Alexander would notice the barely dressed man who, despite his disfigurements, still held some trace of good looks, and not bat an eye as Jingo - not that he knew his name yet - reached out for a prostethic, sweat dripping down Alexander's lap. The latter would then observe as the man played with his robot dog; would that be a loophole in any No Pets Allowed policy in the base? Then, Alexander would finally speak.

"It's okay, I'm fine with it," the twenty-four year old would then smile. "Anyway, I won't lie, any day I see anyone, male or female, bare-chested is a good day," he would then try and think of a topic of conversation, before realizing—

"I think we've arrived." Then it hit him; they've arrived! Straightening his flight jacket and jumpsuit, Alexander waited for the Passenger Tram to open, being careful not to be the one to enter the base first; that might strike the commander as overeager and unprofessional. Instead, he deffered to Jingo or Agatha as they moved out, following them deferentially. He wasn't stupid; appearing overenthusiastic would just rub the more 'settled' of the pilots in the base the wrong way. As he walked outside, he can smell the scent of urine and blood behind him; again, he ignored it, although he was having an inkling where it had come from - he was just ignoring it.

It's going to be hard to protect that kid, were his only thoughts on the matter, before, as he walked outside to the cold air, doing some introspection.

He was not totally certain that New Anchorage was the chance for atonement he presumed; as Denver-Vegas was Red-Star's enemy, he had heard of the 'Blood Trinity' of that corporation, and he had no illusions that a member of said 'Blood Trinity' was going to give 'moral' orders to him or anyone else. But, Graham wasn't corporate, and so that still made him better than other potential paymasters. Of course, residual loyalty to D-V might make the commander treat Alexander badly, especially if Nathaniel Ingram was related to the Grahams or other members of the B3. He probably wasn't, but Alexander was a little paranoid.

But there was another part of Alexander who thought: Squee, I get to see a mech as famous as Hyperion! He was already imagining it as a blue-and-gold mech which evoked the sun in a blue sky, or as a heavy D-V model packed with weapons...

---

Agatha stepped off the train and into the buzz of activity that was the unloading of a half a dozen NC's and lord knew what else from the train. Lights flashed, sirens wailed, and the shouts of foreman coalesced together into a nigh incoherent assault on the senses. A sharp inhale brought with it the scent of oil, slick and permeating the air of the platform.

"About damn time." Even on it's busiest days the scrapyard never felt so active. There was an air of uncertainty that hung heavy on the platform, falling upon her shoulders like a familiar coat. What was life if you could see if from start to finish? Certainty of your future was infinitely worse than uncertainty. A bit of fear can serve as an excellent motivator. A dash of desperation pushes people to their limits and beyond.

She acknowledged the situation must be grim if they'll take an aged lion like herself when every other independent couldn't show her the door quick enough. However, even if the New Anchorage was on the verge of collapse, she was going to fight so long as she had fuel and munitions for her NC. If Anchorage would give her a shot, she'd be damned before she proved them wrong.

Spotting someone who carried himself like the man in charge, casually perusing a datapad amidst the hustle and bustle, gave her cause to think he would be worth talking to. Breaking into a brisk jog she was before him shortly. There was a click as she brought her boots together and stood proudly at attention. Face stern, severe, and struggling with every fiber of her being to contain her excitement, she proudly declared, "Agatha Smith, Pilot of NC Charon, reporting for duty."

It may have made her look eager, but she wasn't going to make an effort to lie about that. Agatha was living the dream, and wasn't going to let the other's pilot's reticence hold her back.

---

A couple of eager people had left the train before Tahlia, leaving her to wander casually back to her original sleeping area in order to gather her belongings. The faint smell of urine wafted in the air, singing the nostril hairs and forcing her to breathe through her mouth. The sooner she could get off this annoying train the faster she could get into some private quarters, have a decent rest, and thanks to this hovering smell, a decent shower.

"Smells like a fucken shit-house..." she muttered under her breath as she placed one foot on the bench seat of where she was attempting to sleep before. She reached reached up, standing on the hard surface and towards her duffle bag. As she carefully felt around she grabbed the handles and made a graceful lean back, stepping off the bench and dropping back down to the floor below. The bag fell with her allowing her to catch it within her open arms before giving it a good swing and throwing it over one of her shoulders.

