that's when you should be worried. So, tell me, did Peter put you up to this?"

     She deliberately fought the urge to glance across at the boy again. "No sir. It was entirely my idea. Master Peter had made mention of the fact that he plans to enlist in the Marian military come next year, and I saw the reverence with which he treated your Mech, and so I thought he might like to get a feel for Mech piloting before he left. I swear, my lord, I meant no harm, I sought only to give him a leg up in his studies. Your displeasure should be focused on me." She lifted her eyes for a moment to meet Lord Bakker's, before lowering them again.

     There was silence for a moment. Peter retained his look of terror. Madeline's eyes darted between her brother and her father. And Clarissa remained stoic, almost unreadable as she glanced slowly at her son, at Freyja, then at her husband.

     Ned Bakker let out a sigh. "I am not upset with your training of my son. What upsets me is the fact that you made a decision regarding my son without consulting me, his father."

     Freyja swallowed hard, and wasn't entirely sure why she did what came next. "Begging your lordship's pardon, but is not Master Peter sixteen years old, and his own man in the eyes of the law of these lands?"

     She was focused too hard on keeping herself from trembling as her heart beat nearly out of her chest to notice the tiny smile that formed in the corners of Mrs. Bakker's mouth, even as Ned spoke. "Girl, do you presume to tell me my own family business? Peter may be a man in the eyes of the law but in my house, it is my judgement that counts. And he has a lot of growing to do before he becomes a man, in many ways."

     "Then why not let him?" She blurted the words out without thought, and too quickly realized she should not have uttered them.

     Ned grunted, though it was so lighthearted as to almost be a chuckle. "Well girl, I'll give you this, you're settling in as a member of the household alright."

     She searched for the words to recover. "My lord, I'm sorry, I've spoken out of turn, I should think-"

     He held up his hand as he stopped her. "Yes, you should probably think before you speak. But, you should also let me finish. I'll ask that as part of your duties, you continue giving my son whatever training and advice as you think you can. It's not the choice I'd have made on my own, but perhaps there's some wisdom in it. And more to the point, I can see that your motives in doing it are sound, or you'd have not risked speaking so rashly. A toast then, to Peter's continued training, may he not land my Mech face first in the mud."

     As each of them recovered from their shock, they drank to the toast, before an awkward silence fell over the room. Ned broke the silence once again. "Also, given that, I see my inclination was right about tomorrow. In addition to this being the six month mark of you joining us, it's also, rather unfortunately, the time that I must go and pay the estate's tax to the Lord Governor. I'd like for you to accompany Peter and I when we go to pay it tomorrow."

     Freyja looked confused. "I'm afraid I don't understand entirely."

     Ned took another drink of the dark wine. "It's simple enough. Just as I have tenants that pay me rent on my lands, I also have to pay a tax to the Lord Governor for this province. The feudal system has stood up quite well out here in the Periphery, even if it's been twisted and bloated back in the Inner Sphere. Most of the tax is paid in hard coin, but some of it will be in goods, and I'll have to deliver it personally, to pay my respects and allegiance to his lordship. Peter, as you so pointedly noted, has reached his majority, and so he'll have to go along and register with the Lord Governor's Warden for service should the need arise."

     It all seemed reasonable enough. The system had been fairly invisible to Freyja growing up in the military nobility. But for these people, it was present in almost everyday life, as she was now learning having been knocked considerable down the ladder of social status.

     "I see. But why am I to come along, sir?" That part she hadn't quite worked out yet in her head.

     "For one, you've earned a degree of latitude. You've not given me cause to question your service, you've not tried to undermine me estate or try to escape. I feel like you're coming to accept your place here. So it seems only fair that you should get to see a little more of this planet than just the estate here and the mines."

     In that he was wrong. Or at least partially so. She didn't accept her place as a slave, she couldn't. There was no way she could envision her life that way. But at the same time, he was partially correct insofar as she was beginning to feel as though she were a part of the family. Stockholm Syndrome, she told herself.

     "And secondly, traveling to Abercrombie, the provincial capital can be a bit rough, it's always good to have a few people along with you to watch your back. When we go tomorrow, it will be your job to watch Peter's back."

Forging Freyja - Chapter 6.2

Lummatii
Lothian League
Marian Hegemony
The Periphery
12 May, 3149




     Freyja found herself in the cavernous Mech garage at the back of the estate. Truthfully, she had completed most of the maintenance routines on the Phoenix Hawk earlier in the week, but there was always plenty of work that she could do and checks that could be performed. The Hawk probably should have been mothballed for the time that it was inactive, and she was still finding the odd quirk here or there that would cause minor issues in the field. The weapons, of course, were offline and the targeting and tracking system was locked down, so those could be in any state of disrepair for all she knew. Perhaps one day she would earn enough trust to have them reactivated and tested.

