Chapter 13: Chapter 13: Incipient Motion
The Spirit-class Mobile Fortress Motherwill awakens slowly from its long slumber beneath the moonlight
Long-dormant systems come online one by one, under the exacting eyes of the many machines under Hustler One's control. The main reactor comes out of its long hibernation and fills the mobile fortress with power for the first time in millennia.
Groups of metal droids move with swarms of unmanned drones, chopping down trees and clearing away the vegetation that has grown on the fortification's surface. Long buried AC parts, Pulverizer and Alliance, are dug up from their dirt tombs and brought back to the Motherwill for processing and storage. Drones are sent outwards to scout the surrounding area, seeking to establish early warning systems and the beginnings of long-range communication networks that would, hopefully, one day stretch across the Kingdom.
Muscle Tracers trade their weapons for tools, using the resources on the Motherwill to begin developing the land; laying the foundations for processing facilities that would take raw materials and refine them into something the Mobile Fortress can use. In the middle of the island, a massive railgun is under construction; meant to launch satellites into orbit to allow Hustler One to control bodies across long distances and enable long range communications.
Within the fortress itself, a force of robots work on the interior; refurbishing, repairing, and replacing whatever is necessary. Androids, gynoids, drones, and both construction and general use MTs work with the sort of machine-like precision and efficiency expected from units under the direct control of a long-lived A.I.
As all this takes place, Leon and Hustler One stand on a hill overlooking a cliff occupied by a small force of gynoids that continuously incinerate perfectly arranged skeletons. They then put the ashes on drones which would fly out a random distance of over 1 kilometer and spread it over the abyss; so that the deceased could finally rest.
"There were over 8,000 people in the Motherwill during the conclusion of the Verdict War. It will take time for this to be complete." Hustler One notes. "The ship and ACs for our plan would be ready long before then. I recommend you get some rest before we leave."
"In a little bit." Leon says. "I… these people shouldn't be forgotten."
"They will not. A memorial will be made for them, with all their names engraved upon it as well as their ranks." Hustler One says. "It is illogical for you to be this sentimental, Leon."
"It is. But I still want to do it." Leon responds.
Hustler One stares at him for a long moment, then sighs as it turns back to the gynoids as they work.
"Are you certain with the plan we made?" Hustler One asks instead, changing the topic. "It places you in an unacceptable amount of danger."
"There's plenty to gain in terms of influence and support, Hustler. You know as well as I do that change isn't just physical." Leon reminds the A.I. "You handle the industry and material, while I handle the people and mindsets. We'll be playing to our strengths here and the results will speak for themselves. And besides, this will be a good opportunity to start working on a major problem in the Kingdom– the Forest of Ladies. Fixing it will earn us a lot of goodwill from a lot of people who'd otherwise be wedded to old women and sent to distant battlefields to die."
"You will be married off and sent to die on a battlefield." the A.I says with rising fury. "In the hopes that your spouse," Hustler One practically spits out. "Would be able to swindle the Kingdom for more coin with which to do this again with someone else's son."
"And you know as well as I do that I won't die so easily." Leon nods, sure. "I know my way around a sword and gun. I'll survive long enough to get in an Armor and perform well enough to get a posting in the Armor Corps. With my skills and experience, there's very little I can't accomplish in a mech; AC or otherwise."
"...I still don't like it." Hustler One worries. "You would be operating a sub-optimal mech in sub-optimal conditions against terrible odds under commanders who would deliberately send you out on suicide missions or perhaps have you assassinated in your sleep."
"That's why I got the Human+ Lite package installed. The nanites will take care of any poisons I ingest or inhale,they'll boost my regeneration so I won't die immediately in case somebody tries anything funny while I'm asleep, and I'll be able to keep in touch with you." Leon snorts. "I know what I'm doing Hustler, don't you worry too much. You'll make your gynoid all wrinkly and old."
"You have effectively disappeared from your family for more than 2 weeks by now, Leon. In all likelihood, even if your father had stayed and searched for you, he would have already returned to the Barony due to low supplies with full expectations of you being deceased." Hustler One explains. "With you officially dead, there is nothing stopping you from undergoing plastic surgery and adopting another persona to go around the region and Kingdom making connections and establishing support for the changes we plan to bring. You are limiting yourself severely."