Tahlia stepped out of the train, feeling the pressure of the cold air against her body. She pulled her jacket closer together, locking her hands in the pockets. The girl from the outback Australia who was used to sitting in an NC with an internal temperature that 10 degrees hotter than the outside temperature wasn't completely happy with this below zero atmosphere. Each breath she took gave off a mist, causing her lips to feel dry.

She looked towards the other end of the tram noticing the NCs being unloaded from the container carriages, and there was her pride and joy, her little beasty, her bucket of shit that was now the biggest paperweight that was humanly possible. You wanted to prevent a few pages from flying away? Nah, how about a full library! With every armament now damaged in one way or another and a fuel cell that was completely dry, Tahlia knew that she would need a full team of mechanics in order to bring her little monster back online.

Looking forward Tahlia noticed the older lady rush straight over to the man holding a datapad, announcing her name as Agatha Smith and giving him her full attention. Tahlia walked over next to the lady, giving her a bit of a side look and wondering how someone could be that excited about getting into an NC. It was a level of excitement she couldn't understand but unlike Agatha, Tahlia had never spent time out of the NC business and didn't know the meaning of retirement yet.

Tahlia gave a strong inhale, pulling in as much of the air as she could and noting the lack of smell in the air, "Glad you're not the one to piss on the train," she slowly breathed, twisting her body to look back at the other individuals and sight over for if any of them were acting rather... odd. "Tahlia Styles," she spoke out, not bothering to face Agatha or Matthew for the moment. The eye-spy game she was engaged in of trying to spot the culprit was just too much fun.

---

Joshua, seeing they were near or effectively at their destination, retreated from the awkward situation and packed his few things. He didn't even require a duffle bag, grabbing his backpack with a few articles of clothing, a survivalists knife, a book of the same, and some snacks. Mostly gummy bears. Well, he did have a little logbook of his, but he was pretty sure every NC pilot had one of those. He scribbled a few notes about his experiences with an attached pencil while walking towards the exit of the tram, still hating the amount of people there.

Note to self:, he began writing, Feud with man that looks sort of like me possible now, steer clear cheer him up. Buy a drink? No could be seen as me hitting on him Give him snacks Yes, he put his little log and note-book in his backpack then finished getting off the train, seeing that two other pilots already found the man they were apparently supposed to meet. He walked over there and made himself visible, but only just, behind and beside the two women.

He simply waved to make sure he was seen, motioned to his neck to indicate he was an NC pilot, then waited in the 'corner' of the little 'group'... even though there weren't any actual corners. Still, he managed. Whatever response he got, he simply nodded and made sure to be only just visible.

He began absentmindedly scanning over and analyzing the two women he was next to. He couldn't think of any names but the older one certainly felt familiar, in the sense of a somewhat famous person you know you know, but you just can't name right now. Argylle? Anthony? Smitters? No, that one with the scrapyard...

He was sure he heard about her one time in his travels, certainly matched the description. Apparently an NC pilot that managed to 'retire'. Did this old lioness want to get back in the game? 'Can't blame her,--' he thought to himself, 'It's a nice gig, I suppose.'

Jan's conversation with Vladislav was cut short by a beeping from his watch. "Yeah, I've got a mandatory meeting to get to... don't break anything cause I insulted you alright? I had a guy like that on one outfit... guess that's what you get for working with anarchistic religious zealots... Funny story really, I should tell you one day."

Vladislav did not know what to say to the mere implications of what Jan just said, even if he had, Jan just walked out immediately afterward. The mechanic did the only thing he could... He shrugged his shoulders and got back to work.

Jan had underestimated the distance between the mess hall and the hangar. his clock was at 12:05 by the time he reached the first mandatory lunch call... Not a good impression.

Jingo Strange

A sudden jerk knocked Jingo out of his delusion and off of his feet, the train slowed down with shrill, metallic screech as the wheels locked and the rails drained the train of it's momentum. Jingo fell flat on his bottom, sliding along the floor until he came to a sudden halt against the wall. Before he knew it Skitters followed suit, careening across the floor and plowing into downed cripple with extreme force. Jingo's face went through a myriad of expressions and contortions, had he had a full stomach the contents would have most likely painted the floor, his face settled on an expression, one of excruciating pain.