     "I hope I'm not disturbing you, Miss Freyja."

     She turned to face her visitor, setting the data pad on the nearby workbench. "Interrupting the reading of actuator performance data readouts can't ever really be considered a disturbance, master Peter. I was wondering how long it was going to take you to sneak off and make your way down here to the bay."

     He smiled sheepishly. "It wasn't hard, father is pretty tied up with logistics this time of the year. Paperwork now is paperwork saved later on, or so he always tells me."

     She nodded in the direction of the readout she had been studying. "There's always more paperwork later. Always. But that can wait. I've got to take her out to get some data on the jump jets and the heat management system. Neither of them gets taxed very much with the work we use it for. Tag along?"

     "Couldn't keep me away."

      She pulled off her overshirt and tossed it on top of the workbench, then looked at Peter. "You're going to boil alive in that. I think there's some old astech shorts laying around in one of the lockers. There's a spare cooling vest up in the cockpit. I'll get her warmed up, climb on up when you're ready."

     As he scurried off to change, she climbed up to the cockpit and began the initialization sequence. She had the fusion reactor up and running and was halfway through the pre-op checklist when a lanky form climbed through the access hatch and moved up beside her.

     "Sorry it took so long. They don't fit too well, but I wasn't going to run back into the house to get something else." His eagerness was almost infectious, reminding her of when she'd first learned to pilot a Mech years ago.

     She glanced at the ill-fitting shorts as he struggled into the auxiliary cooling vest and laughed softly. "Don't worry, Mech cockpits aren't exactly the place for modesty." As she spoke, he stood abruptly and hit his head on the cockpit wall. "Or moving around. Get strapped in, and make sure your cooling vest is plugged into the heat sinking system. I don't want you passing out on me or anything."

     "Don't worry about me. I've done this a thousand times in my head." She could feel the boy practically jumping out of the seat with anticipation.

     She throttled the Mech forward, and turned her head in his direction once they were clear of the bay doors. "A million times in your head won't prepare you for the first time you do it for real. The heat inside the cockpit is going to get pretty bad at times here, I'm testing the cooling system, so I'm going to take some of the heat sinks off-line in sequence to isolate them, get some readings on their efficiency. They haven't been really taxed in years, what with the weapons offline. Let me know if you're feeling sick or anything, I can dial it back a bit. Trust me, neither of us wants you being sick while we're cooped up in this tight space."

     She put the Mech through it's paces, at each interval making sure that the DI Computer was recording and tagging the results. She took certain of the heat sinks offline in a pre-planned pattern, then taxed the cooling system by activating the jump jets to drive the heat levels up. By the time, she had completed all the tests, it was nearing dark.

     "We're about five klicks out from the estate now, and I'm done running the pattern I had programmed in. We should be heading back now." She throttled the Phoenix Hawk down and locked it into a standing position, then flipped a few switches and set the mech into a standby mode. She pulled off her neurohelmet and turned to face her passenger. "You want to take her back?"

     The color momentarily drained from the boy's face, and his eyes widened. "You....you mean?"

      She smiled broadly. "Yes, I mean you pilot her back to the barn. It's a straight run, no tricky terrain. I mean, if you'd rather I-" He was out of his seat before she could finish her sentence. "Alright, slow and easy is the name of the game here. There's nothing complicated, but I don't want to have to explain fall damage to your father when we get back, you understand?"

     "Not a scratch, I promise!"

     They began switching seats, and she knelt beside the command couch. "Alright, get the neurohelmet on and comfortable. Comfort is the key. I've got a generic test pattern programmed into the DI com that shouldn't give you too much trouble, but it's going to be an odd sensation, don't try to do anything until I tell you."

     "I get it. You're the boss. I just want to get it moving. I mean, I didn't expect I was going to be piloting tonight or anything." She could tell that his nerves were beginning to kick in, ever so slightly pushing back the initial wave of enthusiasm and replacing it with apprehension.

     She put her hand on his shoulder. "Look, you'll do fine. Understand your limits, but enjoy it. Think of it like your first time having sex, it's going to be awkward, you'll probably make mistakes, but it will be a feeling like no other and you'll remember it for the rest of your life. Understand?"

     "Right. Just like that".

     She hid her smile as she realized from his awkward gulp and flushing cheeks that perhaps she shouldn't have used that particular analogy. "Alright, I'm going to cut in the neuro-feedback system. You'll probably feel a slight wave of dizziness, maybe hear a buzzing or a ringing at first, but it will die down. The Mech is still locked in standby, so you don't have to worry about keeping her upright, just focus on getting accustomed to the feel of the feedback."