"And I told you that I'm not going to just up and abandon my family." Leon crosses his arms. "And just because I'm working with you doesn't mean I'm comfortable enough to let you near them."
"I wouldn't hurt them." the A.I pouts. Leon rolls his eyes.
"I'll take that statement with a grain of salt." the young man says. "And besides, working in the underworld puts me at equally as much risk as the plan we have right now; arguably worse considering the kind of cutthroat environment I'll be operating in. And before you say you can act as a safety net, our activities wouldn't be entirely legal and it only takes one loose pair of lips to get us on the Kingdom's radar." he sighs. "You take care of the material, and I'll take care of the manpower. I work in the military, get a reputation, gather evidence on the Forest of Ladies, and eventually bring it directly to the crown. And if they refuse to do anything about it…"
"Then you would have the backing necessary to force them to comply and make the change yourself." Hustler One nods. "Ambitious, if a little slow. A sufficient show of force would work just as well."
"And what happens if someone or something manages to overcome that show of force?" Leon asks. "Also, what force do we have to show? A handful of barely working mechs and 3, maybe 2 ships? Holfort has dozens more of either."
The A.I pouts harder.
"Oh, don't give me that!" Leon laughs, grabbing the gynoid's shoulder and giving it a little shake before walking back to Motherwill. "Give it time, Hustler; we'll get you those resources eventually. Now c'mon, I'm hungry and I want to see how well an ancient A.I can cook."
"Just for that, I'll synthesize Japanese Konjac for your dinner. See if I don't." Hustler One threatens. "I'm serious, Leon! Konjac!"
=X=X=X=X=X=
"Unacceptable! Simply unacceptable!" Zola Fou Bartford rants, red-faced with anger. "What were you thinking, you stupid man? Bringing with you the child I had earmarked for betrothal and losing him in a matter as trifling as a monster culling?! Even Luward, equally worthless man as he is, would have done much better than you! Is this the extent of the Bartford men's capacity? You should be ashamed! Now I would have to suffer intolerable backtalk from that stupid sow whom I promised that child to!"
Barcus holds his tongue, his fury and grief magmatic in the hollow of his chest even as his face remains stoic and accepting of the vitriol from his 'wife'.
He'd only came back to the Bartford territory not too long ago, successful in the culling he had set out to do. One Armor gone, another severely damaged, four gunboats sunk, 10 men fewer and 1 son missing for long enough to be presumed dead, but still successful. A feat was held, drinks toasted and food eaten; to celebrate the victory and the lives lost in that noble endeavor.
His proper wife, Luce, had been nearly inconsolable. Jenna and Filley had grown pale. Collin lost a little bit of his luster and Nicks… well, he hadn't written a letter yet but Saint knew how he would react.
Two days later, well before the Bartfords had finished grieving, Zola and her two children arrived on their luxury airship and she demanded to speak with Barcus regarding grievances and significant disruptions to her long-term plans. He bore the looks of disdain from Luward and Merce, and brought Zola to his office to hear what she had to say, already knowing what it was.
"Do you have any idea how big of an embarrassment this is to me? How much of a blow my credibility has taken? How low my peers will consider me now that I cannot follow through with my bargain?" Zola snarls, pacing in front of Barcus. "And all this because you let your brutish desires for an inelegant solution to a matter this trifling matter get the better of you! Where are the mercenaries? Where is the aid from the crown? Why sail out in an understrength fleet instead of waiting for aid?!" she walks over and slaps him. "Stupid! Stupid!"
Barcus takes a deep breath and exhales slowly, forcing himself to calm down. He can de-stress afterwards, but right now he must remain strong. He cannot fail his family the same way he failed Leon. This he swears as the Bartford family head.
"...but I suppose taking proactive action to stop a threat now is better than letting it ruin the barony." Zola scoffs, dismissive. "With that third son of yours gone, I suppose the fourth one will have to do as a replacement."
For a second, fury spikes in Barcus' chest and his ironclad self-control strains under the urge to reach out and grab Zola by the neck–!