"G- Fu- Nnnn- gaahhhhhhhhh!" the dog leapt off of Strange in alarm, backing up to give the man some space. He clutched his bruised belly and gasped for breath, falling down onto his side and writhing in pain, "Mother Fucker, that her' loik a bitch!" he cried out, making Skitters back away a little and shake in fear. Jingo wallowed in his pain for a few more moments, before letting out a long sigh and looking up at the robotic hound, "It's olrigh' Sk'ers oi'm foin." Jingo rose to his feet and inhaled sharply, getting up to a crouch before lighten himself up to his full height. He looked down at his abdomen and let out a frustrated groan; quickly turning a plum purple, a bruise the shape of the top of Skitter's head stood out against his white skin, "This'll take more then a coop of bleach te wash ou' thas ver sure."

Jingo limped to his cot, Skitters trotting by his side with his eyes on his master, not paying attention to where he was walking he bummed his snout against the bottom cot and jumped back in shock. Bemused, Jingo snorted and reached up to his own cot, pulling down his duffle bag and rummaging around for his wrinkled shirt. He shrugged on the garment, giving it a firm tug with his clasper to get some of the creases out. From the cot next door he heard the muted sound of a person breathing, so had Skitters who stood on his hind legs to peer into the bunk. Inside was woman who looked completely absorbed in a Virtual Reality Headset, Jingo felt didn't want to be the woman to break the girl out of her immersion but she would never take that thing off her head if he didn't tell her. He reached forward with his prosthetic arm and gave her shoulder a gentle tap with the curved side of his pinchers.

"Excuse me lass, we've errived at our por' of call." He decided not to stick around and shock the poor girl, not wanting her to see his face when she took the helmet off. Jingo hefted his bag over his shoulder and promptly removed himself from the carriage, hoping down on to the platform with his dog at his heels. Outside, or rather in the cavernous train station, he was assaulted by the sounds and sights of a bustling cargo terminal; and then he was assaulted form his right.

"Our zombie scotsman has returned!" The jumpsuit clad Gwenda clung onto him like a bramble, crushing him in her vice like grip. Jingo yelped in discomfort as she crushed herself against his bruised abdomen and patted her back awkwardly as he tried to squirm his way out of her grip. "And you've brought a doggie!" She crouched down and took Skitter's face into her hands, "And it's a robot too!" She squealed in delight and Jingo wheezed in pain, arching his back to try and alleviate his pain.

"If only ye were as feminine in yer hugs as you were around me dog.." he grumbled before his usual chipper expression returned to him, "How have ye been dear, haven't missed me too much I hope." Gwneda looked up at him and gave him a smile and Jingo returned it with a smirk, "Thas a good look for ye, down on yer knees." Gwenda's cheeks flushed scarlet at his comment and he was about to laugh too when he felt an arm go around his head, jerking him into a headlock.

"No one talks to my sister like that, not even my favorite Scotsman!" Victor gave Jingo's neck a good squeeze and laughed warmheartedly before a wrench fell on his shoulder, "Ouch! What the fuck was that for?!" Gwenda raised the wrench up again, waggling it menacing at her brother.

"No one headlocks my favorite Scotsman!"

"Stop foiting!" Jingo yelled out from under Victor's armpit "And can ye let go of my fuckin' head ye degenerate?!" Vic did as he was told, releasing Jingo with little argument, he cupped his neck and rubbed it gently in his hand, soothing it from it's recent assault. Jingo felt a pickle in the back of his nose and his eyes bulged as his hand mad a fist around his wind pipe; he released a massive sneeze and his hand spasmed and clenched, strangling himself. "Fuck this flu!!!" he cried out in frustration. After wrapping up his hellos with a quick and excruciatingly painful group hug, Jingo finally turned his attention to the huddle of prospective NC pilots that swarmed Alvarez. He walked over calmly enough and waved to the man, "Alvarez, pen me down as here!"

..........Game Over....New High Score 6700 pts.

Penny threw off her VR headset as she got the game over message, her forehead was covered in sweat. She had never made anything above 6000 before in her earlier attempts at her Sniper Training Demo. But today on the train she had a new level of focus. It might have been the pressure and excitement of returning to new anchorage and being apart of a full military unit and wanting to make a good impression when she finally gets into her NC. Just as she began to pack away her demo game she was almost deafened by the screech of the stopping train. They had arrived in New Anchorage, Penny was home.