     She flipped the switch and watched as a smile slowly grew on the boys face. "Wow, it's....it's like...intense but not. I know that sounds weird, it's just..."

     "It's not, just soak it in. Let it become a part of you, wrap around you. It will be second nature before you know it. For now, it's baby steps. Now, I want you to flip the lock controls. It's that switch right there. Once you throw it, the myomer fibers and actuators will take over, we won't be locked in place anymore, we'll be standing. When you're ready."

     She braced herself slightly. In reality, she knew it was almost impossible for the Mech to fall over, but she still had the ever so slightest of fears. She was taking a process normally done slowly, over time, preferably in a simulator first and then in a controlled environment, and simply doing it all on the fly. She watched as he flipped the toggle, and felt the slight shudder of the Mech springing to life.

     "There, good. You've got it. Now, I presume you know all the basic controls of this beast? Throttle, direction, torso rotation?"

     He nodded with a grin. "Like the back of my hand."

     "Alright then. Slow and steady, take us back to the barn, master Peter."

     Though it took slightly longer than normal, they found themselves back in the Mech bay without incident just as the sun outside was setting. They both stood, covered in sweat, looking up at the towering Phoenix Hawk. Freyja felt a sense of accomplishment, if also a little unease at what she'd just done. She knew also how Peter must be feeling at the moment, a sixteen year old who's Mech piloting dreams had just taken their first tangible step towards reality.

     "I've got a few things to take care of here before I head back inside. I think you should be running along too, hopefully your absence hasn't been noticed." She noticed he was already standing just a bit taller.

     "Thank you, Miss Freyja. I had a great time. I owe you one." She took note of him settling back slightly into his uneasiness, but took heart that it was ever so slightly less than it had been before.

     "It was my pleasure, Master Peter. I hope it was everything that you imagined it would be"

Forging Freyja - Chapter 6.1

Lummatii
Lothian League
Marian Hegemony
The Periphery
12 May, 3149




     Sweat dripped from her brow as Freyja sat on a cool stone at the foot of the giant war machine that stood parked under the shadow of a jutting ledge, out of the baking heat of the sun pounding down from overhead. The Phoenix Hawk still radiated heat, and the occasional pops and cracks of cooling metal broke relative silence that hovered over the area. She had stripped off her cooling vest and let her hair down, and was letting the gentle breeze cool her down as it passed over her sweat drenched body.

     She had just finished the bottle of sports drink that claimed to be citrus flavored, and was pondering the results of a hypothetical taste test between it and the coolant running through the double strength heat sinks of the Mech that stood beside her when movement caught her eye. An ever so slight cloud of dust was rising, marring the natural beauty of the plains in front of her. After several seconds, she could make out a small four-wheeled vehicle, clearly making it's way towards her.

     She brushed off the thought of trouble. If it was trouble, she wasn't armed, but could easily scurry back up into the safety of the Phoenix Hawk's cockpit. It was probably work. Or supplies for the mine. As the quad bike pulled up and it's passenger dismounted and removed his helmet, she discovered it was neither. The slightly lanky figure ran his hand through his amber hair.

      "Master Peter, you must be a glutton for punishment, out in this heat," she said without standing.

     The boy approached, carrying a cooler of some kind. "The heat isn't so bad when you're moving, And it's only like this maybe one month of the year, Wait until winter hits." he said, squinting to adjust to the sunlight. "I finished with my studies for the day, so my mom had me run some food out here, figured you might like a break from the usual fare. Besides, you're a Mechwarrior, I thought you'd be used to the heat."

     She smiled slightly. "Riding a fusion reactor is more of a dry heat, and it tends to cook you from the feet up, rather than that sun out there. I'll take the food, though." She unwrapped the sandwich from the cooler and took a bite, noticing the boy glancing up at the motionless Phoenix Hawk. "You ever take her out for a spin?"

     He shook his head. "I've been in the cockpit loads of times, usually when my dad would put it though it's startup sequence, to keep it loose and all. But I've never piloted it. Never had a trainer, most of the folks we've had around here were just IndustrialMech pilots and such." He paused for a moment, seemingly unsure of himself. "Next year though I plan on signing up with the Marian Hegemony Armed Forces. I'll get proper training then. Maybe get a chance to take this thing out for some real action."

     Freyja chuckled softly. "One thing at a time, master Peter."

     He kicked at a stone by his feet. "How long have you piloted a Mech?"

     She took a few more bites of her sandwich before answering. "Since I was about your sister's age. Once I got the feel for it, I found all the time I could to practice, or ride simulators. It's like anything else, do it enough, you'll get good at it."

     "Have you ever been in a battle?" he asked almost eagerly, then seemed to catch himself. "I mean....I don't mean to pry. I've no idea how you came to be out here with us or anything, I just...well...I'm sorry."

