I've always hated tour groups. Fortunately, here at the Cobalt Coil, we don't have to put up with too many. Solaris does a brisk tourist trade but most of the off-planet groups are more interested in the big, flashy places like Chez Juan, Valhalla, or LosTech Nine. The Coil's a local's bar with a fairly small, quite loyal clientele most of whom think of the Coil as 'their secret'. But Donovan and his groups we put up with-long as he lets us know when he's bringing a bunch of blue-haired old site-seers by, like last Friday.
But first, I should explain why we put up with Donovan. Simply, he's one of ours, you know, a regular and an old timer. That's it. At the Coil we take care of our own.
Any case, Donovan let us know a week ahead he'd be bringing in a small group from the Federated Suns who wanted to see "the real ethnic side of Solaris", which is kind of like asking for real Star League ammo from a Free Trader. I've never met a native Solarian over the age of twenty. But Donovan's group wanted to see "the real Solaris" and if he took them to a regular bar, the odds were on most of them coming out either missing their valuables, or feet first. So I let the regulars know what was up and come Friday we had a nearly full bar with everyone in the know. And a little something planned. We figured it would be O.K. Donovan was a quick thinker.
They came in right on schedule, half past four in the afternoon, and Blake's Blood, they stood out like a Locust amid a lance of Marauders. Donovan led them in, pausing at the doorway to roll his eyes in almost mock-embarassment. That came close to breaking us up but we held it. He led them to a conveniently empty table and tried to keep them from staring. But they kept gawking like they'd never seen a mechwarrior bar. Why anyone would find a motley bunch of men and women in dirty coveralls interesting I'll never know. At least they didn't pullout pocket 'vids to record it all.
After letting them bask in our ambience for a while, I wandered over to take their order. I bumped into a table on the way. I don't know why I decided to wear that stupid eyepatch over a perfectly good eye. Lenth, the day man, loaned it to me saying it would give me a more piratical look.
Any way, it was almost worth it when Donovan got a look and almost started laughing himself. Served him right. I refrained from trying a Butte Hold accent.
The drink orders were simple, a round of draft beer for the table with a seltzer water for Donovan. Then one of them asked for a Capellan March PPC. I looked the drinking man over. He had a retreating hairline and an advancing belly, the latter cinched in by a fashionable one-piece suit. His mussed- up neo-leather jacket was draped over the back of his chair and I could tell he wasn't armed. By the way he kept looking at the younger woman across from him I could tell he was trying to impress her with his manly drinking habits. Well, the customer is always right.
I headed back to the bar and drew five from the tapped keg and then filled another glass with UV flashed seltzer water. Now for the PPC. If any one drink has ever been invented that could double as an industrial de-greaser, it is the Cappellan March PPC. Composed of equal amounts of tequila and pure grain alcohol, it has to be the most lethal drink this side of straight arsenic or the 'fruit punch' in Class IV survival rations. At the Coil we mix all our PPCs real strong. Some places dilute this sort of drink with a good measure of water, a drink jokingly called the Partial Projection Cannon, but not the Coil. Chubby got what he ordered.
I was halfway back from delivering the drinks when a harsh gasp followed by a strangled, choking cough let me know he'd tried it. It's nice to know your work is appreciated.
Things were quiet for a while and the table ordered another round of drinks (six beers and a water this time), and the visitors were starting to look a little bored. Time to give them their money's worth, I decided. A nod from me was all it took.
Within seconds, an argument broke out in a back corner. It escalated. While the tourists watched, mouths agape, a fight erupted. Boy did it spread fast. Almost instantly, the Coil was filled with flying punches and bodies, which, interestingly enough, weren't damaging the furniture or the patrons. The fight was centered around Donovan's table but nobody was crashing into them. Then a gun came out.
Right in front of the tourists, a solidly built woman pulled a gun. She pointed it at a man and fired. The sharp crack of the Tokave automatic silenced all other noises in the bar as the struck man tumbled backwards. He smacked into a wall and slumped down, red leaking from his mouth. Then everybody drew guns.
