8.15.2578
Time:1253 Ship time
Ding. The elevator chimed, pulling Tony from his thoughts. The first thing he noticed was that his hand was shaking. Odd, Tony thought. It wasn't desperation or disappointment. It was adrenaline. He clenched his fist tight, and after a moment, the shaking stopped. He took a deep breath, drawing in the air slowly until his nerves settled. Clasping his hands behind his back, he waited as the metallic doors slid open.
Waiting in front of the elevator was a young woman dressed in the Federated Suns uniform. She wore the Star League Defense Force rank of sergeant on her red jacket, which was open, revealing a burgundy tank top underneath. Flanking her were two young men, both corporals. The woman noticed Tony as the elevator doors opened and leaned against the frame, a sly smile curling on her lips.
"Good morning, Little Tony. Where 'ave ye been? Hope ye're not hidin' from us, are ye?" she teased playfully, her grin growing wider. "You've been down in the bowels, eh? Why 'aven't ye received yer assignment yet?"
Tony grimaced at the nickname 'Little.' It wasn't affectionate—'lieutenant in the lead,' they called it. "Good afternoon, Sergeant Irvraine," Tony replied, his voice laced with irritation. "I've been forced to stay down there with the rest of them. Not by choice, you understand. And as for your question, I'm on my way to meet with the captain to receive my assignment." He kept his eyes straight ahead, paying her little mind.
"The boys and I are headin' down to the engineering bay. The crew's havin' a free-for-all boxing match. Winner takes the pot of credits. What d'ye say? Interested?" Ferne's eyes glinted with mischief.
"No," Tony replied, his tone sharp with irritation.
"Oh, c'mon, Tony, what ye so afraid of? Don't want te dirty yer hands outside yer cockpit, or is it that ye don't think ye'd win in a fair fight?" Ferne taunted, her eyes narrowing as she challenged him, hoping he'd take the bait.
The metallic ground clanked under Tony's boots as he stepped forward, stopping just a breath away from Ferne. The corporals beside her shifted uncomfortably, backing away with each step Tony took, his eyes cold and scrutinizing. "It's not hard for me to believe you'd resort to quenching your own selfish needs by consorting with the contracts, but fighting with them? That's strictly against regulations. I hope you know what you're doing," Tony said, his voice cold and sharp as he locked eyes with her, driving the point home.
"To hell with yer rulebook, Tony. Regulations are just rules meant to be bent. Besides, it's about time ye cut loose and vent some steam, don't ye think?" she said, playfully tugging at his collar, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
Without hesitation, Tony grabbed her hand, pulling it away from his collar in one swift motion. "I won't cover for you this time, Sergeant Irvraine. Unlike you, I have standards to uphold. I don't expect a cave rat from a nowhere mining colony to understand." His words struck like a hammer, and for a brief moment, Ferne's playful facade faltered.
"Suit yeself, but don't come cryin' to me when ye're broke," Ferne shot back, her voice steady, though her eyes betrayed a flicker of hurt. She turned and strode into the elevator, the corporals following close behind.
Inside the confined space, Ferne drowned in her thoughts. What's his problem? Why's he gotta be so damn uptight, so layered, so closed off? Doesn't he know there's more to life than rules and regs? Frustration bubbled beneath the surface. She wanted to show him there was more. Part of her wanted to hate him, but another part, a deeper part, wanted to prove herself to him.
After the elevator doors closed, Tony stood in silent contemplation for a moment. She was only partially right—he desperately needed to vent some frustrations himself. But there were better ways to do it than gambling on fights in the depths of the ship. The onboard gym and boxing ring were built for that express purpose, Tony considered. In moments, he dismissed the thought. Adjusting his collar, he could still smell Ferne's perfume—a pleasant scent, like a fresh-baked warm muffin dipped in blueberry syrup. He forced the thought and the smell aside. They were distractions from his true goal today.
Straightening his uniform, he resumed his stride. Looking left, he allowed a smile to creep onto his face. The bland metallic walls he'd grown so irritated with were replaced by burgundy and red panels, highlighted by streaks of white. No windows, of course—they were a structural weakness. Still, it was a welcome change from the dull, featureless steel of the lower decks. The stars beyond, hanging in the vastness of space, were indifferent to their trials and tribulations. It was beautiful, a reprieve from the oppressive monotony below.
The corridors branched in multiple directions on the officers' deck. Each path led to a new destination: the officers' mess, restrooms, private quarters, and security quarters. Tony kept to the right route, knowing the captain would be in one of three places—her quarters, the mess hall, or the command deck.