     She sighed softly. "It's alright. I didn't get captured in battle, if that's what you're wondering. I was just riding a transport that got hijacked by pirates. But yes, I saw action once, I was probably about your age and traveling with my mother's unit, we got hit hard up by Davion raiders and they needed every warm body they could get. It's not as glorious as you'd think or anything though, I mostly hung back, took pot shots, and tried to stay out of the way. I was terrified, truth be told." She paused. "And I don't know why I'm telling you this." She used finishing off the sandwich as an excuse to stop her storytelling.

     "I could help you with the rest of today's work, you could maybe show me some piloting stuff, like basics." he asked with an expectant look in his eye.

     She stood up and pulled her hair back into a ponytail. "I don't think that's a good idea. Your father would have my head if I took you around those mines, BattleMech or not, master Peter."

     He cocked his head slightly. "I could order you to do it. You'd have to obey me, you know."

     She frowned and set her hands on her hips. "Yes, you could, master Peter. Of course, I'd have to confirm it with your father first, but hey, I'll climb up and get him on the radio."

      Having had his bluff called, Peter looked down dejectedly. "No, it's alright. You don't have to bother him. I should be getting back anyway." He started to walk back towards the quad bike.

     What she did next surprised even her. "Master Peter," she waited until he stopped and turned, "I've got to be back in time for dinner, your mother's request. But after that, I'll have to be taking the Hawk out for some maintenance runs out of the hanger. I might need some help, if you know of anyone who could lend an hour or two."

     He could barely contain his smile. "I think I might know someone."

Forging Freyja - Chapter 5

Lummatii
Lothian League
Marian Hegemony
The Periphery
4 March, 3149




     True to warnings, Freyja had been roused by one of the household staff at a little past sunrise, with news that the lord of the house requested her presence at the garage by nine that morning. They had brought her food while she washed and changed. She had cried herself to sleep the previous day, and slept well into the night. After a few minutes puttering around, she had dug through the bag of her possessions that had been brought along, mostly the clothes she had packed with her for her voyage to her mercenary career.

     Luckily for her, that had included her MechWarrior garb. She dressed herself in black moisture and heat wicking leggings, her plasteel reinforced combat boots, and a gray sports bra of the same material as the leggings. She had her synthleather fingerless gloves, and tied her golden blonde hair back in a ponytail. She didn't have a jacket or sweater packed, and so tolerated the slight chill to the air, knowing that soon enough she would have no worries of cold in the cockpit of a Mech.

     She was escorted to the door of what was apparently the Mech garage by a butler, and was met there by Ned Bakker, dressed also for MechWarrior duty. "What weight classes are you checked out on?"

     Good, he wasn't going for small talk. After finally composing herself the night before, she had resolved to steel herself to her fate and handle things as calmly as she could. "All of them. I learned in an old Vindicator, but I've piloted everything from a Locust clear up to an Atlas."

     "Come on then. Let's get going." He swiped a mag-key through a reader beside the door and the lock clicked open. He led the way and she followed into the cavernous bay beyond. It was only built to house two Mechs, and it currently only housed one, a Phoenix Hawk painted in black and dark blues that towered motionless above the two, encased in the gantry like some slumbering giant.

     "A Phoenix Hawk. Looks like a newer model from the structure." She gazed up at the giant war machine, so peaceful for the moment.

      Ned ran his hand over his beard. "Right you are. She's not even a hundred years old, built right before the Jihad. A seven-S spec model, slightly modified to carry an anti-missile system. She was mine when I served in the Eleventh Lyran Guards."

     Freyja paused for a moment, her hands on her hips. "You'll forgive me, but if you're a MechWarrior, what do you need me for?"

     Ned's shoulders slumped ever so slightly, an almost imperceptible frown touched his face for a moment as he replied. "I took a hit to the AMS ammo bin in a fight back in thirty-two. Right after the HPG grid went down, matter of fact. The CASE saved my life, and the engine, but the feedback messed with my head something fierce. I couldn't get adapted to a neurohelmet after that. Even my hand-eye coordination isn't that good any more. Clarissa was one of the combat medics that helped me, and after I got medically discharged, we made our way out here. I suppose I could have sold the Mech and made a killing, but I don't know, didn't seem right after all she'd seen me through. So she'll be Peter's one day. My son."

     "Is that what he wants?" She didn't know why she blurted out such an impertinent sounding question, but she did.

     Ned chuckled. "Oh yeah. You'll meet him soon enough. He'll probably be all over you when he finds out you're a MechWarrior. Hell, it'll probably even be enough for him to talk to you in spite of you being a girl," he laughed. "Peter is an awkward sixteen years old right now. Knows what he wants, but hasn't the fairest idea how to get it. My other child, Madeline, she's thirteen, and has to make sure everyone knows it. Bossy like her mother. Well, sorry to bore you with all the talk of my family and past and such."