As she stepped up out of her train seat she re-adjusted her Getta brand casual bodysuit and double checked if she had her camera and microphone equipment still with her. She would want to document what she could while on this new adventure. Stepping off the train she got a good glimpse of the Unloading machines carrying the crates that held the NCs, somewhere was her beloved VanGuard Saint, shiny and new looking with its new wax and paintjob. The walk along the docking bay was made even more interesting when she saw the other pilots step off, she had made no contact with them before today and was her first chance to see them in person. Her background in journalism allowed her to recognize two from the crowd instantly.

First was Agatha Smith a well known local combat veteran who she covered for her first documentary in media studies. Penny remembered her Grandfather talk about seeing her in combat a few times and would talk about her skills as a sniper like they were something out of holy scripture. Penny's grandfather would go on to tell Penny, that NC snipers are under-appreciated and its a role that she should consider, which she did in the end, because of Agatha. The woman must have been in her 50's but she carried herself like a young commando, stoic and respectful, with not an ounce of weakness in her body language.

The other she recognized straight away was Thalia Styles. She had covered some of her exploits when she was investigating Red Star take over of small towns in Australisia. Tahlia made many headlines on online papers. Some news outlets called her 'The Outback Spider' because of her origin and her machine. She was a notoriously skilled pilot that Penny always loved to write about, but was upset that she never got a chance to interview her face to face. So she was very excited to now possibly be working alongside her especially know she could see how very attractive she was...

Penny's mind snapped back into reality as she found herself standing in front of an official who was holding a datapad. Penny felt embarrassed for having drifted off in her thoughts. She cleared her throat and stood to attention.

Uh, I'm Penelope Natasha Maverick, of the Vanguard Saint, Sir!

She wasn't sure if she was supposed to salute so she didn't risk it.

---

---

---

---

Food at New Anchorage hadn’t changed too much since Stein arrived at New Anchorage and Graham hadn’t put much changes to the regulations of the mess hall when he arrived several weeks ago. Well, except for the fact that the mess hall was no longer “always open” and that if you missed out on your scheduled lunch or equivalent you would go without food for another six hours. Generally it wasn’t an illogical decision to make considering how much stress it took off the individuals who were responsible for cooking the food. Despite that fact, Graham’s organization had allowed a degree of leniency on food variety and stocks which resulted in food request forms to allow certain officers the right to request a specific type of lunch if they were privy to spending their hard earned credits on that. Stein herself wasn’t too “picky” but even she did have her preferences.

Back home in the outskirts of Seattle, Stein’s meals had been decidedly Pacific Northwestern with the unsurprising lean of Russia due to Volkov’s twenty or so years of incorporating into what used to be Elysian Dream territory. So it was with her preferences in mind that a week ago she filed a request form. Outside of training, simulation, and her mech Stein didn’t have many interests but being comfortable and perhaps a bit nostalgic with her meals was one of them. Her lunch was comprised of Pirozhki rolls, a Caribou stew, and a sandwich with Borodinsky rye bread tailored to Stein’s tastes accompanied by a glass of vitamin-enriched water that sat firmly on the tray Stein held in her hands as she took a seat.

For those who didn’t specify with a request form, it was whatever the cooks made today. As she took a seat she heard a heavy sigh from the command officer who was in charge of seeing the NC pilot attendance through, as far as Stein recalled his name was Jon Ignan.

“You’re late, Van Gent. You know I’m going to have to mark you. Don’t even talk to me, go get your food. Graham will be introducing the new pilots sometime this hour.”

Heh. Van Gent.

Stein shook her head as she looked to her right— the rest was either in line getting their food or sitting down at the table. While there was no “seating arrangement” this one was sort of setup to be the one for the pilots and for the most part the riff-raff left her alone. Well… outside of Vera. But for some reason Vera didn’t bother her in the slightest, a fact she couldn’t quite get the pulse on.

She looked back to her lunch as she grabbed a roll and dipped it in the stew.

“Things are shaping up… almost like they used to.” She muttered before taking a bite.

---

Ana nearly slid right into a table as she arrived in the mess hall; she didn't mind, though, cause she definitely won the race. She looked back and grinned at the blonde tailing just behind her. "You're a rotten egg!" Ana teased.

"ANA," Percy's exasperated voice rose over the two girls laughing about the race. He lowered his shout to more of an angry whisper, "You get over here right now, young lady."