Entering the mess hall, he was greeted by the smell of cooking meats, vegetables, and freshly prepared food.
"Hey there, boss man!" That southern drawl was unmistakable. Tony spotted William Brixton sitting at a table, ribs, beans, and a mug of beer in front of him. Brixton's build had gotten more toned since their academy days, and by his side sat Sergeants Miler and Rollin, each enjoying their own meals. Tony glanced around, looking for the captain. Plenty of officers—but no captain. Disappointing, he thought.
"Good afternoon, Sergeant," Tony replied curtly. He approached the table, eyeing the food before shifting his gaze back to Brixton. It had been too long since he'd eaten anything more substantial than nutrient gruel, the standard fare for most of the contracted personnel. "How have you been, Sergeant? You're looking well."
"Doin' good, boss man," Brixton said, grinning. "I'm just enjoyin' highlife now that I got my assignment. What about you? Got yours yet, Lieutenant?" Brixton's eyes gleamed with excitement at the thought. They had worked together for six years, ever since graduation day. Brixton wouldn't want anyone else watching his six.
"No." Tony's response was as cold as the winter wind. "But soon." He softened his tone to avoid sounding too hostile.
"Wait, you ain't received your orders yet? How come? You shoulda been first in line." Brixton's eyes widened with disbelief as he glanced at the two sergeants beside him. "Can y'all believe this? The boss ain't got his orders yet," he said, turning to Miler and Rollin.
"Nah, man. I got mine three days after boarding," Rollin responded, a similar look of disbelief crossing his face. "I was assigned a Phoenix Hawk. I found it strange—I usually pilot a Rifleman II, but I guess when in Rome, right?" He shrugged, taking a bite of the rotisserie chicken on his plate.
"Rollin... Rome fell. Spectacularly. But it still fell." Miler leaned in, smirking. "Why not bring it up with the captain? There's gotta be some mistake. I mean, I was assigned a Locust, which is close enough to my Commando. Hey, Lieutenant, are you still our lance lead, or should we expect someone new?" Miler asked, his curiosity evident.
"That's a good idea," Brixton chimed in through a mouthful of ribs. "When I got my assignment, I was over the moon to see I still had ol' Betsy. Archers never steer ya wrong." His brow furrowed as he looked at Tony. "What's wrong, boss?"
Tony stood without answering and started for the door. "I'm off to see the captain about my assignment and leadership status." Straightening his uniform, he added, "Enjoy your lunch, gentlemen. I'll see you at dinner." Without another glance, Tony turned on his heel and walked out of the mess hall, leaving the table in silence. Each of his former lance members had questions, but none dared pry further.
Tony moved through the hall toward the private quarters. Most likely she's on the command deck or in her quarters, he thought. I need someone who can get me access—or at least request a personal audience. His thoughts clouded his senses as he arrived at the officers' deck, passing doors labeled with first initials and last names. He finally found his own: T. Gutierrez. He used the biometric scanner beside the door. An angry beep greeted him.
I was hoping for something more optimistic, Tony thought before moving on.
Tony knew that trying to get to the command deck through the elevator would be pointless. Instead, he trudged up the stairs beneath the command deck. After a long, tedious climb, he arrived at the bulkhead. Two pairs of guards stood at attention, their faces hidden behind full-face helmets, the reflective visors betraying nothing. The guard nearest the bulkhead stepped forward, the soft clink of armor the only sound in the still corridor.
"How can I help you, Lieutenant?" The guard's voice came through the helmet's speaker, flat and devoid of emotion. His weapon was held low but ready—Tony was no threat, but these guards didn't take chances. Their red and burgundy uniforms marked them as House Davion's elite, the captain's personal guard. Not the usual crowd contracted from SLDF.
"Good afternoon, Sergeant Major. I need to speak with the captain. I'd like access to the command deck," Tony said, his tone calm and controlled. As a lieutenant, he knew full well that command deck access was supposed to be within his rights. The captain had stripped him of those rights. Why?
The guard's helmet tilted slightly, the visor reflecting Tony's face back at him. "Sir, I'm under strict orders not to let anyone through, regardless of rank," he replied, voice cold and mechanical. "I'll contact the captain for clearance. In the meantime, please step aside or take a seat while I make the request." The guard's words were firm, no room for argument.
Tony didn't reply, and didn't need to. He turned on his heel and walked to the benches without hesitation. The guards remained where they were, still, silent, and faceless. Tony sat, his mind working through the situation. The familiar scent of Ferne's perfume lingered in the air. It barely registered. He had more pressing concerns.