     Freyja caught herself smiling for the first time. "No, it's alright, sir. I didn't mean to cause offense with your injury either. I can't imagine not being able to pilot a Mech."

     "You're far too young to be academy trained. Family was it?"

     She nodded. "My mother is a MechWarrior. Actually, the women in my family have all been MechWarriors since my great grandmother. Well, some of the men too, I suppose."

     "She trained you then?"

     "A little. Mostly it was my aunt. Well, she's not really my aunt, but we always called her Aunt Cat. She was a trueborn Nova Cat from the days of the Clan invasion. I'm still not sure how she got involved with my great grandmother, but they were quite the pair in their day, quite inseparable and fought in more battles than I'll probably ever dream of. When I was twelve, she started taking me out for runs in the regimental training Mech, an old Vindi. Once I got the taste for it, you couldn't keep me out of a cockpit or a simulator."

     "Why are you out here then, not in an academy, or at least a unit somewhere."

     She laughed ever so slightly. "I suppose I'll be asking myself that question forever. Mostly I was a stupid child, who felt like she had to prove herself rather than have everything handed to her the way my brother did. I thought I'd run off and re-live the exploits of my great grandmother Faith, or some such nonsense." She paused and sighed. "Look where that ended up, right?"

     Ned put a hand on her shoulder, and she fought off the urge to pull away. "You've your whole life ahead of you. More than enough time to prove whatever you have to. For now, lets just get to work."

     They made their way over to the steps leading up the gantry which would take them up to the cockpit of the Hawk. Freyja stopped for a moment, tilting her head. "You'll forgive my curiosity, but aren't you a bit worried, turning over a BattleMech to a slave? What if I try to escape?"

     Ned chuckled. "I'm not dense, girl. Her targeting and tracking system is disconnected, for one, so you'll not go blasting us to smithereens. But I've also got a kill switch built into the old girl's fusion reactor. She goes to sleep when I want her to. So don't get any ideas."

     "Fair enough." With that, she made her way up the gantry and climbed into the cockpit, seating herself on the edge of the command couch while Ned climbed through and took his place in the small jump seat behind the main command couch. Closing the hatch, she donned the cooling vest, the neurohelmet, and sat back in the command couch, closing her eyes for a moment, savoring the chill of the cooling vest, before opening her eyes and beginning the startup sequence. "You never told me what exactly you needed a MechWarrior for, what the hell we're going to be doing out here."

     "I've got tenants that pay rent and such, and I've got some agriculture, mostly enough to sustain the household. But mainly the money comes from an old quarry about ten klicks from here. The majority of the machinery is automated, and we pull ores and petrochemicals out. But it's dangerous down there. Things are Mech scale, there's fumes, risk of fire, heat, all that. To keep things running you need a Mech to monitor the machinery and the drill sites and such. An industrial mech will do the job, and up until last year, that's what I had."

    She brought the mech to life, and slowly made their way out of the bay, punching up the HUD and finding several pre-programmed locations in the nav computer already. "So what happened?"

     "Some of the machinery gave out. If it had been a BattleMech in there it would have been fine. But a piece of the machinery let go and punched through the DiggerMech's cockpit. Killed my guy straight away. Haven't been able to run the equipment since."

     Freyja brought the Phoenix Hawk up to a run, aiming towards the nav point that signaled the quarry. "How did you get the DiggerMech out?"

     "We didn't."

     There was an ever so slight hitch to the step of the P-Hawk as Freyja paused when the reality of the situation dawned on her. "So you never got the pilot out? We're basically digging out a grave today?"

     "That's one way of looking at it. A lot of this is going to be precision work, delicate movement, that sort of thing. You need some time to practice or get up to speed?"

     She smiled. Stomping on the foot pedals, she channeled raw power from the Mech's fusion reactor out of the jump jet ports on its back. She twisted in mid air, hovered level for a moment, then spun back to her previous course and feathered the jets to a soft landing, cushioned by a delicate flex of the Mech's knees.

     "Point taken."

     They made their way to the quarry, and slowly down inside. The machinery all stood silent as Ned guided her through the narrow confines and obstructions, until they came upon the site of the accident that had taken place and caused the whole operation to grind to a halt. She could see the dead form of the industrial mech, pinned to a wall with a huge beam piercing it's centrally located cockpit. As she crouched the Phoenix Hawk down, they could even make out the form of the corpse of the poor soul who had the misfortune of piloting the industrial Mech on it's final run.