Ana's beaming smile turned into a very small frown; she knew she was in trouble just by the way Percy spoke. However, before Percy could make another comment towards his daughter, a loud yet irritable sigh became apparent. Percy caught the eyes of a command officer of which he wasn't particularly familiar of who had been put in charge of making sure himself and the other NC pilots had kept to the mandatory scheduling that Graham had ordered.

”Moore. Jackspar.”

The man was not thrilled about what he was seeing here and up until today he had never even engaged with any of the NC pilots due to the fact that he was Alvarez’s underling who kept the files archived in perfect order. While he was probably thrilled to get out of the databanks and away from the servers his new responsibilities irritated him. Alvarez had deemed him worthy of being a “babysitter” and even Percy could tell he wasn't a fan.

“The mess hall is not a playground. See to it that your wards understand that.” He looked at his watch. “You are the first, but there is still plenty of time for the rest of your unit. Let us hope they are on time. You may receive your rations in fifteen minutes.”

Percy nodded curtly in response before dealing with his child, having her sit down at the closest table, back to the table. Percy then knelt down in front of her so he could make focused eye contact. "You know better than that," his voice was stern - a possible surprise to anyone listening. Who knew Percy, of all people, could actually sound like he actually meant business?

Ana looked confused for a moment - she had been listening to Jon speak and got side tracked - before understanding, "Sorry."

"You know better than that! You could've bumped into someone. You could have slipped and fell. You could have cracked your head open! These are metal floors! Do you know what metal would do to your pretty little head, Ana!?" Percy held her loosely by her arms, making sure she's paying attention.

"I know, dad," Ana's voice was small, "sorry."

Percy let the words sink in for a moment before he continued, his voice softer.

"Let's not race in the hall anymore. Okay? Please?" Percy smiled, letting go of Ana's shoulders.

Ana nodded, looking at Vera briefly before settling her gaze to the floor, noting the little pattern of the metal. She winced a little as she thought about how bad that'd hurt if she did fall.

As Percy stood up and sat down next to her, he spoke again, "I'm not mad. I was just a little worried. It's fine."

The little redhead girl turned around so she'd be facing the table, looking up at the clock: 11:46. She let out a tiny groan - she had to wait fourteen more minutes to eat?

Yeshua shifted into the cramp cubicle, the sepia yellow dominating and also receding at the same time. The walls were peeling off like a snake’s skin, revealing the grainy cement beneath it. Lights had been left on for far too long, and most of all, the stall was hot. It was creeping down his neck, and made his hair sticky. He tore a few rolls of paper off the bacteria-ridden handle. Damp toilet roll dabbed at his cut, removing the blood and hopefully keeping the wound clean. The glass had been on the floor, Yeshua remarked, which meant it might as well have been covered with every known disease to man.

He was in a rush. If his guessing was right, the stop would be coming up any second now. Looking down to his magnum opus, he tried to remove all visual information from the accident. He scrubbed and rubbed and eventually ripped off his trousers in a fit of muscle-worked rage. The front of the trousers was hot, like an iron, and had been worn away to just a thin sheet. Thumping his forehead, he scrunched his hair into a ball and wish he could throw that in the corner, too.

Knock on the door. It surrounded him, pinned him to the ground, and froze him. The entire carriage, the stall, the outside world, his mind, was silent.

Another knock. His tongue begged for action, his feet begged to run, while his eyes remained fixed on the door. His glasses fell onto his nose.

The door crept open, against the heat. His foot flung forward. It smashed closed, catching the intruder’s fingers at the closing bang.

“Ah, jeez! Sawrry bud, make shurr ya lawck it next time, OK?”
The murmurings trailed off as he felt pressure lift up from his shoulders. His hair flopped down once again.

He had nothing else to wear.

Through the misted window, where one would expect the Pacific wildlife, he noticed that the countryside and desert was devoid of all colour. The tidal forces of the carriage had ceased carrying him. They had left him alone, in his boxers, in this cubicle. They were waiting for him.

He had carried nothing else into the cubicle apart from himself, and now his trousers were truly ruined. The only pair was in his travel bag. He heard the commotion of every passenger heaving themselves off, thudding like a herd of wildebeest to the watering hole. Yeshua waited in angst, in denial.

The toilet flushed behind any unwanted remnants.

The door, with the smallest of moments, became open, and the strangely naked being crept out of it.