Gun shots crashed and smoke rapidly filled the air. People dove for cover and some of the tourists started screaming. I pulled my Viper, switched to autofire and joined the fun from behind the bar, popping up long enough to snap off a quick burst and a shouted curse before ducking back. Donovan drew his laser and headed for the door, his tour group right behind. No one paid attention to their hasty departure. About a minute and a half after they left, I shouted out that it was enough. Everybody stopped shooting. Then we started laughing.
When Donovan showed up three hours later, half-price night was in full swing. He came in madder than a cheated street walker but the moment he hit the bar, everybody started laughing again. That mellowed his mood and he joined in.
"You should have seen the looks on their faces when we got outside," he said, once the laughter had subsided. "I felt for sure that between the panic and the exertion, Mr. Simpkins was going to drop from a coronary, he was the PPC drinker. All right, I knew all you idiots were firing blanks, someone should sweep up the wads it makes the place look trashy, but that Tokave fired a like round. You can't fake that sound. What happened?"
I grinned.
"I don't think you know the Toshiros," I said and gestured towards a pair of ex-draconians who smiled back. One was the gunwoman, the other, the man she shot. "In their day they were some of the best fight choreographers working for the Combine. They came in on my request and set the whole thing up."
Sara Toshiro continued the explanation.
"Our devilish barkeep said he wanted something special for you so my husband and I pulled out an old, but very effective trick." She took out her gun, ejected a shell, and tossed it to Donovan. "It's only a half load but it sounds about the same when fired. Sam?"
Sam pulled up his tunic, exposing an armored vest.
"The gun only fires a six millimeter round," she said, "And the vest is rated for up to a standard ten millimeter round. All I had to do was make sure I hit him in the chest. At nine meters I could do that with my eyes closed."
Donovan shook his head.
"Jansfield, you're a prize bastard," he said.
"Nope, my parents were legally wed, more than I can say for most of the riff-raff we let in here," I replied. "Don't you know how dangerous it is to insult the bartender? Who knows what might end up in your drink."
Donovan put up his hands in surrender then stood a round to all of us who had participated. The drinks flowed and Donovan swore revenge on each and every one of us. We'd see.
Storying Telling
The storytelling started, just as it always does on Half- price night and the subject of practical jokes wound up as the topic of the night. And boy are humans devilish inventive. Like the aerospace jock who put itching powder in his wingman's helmet or the tank crew who rigged their gun to blow smoke rings. Most of it was actually rather tame, just people blowing of a little pressure in their respective warzones. Everyone deals with stress in their own way but a lot resort to humor. Then Ressa took the floor.
Ressa stands under two and a half meters but she sports more muscles than most men I know, myself included; rumor has it she grew up under 1.4 earth standard G's. She drinks and swears with the best and can field strip a 'Mech actuator with her eyes closed in under five minutes. She's good as any Tech and always welcome in the Coil for her wit, humor, and never-ending string of bad jokes. But this was her first time center stage on half-price night. We all gave her attention when she climbed onto the railing bythe door.
"This happened back when I was Teching for an outfit called Gerstin's Gorgens," Ressa said after downing the dregs of her Steiner PPC. "Of course, the Gorgens had been attached to Seventh Syteris for so long, they were almost a full part of the Lyran Commonwealth army. Noone complained. The pay was good, supplies were plentiful, and the duty rather light. When I joined up for six years, the Gorgens were part of the garrison on Strexal, that's a good sized agro-world in Steiner space out towards the Free Worlds League. Strexal hadn't seen action in about twenty years so the garrison wasn't kept at full readiness. Mostly it was used as a light duty station fur units undergoing refit with the Gorgens as the permanent guard force. Two years after I showed up, a new Steiner line-unit moved in and Major Strotz became the CO of the planetary defense force. Things changed quite quickly.
"When Strotz and his unit arrived, the 'Mechs under his command were all very badly mauled. Despite that, they all looked to be in top condition. You know, like a new machine that went through a tough fight. We found out why rather quickly; Strotz wasn't on planet for five hours before he called a dress inspection. You see, the Major was a parade soldier.