     "It doesn't look like the damage is too severe. Mostly that arm just broke free. If we can pry it loose and roughly back into position, I can get it repaired and things going again."

     Though it took some work and patience, she managed to work the beam free without causing too much collateral damage. The rest of the day consisted of simple maneuvers, assisting the repair crews with heavy work, before finally the equipment was ready to start again. At Ned's command, the switch was thrown, and the machinery once more began it's work, tearing ore and chemicals from the ground and rock surrounding it. They made their way back to the estate and the mech bay, and entered the house still dressed in their Mechwarrior togs.

     When they reached the foyer, Clarissa was waiting, dressed immaculately, and gave Ned a kiss on the cheek. "A success, I take it?"

     Ned nodded the affirmative. "It was. Thank you, Freyja." He gestured to the other two people in the room. "These are my children. My daughter, Madeline, and my son, Peter." Madeline was a spitting image of her mother, sharing her auburn hair and fair features. She smiled almost questioningly at Freyja as their eyes met. Peter shared his fathers amber hair, but had his mother's gentle gray eyes, which quickly darted away from Freyja's gaze as the somewhat lanky boy blushed at the sight of Freyja clad only in her leggings and top. "Children, this is Freyja McCarron, she'll be staying with us as our new Mechwarrior. Freyja, you'll join us for dinner, I hope?"

     Back in the house, the sense of empowerment that she had felt earlier at the helm of the Phoenix Hawk faded slightly, and she gazed deferentially to the floor as she responded. "Of course, my lord."

Forging Freyja - Chapter 4

Lummatii
Lothian League
Marian Hegemony
The Periphery
3 March, 3149



     Freyja didn't bother fighting the tussling as the she sat in the back of the large, six wheeled crawler that rumbled over the uneven surface of whatever god forsaken rock she found herself on. She let the now dreary pacing of her thoughts synchronize with the thud of BattleMech steps that forged on ahead of the vehicle convoy. Whatever fragile hope had sprung up with the realization brought on by the steady gravity of a burn towards this planet had long since died off again, and the numbness of the past days, weeks, months, settled in again. Planetfall made no difference. She was just as lost as she had been since the hijacking. Nothing had changed.

     The vehicle didn't even oblige her with a window to peer out at the passing terrain. For all she knew, they could be driving along through a desert, a frozen tundra, or a barren rock. Part of her told her that it didn't matter. Wherever she was going, she had no control over her fate, whether she could see it passing or not.

     The ride so numbed her mind that she she did not at first notice when the steady thump of BattleMech feet slowed, then stopped, just as the vehicle that carried her slowed and stopped.  Her reverie was broken only by the harsh stabbing of light as the rear doors of the truck swung open.

     "This is your stop. Get out." the voice was unremarkable, as was the face of the man who glared at her as she gingerly stood up and climbed out of the back of the truck as steadily as she could with her hands bound by steel manacles. She squinted against the harshness of the sunlight and steadied herself for a moment before an iron grip took her by the arm and urged her forward.

     The owner of that grip had a face she would never forget. The scraggly beard and worn lines of the seemingly expressionless face of Bart Carter, the two-bit pirate that had derailed her carefully and naively laid plans for self discovery and turned them into the nightmare she was currently living. The man who had put a laser bolt through the temple of the man sent to escort her to her mercenary career.

     She tried to take some measure of her surroundings. It was definitely a habitable world, they were in the inner courtyard of some kind of estate. The outer edifices were of stone, and somehow managed to look neither old or new. It was not traditional Marian architecture,  at least not to her eye, but it also lacked the historical flair that was a signature of Castle McCarron. Nor was it anywhere near the size of her ancestral home. 

     They entered though the front great doors, and Carter, seemingly aware of the layout, led her up a set of curved stairs. Each step seemed ponderous as she scuffed along wearing the boots her captors had given her, which ran far too large. Finally, they entered room which seemed amazingly cozy, an office or study of some sorts, the lighting fairly dim so as the shadows cast by the large fireplace danced over the walls and ceiling.

     To the left of the fireplace stood a sizeable wooden desk, broad, and obviously painstakingly crafted to preserve the likeness of the great tree it had been carved from. In front of the desk there were two exquisitely carved chairs, and the floor covered with a huge rug made from the pelt of some animal that must have been massive for the size of the amber covering that now marked it's remains.

     Seated behind the desk was a man of clear Rasalhaguian decent, middle aged by her guess, with a well groomed beard. He looked slightly surprised upon their entrance, but covered it quickly as he stood and ran a hand through his amber hair.

     As they approached the desk, Carter grabbed her firmly by the hair and forced her to her knees. Her eyes darted around the room, chasing the crackling shadows at first, noticing a carved figurine here, some kind of plant there, before finally her gaze settled on the floor.