The captain had revoked his clearances without explanation. That was the real problem. The guards were just gatekeepers, following orders. It was the captain's actions that gnawed at him. The reflective helmets stayed fixed on him, offering no clues. But Tony would get his answers soon enough.
After a few moments of pacing the corridor Tony decided to have a seat. His frustrations had been boiling within him, the tightness in his chest, the heat on his face despite the ship's controlled temperature controlled environment, his neck felt swollen and tight as he attempted to swallow his pride for a moment to concede control to this captain. Stealing glances at the guards Tony had noticed they had slightly shifted away from the bulkhead. The faceless squad lead pistol holster was unbuttoned; it added unnecessary tension to this whole ordeal. What manner of threat do these guards feel that i pose, regardless I have to keep my diplomatic face tony thought.
Tony looked back down at the ground beneath him, it was only before the bulkheads hissed open. Two of the guards escorted a woman who was barely paying attention to her surroundings. She was staying down at a holo-tab where she was filing paperwork, issuing orders, preparing different documents as she approached Tony flanked by her guards. Tony looked up to see the pressed uniform of a House Davion ship captain: Captain Ariane Seno.
Captain Ariane Seno was a striking woman, her presence commanding as she stood tall and regal, uncompromising. Her porcelain skin bore the subtle marks of someone tempered by the cauldron of command, and her dark brown hair was neatly done up in a tight bun behind her head. The burgundy coat with white accents displayed her rank with pride, while the sharp lapels on her uniform tied the ensemble together. Her smile was pristine and white, contrasting against the coldness of her expression, and her golden eyes gleamed with a sharp, calculated intelligence. It was clear she was someone's noble child, groomed and schooled for this position of power.
"Good afternoon, Lieutenant Gutierrez. How can I help you today?" Ariane's words were cool and dismissive, her focus never leaving the holo-tablet she was working on, as if Tony's presence was little more than a minor interruption in her day.
Tony replied with a calm, carefully cultivated political prowess. "It is a pleasant afternoon, Captain. I've requested this meeting to discuss my assignment and my leadership role. I'm concerned as to why my leadership has been suspended and why my lance received their orders well ahead of mine, leaving me in this predicament." Each word was carefully chosen, his tone calm and measured. His goal was clear: to assert his position and get as many questions answered as possible. As captain, she would have to address them all.
"Your lance?" Ariane raised an eyebrow, her voice had a tinge of contempt. "They were never your lance, Lieutenant. Every single mechwarrior on this frigate is mine to command—including yourself. Don't forget that as we continue this conversation." She paused, she carefully strode her fingers across the holo-tablet still issuing orders. "Now, do you have any real concerns worthy of my attention, or did you come here to waste my time with your selfish requests for answers?"
Tony took a deep breath letting her indifference wash over him. Standing tall, he projected an air of confidence, wanting the captain to see that she didn't frighten him.d. The tightness in his chest slowly eased, replaced by a calm, resolute demeanor. "My lance needs a leader. There are exactly four lieutenants on this frigate. Two of them are already managing their own stars, and the third is a greenhorn who can barely handle a single lance. That leaves me, and yet my authority has been stripped. Why?" His questions were sharp, informed by the intelligence he had gathered while relegated to the lower decks.
"And as for myself," Tony added "why haven't I received my assignment yet?" This was the question that had been gnawing at him, though he had hoped to keep it in reserve. He knew full well that Ariane already understood why he had come to her in the first place.
"Besides," Ariane continued, her tone icy, "I believe you have a personal stake in this conflict, seeing as your adoptive father took you in from the very place we're heading toward. And I will not allow personal feelings or vendettas to compromise my commanders' judgment—especially from someone of your bloodline." Her words were sharpened for effect, meant to cut deep. But Tony had heard worse from his own brothers.
"Paid for my seat at the academy?" Tony's voice hardened, his eyes narrowing. "You haven't the slightest clue who I am or where I come from, Captain." The title was as sharp as a blade, cutting through the air. "I worked for my seat. I spent grueling hours—years—training to be the best. And I am the best. Valedictorian of my class, top marks in academics and military strategy. Money can't buy that, Captain. The trust MY LANCE has in me is not misplaced. If my father wanted me to be a bureaucrat, I wouldn't be here, on this ship, so far from home. I'd be in my estate, enjoying my luxuries."