"The only thing Strotz really cared about was how his unit looked. It was his bright, shiny toy and he loved to watch it march with all the bright colors and polished steel glinting in the sun. And once it was cleaned up, it looked great. It still couldn't fight its way out of a wet paper bag but that didn't concern the Major. He just liked the look. Which is why we saw the unit in such bad condition. It went up against a line Combine unit and barely disengaged before it was destroyed.
The toy soldiers wound up on Strexil to lick their wounds and polish their chrome. Strotz, convinced the key to his unit's disastrous showing was insufficient parade drill, pitched into putting them back together. Hemusthave paid for the refit out of his own credit account. That boy was loaded. Just proves that money and brains don't have to be linked.
"If Strotz had restricted himself to his old unit, everything would have been fine. The Gorgens would have laughed at him behind his back and kept to their own business. Granted they weren't the most experienced soldiers but they knew what standards to judge a warrior against and the how bright the finish was on his 'Mech was not one of them. But Strotz decided that because the Gorgens were technically part of his command, they'd do things his way. So it started with that first inspection.
"After looking over every piece of the Gorgens' field equipment without pausing to comment, he proceeded to give a three hour lecture on how we couldn't possibly be soldiers with such disreputable looking weapons in our possession. I can still see him, standing on the aerospace fighter runway, the sun glinting off the dozens of selfgranted medals and meters of gold braid that decorated his uniform, screaming at the Gorgen commander who silently took it all.
Once Strotz was finished and the unit dismissed, we spent the next week trying to get into the sort of shape he demanded. We failed the next inspection as well. A pattern quickly formed.
"No matter how hard we tried, we couldn't live up to his standards and, interestingly, it was always the fault of the Tech staff. The warriors still got a share of the abuse but most of it was saved for the Techs. We couldn't do anything right, even though we were expected to work on the Gorgens' machines as well as refit the walking show pieces the Major brought with him. We were overworked, always short of sleep, and never credited with a milligram of wit or skill. The Gorgen CO tried to help us but Strotz was like a force of nature, inescapable and ever present. We hated him.
"Inspections were a weekly torture Our work would be ridiculed and we would be reprimanded. Strotz was constantly saying what a bunch of clowns we were and how we would never amount to anything more. We hated him. It's a miracle his neuro helmet didn't experience an inexplicable short that fried him. The CO came to talk to us within the second week of Strotz's reign to prevent just such an occurrence. Out of respect for him, we didn't kill Strotz, but we all wanted to. So did most of his own people.
"Not all of the Major's people were walking clothes racks. Some of them wanted to be real MechWarriors and actually do their part to defend the Commonwealth. They'd just wound up in the Major's unit by happenstance and it would have been political and social suicide to request a transfer; at that time, Strotz had some very powerful friends in the Lyran court. They offered what sympathy they could and provided advice on how best to avoid the Major's ire. It helped.
Six months of this purgatory passed, then word came that a delegation of Lyran generals were coming to review the unit. They would assess how well Strotz's command had been refitted and judge if it would be reassigned to a combat position. Strotz was ecstatic, sure he was going to get another chance to prove himself on the field of battle. To demonstrate the readiness of this garrison, Strotz didn't think to do something like stage a war game or simulated raid. Instead he opted for a grand parade that would meet the visiting dignitaries at the Star Port with cheering citizens providing the backdrop. The locals would be given streamers and told when to cheer the Major. Strotz was going to lead the parade with his unit behind him. The Gorgens, if we could get our act together, would be allowed to march in the back. Oh joy.
"Late one night, the Tech staff met to discuss the situation. Over a bottle of hijacked whiskey, a plan was formed.
"The next few weeks passed amid a flurry of activity. Every 'Mech and battle vehicle had to be given a complete checkout, at least for all visible portions. Oddly, the Tech staff accepted the extra duty without complaint. That would have alerted any competent commander. Strotz was oblivious. Then the big day came.