      "Told you I'd come through for you Ned. Just what you asked for," Bart said in a dismissive way. Freyja could feel the other man's eyes on her, but she refused to meet his gaze.

     "She's practically a child, Carter." The man's voice surprised her in that it was neither threatening nor sinister as she had expected. Instead it was neutral, almost with a turn toward softness.

      Bart Carter scoffed, "Beggars can't be choosers, Ned. Besides, you didn't give any age requirements. You ought to be damn grateful I came through this quick. Not like there's a market or something where I could go to get what you needed. Just kinda stumbled into this one raiding some poor corporate charter run. Sold off most of 'em as plain old labor. No idea why she was holed up with them, don't care either. You got the coin?"

     The other man seemed somehow deferential towards Carter, in spite of the fact that obviously this was the lord of the estate, or whatever it was. "I'm not meaning to find fault, Mr Carter. I'm grateful for your efforts on my behalf," He tossed a small bag towards Bart, which from the jingling sounds contained some kind of hard currency. "It's all there, your regular quarterly tribute plus the price for her. And of course, you have my hospitality at your disposal if you should so choose."

      Carter smiled. "Always a pleasure, Lord Bakker. I'll take you up on that, and leave you to break in your new prize." And with that, the brigand left, closing the door behind him. Freyja still forced her gaze downward. The few seconds of silence felt like an eternity. Kidnapped, she had just been sold as part of some casual transaction,  to whom the likes of which, she still had no idea or measure.

     "I'm Edward Bakker. This is my house, my lands, my business. I trust you are well?"

     Her mind raced a light year a minute. How could she possibly answer that question? What was she to say?

      "You speak standard English, yes?" There was no harshness in his tone. Nothing made sense. "You're bought and paid for, you might as well speak, child. Or at the very least look up."

     She steeled herself, unsure of how to proceed, cognizant of the fact that her fate likely rested on what she said and did now. "Apologies, Lord Bakker. I am not altogether well, no, having been kidnapped, my companion shot, and now finding myself sold into some sort of servitude. And now I find myself here at your apparent mercy."

     Ned Bakker sighed. "You can start by getting off your knees, girl. Be seated." He waited for her to rise and take a chair before taking his own seat behind the desk. "Your accent, not from this part of space. You're no periphery scoundrel. Republic, I'd wager?"

     Freyja fought to control her breathing. "No, sir. I was born on Altorra, in the Capellan Confederation.

     "You don't sound Capellan to me."

      "No, sir. I was raised by my mother and my aunt, we traveled a lot." She gripped one hand in the other to keep from trembling.

     "And how did you end up here, in the Periphery? Bart Carter might be a mean old pirate, but I know damn well he didn't sail halfway across the 'Sphere just to run into you."

      She paused for a time before answering. "I suppose I was running away. I had expectations, assurances, I had things all laid out for me. But I ran away from all of that. I thought I was going to find myself or forge my own way somehow. And now....now I'm just here."

     Bakker stood and walked over small side table and picked up two glasses and a bottle. He poured a dark amber liquid into each glass, and handed one to Freyja. "Drink. We distill the stuff right here, and you'll find finer potions throughout the Sphere no doubt, but in my years on this planet I've found it's kick is suited perfectly to it's home."

     She took a small sip of what she could discern was some potent form of whiskey, and almost immediately regretted it as the alcohol vapors tickled at the back of her throat. "You will forgive my ignorance, but I don't even know what planet this is."

      Ned Bakker took his seat again and drank a strong swig of the whiskey. "You find yourself, girl, on the planet Lummatii, in the Lothian League...well, how much of it is the Lothian League and how much is the Marian Hegemony, who's to say. And on my estate, which I've run for nearly twenty years now. My lands are a mix of agriculture, but the big money is in the old mine, about ten kilometers away. That's where I make most of my money, run my business, support my family. I've a number of tenants who rent my land, the feudal system works quite well out here. But you, I brought here because I need a Mech pilot."

     There was no scale to measure the speed at which Freyja's mind was running wild at that moment. "All of this, just to get a MechWarrior? I don't understand."

     "You're thinking like a Spheroid, my girl. Mechs are rare out here, and so too are Mechwarriors. There's hardly anywhere that trains them, and anyone that has a Mech is likely out selling his or her sword for some lord or other, or turning to plunder like your friend Bart Carter back there. The fees they would command, well, it wouldn't make much sense for my business. So, I went the only route I could, I bought one. You. I confess that I didn't think Bart Carter was going to snatch me up a girl, barely old enough to be out on her own. But as the man said, beggars can't be choosers."

     Freyja swallowed hard. "I don't know how any of this works. I...I never....I don't know, my lord."

