Max pondered Nico’s suggestion. She had some sway with the repair bays, so she could likely get a few small modifications made to the color scheme if they were actually assigned Bone and Bronze colors again.
“Point taken. They would look good in bone and bronze though. Maybe we could ask for a bit more red on the Crusaders this time though. Those red hazard stripes you did on Tarith’s Rage were an excellent look and really helped the Mecha stand out as a unit commander. We could ask the repair bay to do the same this time, with red Chevrons for the Unit Commanders. It would help morale as well.” Max agreed.
Two more days passed without any updates, other than that the ship was en route to its next testing site, though no destination, time of arrival, or mission data was provided. Finally, Max couldn’t take the suspense anymore and headed down to the repair bays to check on their mecha and see if the paint schemes had been started yet.
As a Battalion Commander, he had clearance to go whenever he wanted, unlike most of the unit that was prohibited from the area, for now, to keep them out of the way of the repair staff who had enough to do that they didn’t have time for distractions.
The Mecha were mostly painted, and the teams had started with the lightest units first. The Corvette Class Mecha were all Blood Red with Bronze accents, while the Crusaders had a bit of white added to them for unit markings.
It was similar, but the inverse of what he had done for the Stalwart Special Tactics Unit. It made for a good-looking unit. Imposing and powerful, but not so light that they would stand out against the night sky the way that the bone color did.
None of the X137 Super Heavy units had been painted yet, they were all still in their repair racks sporting the black radar absorbent paint they had for the first test, but at least now Max had an idea what his unit would look like when they reached the next destination.
Command had the Research team segregated in their own area, so he couldn’t even go visit Moonie after her shift. Strangely, that didn’t bother him as much as Max thought it would. They had a good time together but somehow it just never had that something that made it feel like the relationship could last. Their worlds were just a little too different, and unless one or both of them gave up on their passion, they were only destined to cross paths for a little while.
Port Romance is what the other Pilots called it, and Max was beginning to understand just what they meant. He would be sure to explain his feelings the next time he saw her in person. In the meantime, he would send her their usual daily messages, which got shorter and shorter as they both got busier.
They had been aboard for a total of one week when Central Command finally saw fit to send them a message detailing their next mission.
Rae 3 wasn’t the only planet with a Klem problem, they were advancing toward the borders of every nation that was near them. The second test mission would see them acting as Death Wind Mercenaries again, at the request of the Imperial Inquisition. The Tapani had seen an increase in attacks from their Insectoid neighbors, and they were looking for help.
Kepler Imperial Command agreed with the Inquisition that the test Regiment was uniquely positioned to pull off an intervention without attracting the attention of the other empires in the Western Region of the Galaxy, thanks to their unique Mecha.
The Imperial Inquisition intended for them to show up, assist the Tapani with their Klem problems, and deliver an Inquisitor who was hunting a high-value Kelper defector.
The Tapani had a unique issue with the Klem, one that the infestation that Max faced on Rae 3 didn’t exhibit. They were close enough to the Klem homeworlds that the incoming pods would still be in communication range with the Queens. That made them smarter, more diverse, and exponentially more problematic to deal with.
Tapani and Kepler were uneasy allies, so a full Liberation Fleet would be seen as an attempt to take over the whole region, but a ship full of Mercenaries in one place, a single ship in another in the name of upholding their alliance, and some small interventions would be much easier to accomplish without issues.
The hope of Imperial Command was that the arrival of Kepler forces on other planets would flush out the targets for the Inquisition, but not alarm them so much that they disappeared again.
Only one thing needed to change, their transport vessel. Abraham Kepler was far too recognizable, so the Terminus Trading Company, better known as the Comor First Heavy Mecha Regiment, or the Test Regiment, would be shifted to a Reaver transport at a nearby space station.
The ship had been abandoned for nearly a century, after the crew died of a mysterious illness contracted on a mission to an unexplored region on the edge of the Galaxy, but had been declared clear and safe by the Military decades ago.
The basics of the transfer were documented in their Mission orders, though the details about who their “VIP Guest” might be were left out and no mention of Inquisition involvement were shared with the Regiment.
“Looks like we are in for some fun again. When we get a chance, contact your family and let them know what we are up to. I wouldn’t want trouble with the actual Tarith Reavers for appropriating their name.” Max whispered to Nico, who was lounging in the cafeteria, playing cards with the other pilots.
“Already on it. The Regiment Commander requested that I make contact a few hours ago, and everything is a go. If anything, we might have issues with the ship they have found us. All the data that I could find is that it was lost in space with all hands dead from infectious disease. It’s not against any law to claim the vessel if none of their Clan remains to claim it, but the Reavers and Mercenaries are superstitious, and taking over a ghost ship is pretty taboo.
Normally they would be stripped for parts and fully recycled, not recommissioned once they were decontaminated.” Nico explained.
“Great, now we are THOSE Mercenaries, with the heavy-duty firepower and the cursed ship. Can we rename it or something? Maybe hide its identity?” Max asked.
“Ship’s communications have a serial identifier to them, a particular code that is embedded in every message, identifying the sender. Even if we fully refit the thing with Military Grade comms gear that can hide the signature, we don’t have a valid identification to use instead.” She shrugged.
“If nothing else, it fits our cover as a newly formed Mercenary group with a load of experimental gear we are looking to turn a profit using. New groups usually have half-refit scrap ships that they pulled out of dead space and repaired enough to make a go of the trade routes. This one is in decent shape, but cursed, so even fewer would want it.” Major Miller added, having read through the dispatch before coming over to talk to his Commander.
“Alright, get everyone ready for the transfer,” Max ordered, wondering how things were going to work once they had changed ships. General Yaakov was many things, but a Mercenary Leader wasn’t a role that Max thought the upright Noble would be able to pull off.