"The orbital platforms marked the arrival of the delegation right on time. A squadron of fighter rose to meet the incoming DropShips and escort them to the planet. The locals assembled as requested and sat back, banners in hand, to enjoy the show. Strotz: and his men scrambled for their 'Mechs. Strotz had a Zeus assault 'Mech that was in prime condition. Unfortunately the elevator that normally took him from the 'Mech bay floor was out of service. Strotz, in full dress uniform, started up the interior passageway towards the 'Mech's head. We figured it would take him slightly under two minutes to make it to the cockpit, during which he couldn't see what was going on around him. That was our signal.
Forty Techs came down from the ceiling beams on spider lines. Each one carried a paint bomb, an 'addition' for the Major's 'Mech, or a pot of contact cement (You know, the stuff that sets in less than five seconds. While they were busy, another team with two low-haulers brought out some stuff for his feet. All total, we were on his 'Mech for fifty seconds and long gone before Strotz was in his cockpit powering up his 'Mech. Then he was off to lead his parade. We lost it. Laughing hysterically, we rushed for the 'vids to watch the parade. It was an eyeful.
"The unit's' Mechs, tanks, and APCs looked great. They
shone like jewels in the afternoon sun. But they marched
behind a clown. Strotz's 'Mech looked like something from a
giant-scale circus. The entire body was a riot of warring neon-
bright colors. A wreath of spun aluminum wire, painted bright
red and kinked into a wild perm, ringed the 'Mech's head,
forming a bizarre fright wig. Six huge mylar pompoms, each
over five meters across, formed a line of buttons down the
front of the 'Mech while two huge clamshell extensions tripled
the length of each foot. The latter clanged very impressively
with every step the Zeus took. Lastly, a giant green nylon cape
billowed behind him. Emblazoned on the cape in brilliant
yellow letters was the slogan 'Liao for Archon'. We were rather
proud of our work. and the crowd loved it.
"Strotz didn't catch on. He strutted down the reinforced roadway, waving to the gathered people on his way to meet his commanding officers. For whatever reason, none of his own people bothered to tell him what was going on. Officially, they all claimed that they did not want to be insubordinate. We knew better. In any case, Strotz made it to the spaceport just as the DropShips were landing. His unit formed up behind him in a double crescent and waited.
They didn't have to wait long.
"The DropShip hatchways cracked open and the delegation, led by General Steiner stepped out onto the ferrocrete slab. They started to walk forward then stopped, stunned by the appearance of Strotz's 'Mech. Strotz, astute judge of character that he wasn't, misinterpreted. His 'Mech paced forward.
I, Major Strotz, and my command stand ready to be judged," he proclaimed. Back at the 'Mech bay, we wished we had thought to add a modulating circuit to his commlink that would end each sentence with a loud raspberry.
"General Steiner turned and said something to one of her aids. She was handed a commlink with a built in amplifier.
Get out of that ridiculous 'Mech at once and explain what is going on!' she snapped.
"That did it. I suspect the entire planet, with the exception of Strotz and some of the General's staff joined us in laughing at Strotz. The Major soon emerged from his violated 'Mech, and when he got a look at our handiwork he almost blew his heart with fury. He ordered the instant arrest of everybody even faintly connected with this matter but when the General pointed out that this order was phrased in such a way as to include her and her staff and might he rather have a private conference on this subject, he calmed down enough to follow her into her ship. Then, in pieces, the entire story came out.
Ressa paused and someone handed her a beer which she quickly downed.
"Not a lot else to add," she continued. "A full investigation was launched into 'the incident'. Accusations flew and when the dust finally settled, Strotz: was promoted into a non-command staff position, his unit was broken up between other units, and the Gorgens got to see some action on the Free Worlds League front. I mustered out when my time was up. I saved a copy of the vid we made of the Major strutting his stuff. Whenever I want a chuckle or just want to remind myself not to get above myself, I take the time to run it. If you want, I'll bring it in tomorrow."
There were a numberof requests as Ressa started for the bar for another round. I started mixing up the next set of orders. A few seconds later, a series of coughs, gagging sounds, and shouted complaints sounded from the patrons of the bar. It took us a few moments to figure out what had happened. Someone had put salted soy nuggets in everybody's drinks, must have been while we were all caught up in Ressa's tale. We looked for the culprit but no one had seen anything. Oddly, Donovan was gone.
Like the lady said, it's a matter of timing.
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