     "The legalities of it? This is the Marian Hegemony. Slavery is legal. How Bart Carter came about you is his business. I bought you fair and square. You are my property and you will follow all of my orders. I'll not treat you harshly unless you give me cause. You needn't worry yourself over your honor, I didn't bring you here for anything like that. You'll live here in the main house with me and my family. You'll serve at my pleasure. I'll not hurt you in any way that I musn't, but know this: You belong to me and my family and if you do anything to bring harm on that family, I will punish you most severely. Do we have a measure of each other?"

      Part of her wanted to run. Part of her wanted to just give up. But she had nowhere to run, and she could not give up. "Yes, my lord. We do."

     "Good. My wife, Clarissa, will get you settled. We'll discuss particulars tomorrow if need be. And I beg your pardon, but in all this mess, Bart Carter never made mention of your name?

     "Freyja McCarron, sir."

     Mere moments later, she found herself in a fairly small room, a bed against one wall, a single window set deeply into the stone of the wall perpendicular to it. There was a meager amount of furniture, all of it of the same dark wood that most things she had seen so far seemed to be carved from. There was a small fireplace, which currently sat dark, and an open doorway off to the far corner. She shivered slightly as she felt a touch on her shoulder.

     "At ease, child. I'm sorry for startling you." The speaker was a woman, probably in her forties, Freyja guessed, with rich auburn hair and gentle gray eyes. "I'm Clarissa Bakker, Ned's wife. I wanted to stop by and see that you got settled. I had the staff bring up the bag with your things that Mr. Carter brought along. It's not much, clothes and such. I'll have the maid check in on you after a time to see if there is anything you need. This is your room, we don't keep the fire going much during the spring and summer, but you'll need it come autumn and winter here, it can get quite cold."

     Freyja said nothing, and stood relatively motionless, only her eyes moving to take in the surroundings of the room that was to be her new home, her new prison of sorts.

     "I'll not pretend to understand how you feel right now. I can only promise that it will be ok. You'll not be harmed here, you'll be well treated. You were brought here only for one thing, because apparently you're a MechWarrior. Do that, and I can promise, I'll do all I can to make the adjustment easier on you. It's not a bad life at all here, and I'd hope that some day you come to feel you are a part of it of your own choosing."

     She wished that she had some sort of words to reply with, but her mind stayed empty, numb. She just wanted to curl up into herself, withdraw into a shell and never come out. The older woman waited for a few minutes, saying nothing, before turning to leave. "The wash room is just through that doorway. The Lord and my room is at the far end of the hall, my two children's rooms on either side. When you're up to it, you'll dine with us. For now, I'm sure you'd like to be alone for a time. Don't hesitate to come downstairs if there's anything at all that you need. I suspect Ned will be wanting to get you out in the field tomorrow as early as can be, so rest up."

     Freyja waited several minutes after she heard the click of the door shutting before she allowed herself to collapse on the bed in a sea of her own tears.

(Prologue: Later that evening...)

     "Good lord, Edward Bakker, you didn't tell me you'd gone and bought a child to pilot your damn 'Mech! What were you thinking?" Clarissa paced the floor of the downstairs family room as the fire crackled behind her and Ned stood at the far end of the room, a glass in his hand.

     "I didn't put down any requirements when I told Bart Carter what I needed. Hell, I rather figured he'd just take one of his own crew that was on a short leash or something and sell them off to us. But this was the only way I'm going to get the mining and refinery equipment going again, we talked about that. I'm not any more keen on the whole slavery thing than you are, but that's the economy out here. It's the way of life. We knew that, you knew that when we decided to put down roots here."

     "I know that, I know we're not back in the Commonwealth, and that we'd probably have never made it back there. Certainly not the life that we have here. But for lord's sake, the girl's barely older than Peter is."

     Ned took a long sip of his drink. "I've got all the paperwork from Bart from when he nabbed her, knocking over a passenger liner. She's 19, born in the Capellan Confederation, a noble no less. I guess she ran off to prove herself a Mechwarrior, signed up with some unit stationed in the Hegemony, and got nabbed when Bart raided the ship. Just her luck too, back before the blackout, he'd have made way more ransoming her back to her family than he ever could selling her off to us."

     "I'm still not easy with this Ned. It seems wrong."

     He sighed. "Look, if I went and let her go, she'd run off in a heartbeat, my industrial mech would still be stuck in the works with no way of getting it out, the equipment not running, and our bills come due faster than I'd like to think. Is it a pretty solution? No. But it's how it has to be for our family to survive. It's dog eat dog out here. We knew that when we settled."

     Clarissa stood with her hands on her hips. "Alright, but know this. Nobody lays a hand on that girl. She's as safe as if she were one of our children. You understand?"

     "Like family. You've my word, love."