A rush of footsteps snaps Barcus out of his thoughts as Collin barrels through the door.
"D-Dad! Dad!" the little boy cries. "Outside! B-Big! A-And not ours!"
"That's my airship, you ignorant little runt." Zola huffs. "And who gave you permission to–"
"Not yours, Lady Zola! Another one!" Collin cuts her off, sheer panic overcoming decorum. He points out the window behind Barcus. "Look! There!"
Barcus turns around and gawks at the approaching vessel. It is long and made fully out of metal, with harsh angles and minimal curves. Rotating turrets stud its entire length, at least 9 from what Barcus sees with possibly more on the side that's out of view. There are no sails, propellers, or Floatstone ballasts, yet it flies all the same; pushed forward by two flat engines mounted on the starboard and port sides of the vessel's stern.
It does not look well; patches of rust and seemingly missing pieces belay the truth to its condition; though formidable, it was not operating at its full capacity. Nonetheless, its sheer size alone easily classifies it as a cruiser-- the sort of ship fielded by Earls and Marquess'.
"W-What is that?!" Zola demands, fearful. "Barcus! Take your men and deal with whomever that may be! Now!"
"Collin, get to your mother and hide." Barcus orders. "Quickly."
"Y-Yes dad." the boy nods and scurries off. Barcus retrieves his shotgun and heads out as warning bells chime, leaving Zola alone in his office.
The men assemble, rifles and swords and spears in hand. Most take up defensive positions around the port while a good 10 fall in behind their lord, Barcus leading them with a stoic but firm expression. He watches as the ship slows to a stop in the dock, and a boarding ramp opens; revealing a woman in a red jacket surrounded by other men and women.
"You are in the airship dock of House Bartford, loyal to the Kingdom of Holfort!" Barcus barks. "Name yourself and state your business here!"
The woman raises her hands and slowly descends the ramp, making no move to show any sort of hostility. She appears unarmed as well, which makes Barcus relax just a mite.
She looks… buxom. In a way that no normal peasant nor any lower-rung noblewoman could appear, the sort of countenance that makes him think of duchies and royalty. Perhaps a bastard child of the royal family, or a princess from some foreign country? Though her presence here would be odd, to say the least.
Still, he maintains his hard countenance and keeps his eyes on her as she enters earshot.
"My name is Lana Nielsen. I'm not from Holfort, so I apologize for being so impudent to a nobleman of the Kingdom." the woman bows. "I come seeking Barcus Fou Bartford."
"I am him." Barcus nods. "Why have you sought me out?"
"Ah. I hadn't realized, my lord. My most sincere apologies." the woman bows lower. "But I suppose I should have realized; your son bears more resemblance to you than I expected."
"...m-my son?" Barcus blinks, and hope spears through his chest. "Leon? You– you know my son?"
"Yes, I do." the woman, Lana, looks up at him. "My lord, I bring him home."
The Bartford family head takes a deep breath as his men glance at him worriedly. Two weeks he had searched, and found nothing. Two weeks his son went missing, with little to no supplies in an outdated Armor that was older than his youngest child. Two weeks, and now…
Barcus swallows.
At least he was home. At least there was something to bury. At least now he needn't waste time on empty hopes.
"I want to see his body." Barcus demands. "I must make sure that it is my son."
"Body?" the woman blinks. "But he's alive."
…
"Prove it, then. Where is he?" Barcus demands. "Where is my son?"
The woman turns to the ship and whistles. Two figures step out, one assisting the other.
"Home sweet home." comes Leon's familiar voice, and the sheer relief that floods Barcus' heart is almost enough to collapse him. But he stands still, and watches as his son (still alive, still whole, safe) hobbles out with assistance from one of the ship's crewmen. He hobbles down the gangway, one hand gingerly cradling his side as many small scars and fading bruises dot his body. "Hey. Sorry for making you worried–"
The Bartford Patriarch surges forward and engulfs his son in an embrace, damn the looks and attention he gets. He pulls Leon close and thanks whatever divinity had deigned to lessen his suffering and forgive his mistakes.
And if he cries a little into his son's shoulder, well… that's nobody else's business but his own.
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