His voice steadied, each word chosen deliberately. "I won't deny that I may never fully understand the struggles of the common man. But as a commander, that's not what you need from a warrior."
Ariane's grip tightened around the holo-tablet. She loathed him for challenging her so calmly, so directly. How dare he speak like this to me? Yet, beneath the cold surface, there was a flicker of doubt gnawing at her. Tony wasn't the naive noble child she had assumed. The man standing in front of her was a seasoned leader, and she could see it clearly. The trust of his lance was real, and that fact chafed at her control.
Her back stiffened even further, as if the rigidity in her posture could push away the crack in her authority. Damn him. That doubt continued to grow, no matter how hard she tried to smother it.
The guards at her side tensed, fingers inching closer to their triggers. The tension in the air was palpable, as though they were bracing for an escalation. The squad leader's gaze flickered to Tony, fully prepared to act if necessary. But there was no need for that. Tony wasn't making a move. He didn't have to. His words were enough to unsettle the room.
Ariane's frustration simmered beneath her calm façade. He's made valid points, she reluctantly admitted to herself. But she wouldn't let him see that. Not yet. She couldn't.
Her eyes flickered with anger and something she hated even more—acknowledgment. The guards remained poised, their hands close to their weapons, but no command to act came. Tony wasn't a physical threat. He was something worse—he was right.
Tony didn't back down. He didn't have to raise his voice or make any aggressive movements. He let the logic of his words sink in. "MY LANCE needs someone capable, not someone distracted by sympathy. And sympathy for the common man in battle will get MY LANCE killed, along with your 'common man,' and jeopardize the entire mission. Are you willing to risk all of that for pity, Captain?"
Her jaw clenched. Damn him. He was right, and she hated that she couldn't argue with him. But she wouldn't let him off easily. Her eyes hardened, masking her internal conflict, and she stood even taller, though inside, she fumed. I'll requisition more commanders soon enough, she thought. When I do, I'll transfer this bureaucrat off my ship and make him someone else's problem.
Ariane's retort came with a sharp sting, her words twisted like a blade in Tony's side. "You forget your place lieutenant; you are in my territory- on my ship. You and every single soul on this ship is mine to command whether you like it or not." She put her holo-tab behind her as she clasped her together and straightened her back, her chin lifted in spite in tony. She was going to make sure this man knew where he stood on this ship. "Your command will not be reinstated. You have not deserved it, though your skills as a pilot will not be debated, but as a commander and lance leader your judgment is in question."
Tony's demeanor did not shift in the slightest. As he stood there being berated by this so-called 'captain' Tony managed to rouse a reaction out of her. Now he knew, this high ranking officer is driven by emotion. In this line of work: it's a death sentence.
With a grin Tony lowered his gaze the sheer weight of his gaze made the guards respond with fingers hovering over triggers. With a sneer tony pressed his advantage over the verbal war ground "With all due respect captain- the entire reason for this interaction is because I was concerned that I did not receive my assignment; I am not concerned about my command, whoever you appoint will just delegate to my leadership regardless."
Tony stepped back, returning to a more formal stance and demeanor."Professionally I am requesting an assignment, if your biases and prejudices will not allow it then you may consider this a notice of transfer." Tony's words hit like ice and his gaze even colder. Tony noted a subtle shift in arianes stance.
She knew his words were no empty threat. With his standing with the admiral and his noble background, a transfer request from him would be accepted immediately. And if he followed through, she'd be forced to divert valuable resources to fill his position. She couldn't bend to his whims, but finally, a way out presented itself. You want an assignment, Lieutenant? I'll be more than happy to oblige. Ariane thought.
"Very well Lieutenant, your orders and assignments will be registered shortly. Let us avoid any harsh irrational decisions that involve the top brass, you get your assignment and I get to avoid any inconvenient interactions with my superiors. If that is all lieutenant; i have more important matters to attend to. Have a lovely rest of your day." Ariane's fingers danced across the holo-tab. Her demeanor and tone had shifted entirely to a more dismissive tone.
she curtly turned on her heel with a finally and stopped in front of the bulkhead that led to the command deck and awaited it to open- her guards stopped in sync behind her.
The guards stood and stared at Tony, the visor reflecting Tony's gaze back at him. The sheer determination he saw reflected to himself. Brixton would describe it as cold as stone. but Tony felt pride. How could he not, in those determined eyes he saw the teachings of father, the love of mother, and the anger of his four brothers.
Tony is indifferent to the captain's concerns and problems. Nodded at the guards in mock respect and made his way back to the officers deck.