Outside, the brilliant blue sky was smiling down on the world, the sun so clearly unaffected by personal troubles. It remained steadfast above the fast-forming queue, ready to be taken to the New Anchorage base, wherever it may be. Wildlife was far behind them, but still visible, as even the most average birds flew in the sky, their deformities obsolete and unnoticeable.

In the last few seconds before perfection, Yeshua triumphantly strolled out of the tram, his eyes intent on his soon-to-be unit. He lifted his head in visual and audible range, smiling.

“Oh dear, oh dear, I shall be too late! Yeshua Horowitz, NC pilot of the Anzu.”

---

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---

His hand flipped to her dossier on his datapad as he looked to the individuals that took initiative in their posture and form, but Matthew Alvarez wasn’t from a military background so it didn’t invoke much for him personally. There were a lot of interesting individuals even discarding their appearance of a disorganized motley crew of lost discarded toys. But in a lot of ways they were to become Graham’s toys now, assuming they agreed to his terms— though the reality was that they were already famillar with the contract New Anchorage gave them and they signed eagerly. He wondered if anyone of them had read it in greater detail when most of them were so ridiculously desperate. But desperation led to many things such Graham’s operation. But they could always resign from their position if they wished. He wondered which ones would actually stay on for more than a week given his overview of what Graham had planned for them.

Heh.

Not all of them were NC pilots though. Graham had sent out contracts for people in financial, military, logistic, and maintenance fields as well as asked for people by name such as his various children. When Graham arrived Matthew was to direct the non-pilots to their designations and familiarize them with their accommodations and responsibilities. He stopped to think what could’ve been taking Graham so long? But before he could pursue the thought for much longer a voice cut from behind him. Graham’s.

“Alvarez.”

Matthew turned his head and there he was, as expected. Graham must’ve done a routine check to see if everything was in order before meeting with the recruits.

“Bring me up to speed.”

“No absences. But they seem to be as heterogeneous as described by our reports— their dossiers are up-to-date excluding information we could not acquire from Red-Star that they deemed confidential about Styles and Sky. I have read up on their contractual information as well and they have all agreed to the contract New Anchorage sent them so there shouldn't be any issues going forward.” Matthew stated as he pointed to the two aforementioned pilots as if making a note of them with the datapen before handing over the datapad to Graham.

He nodded as he looked to the group.

“Non-pilot staff will go with Alvarez. Pilots will come with me. Any questions?"

The clause allowing Alexander to resign at any time was a comfort to the 24-year old as he watched the other pilots gather around him. Right now, he felt comfort in their presence, except for Tahlia's, but he supposed he had all the time in the world to repair relations. Of course, he was more than certain that the piss had come from the sixteen-year old among them, but he was not going to betray the kid, not unless he asked for it.

Then, he saw Graham, and his thoughts were: Wow, that man is attractive. Did he just age well, or did he use medical tech? Of course, Alexander wasn't dumb, he felt like Graham was someone who took advantage of the pilots' desperation to give them a contract that signed away their rights, as well as a hard man who was a former elite pilot of Denver-Vegas for a reason. But still, that face, those looks! And he was meeting them as soon as possible! Now, time to think up questions, questions that would hopefully not betray his hopefully temporary infatuation.

He needed something related to military matters and the base, something actually relevant and not a waste of time.

"Sir," he said, "What is the military history of New Anchorage? All I know is that it is an independent outfit that takes on mercenary jobs with a complement of skilled pilots and that it has a feud with more than one of the Mega-Corps." There, something relevant and useful for new pilots to know. Also, Alex was sure his voice was even, that his eyes were level and not too wide, and of course, that he wasn't sweating with tension.

---

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---

Graham remained silent for a moment as he considered the information about New Anchorage that he had read. There was a lot he could elaborate on but keeping it brief and to the point was probably more appropriate.

“It was originally founded as Smith’s Rest around seven decades ago, and has been the only settlement to actually survive their existence in the Alaskan territories. It was renamed New Anchorage a few months ago when two major corporations— Fairbanks and Volkov —took an interest in the area. Most of it’s “military” lifespan has been dealing with raiders, slavers, and other rogue elements. It was only under the base’s former commander that they began involving themselves in other matters.”

As he explained his answer Alvarez began to escort the non-pilots out of the depot, leaving Graham with the individuals New Anchorage had hired. He would have to words with a few of the important non-pilots he had hired at a later point in time, and he was interested in seeing how his children would take to the more independent job but both of them had become fed up working with their previous employers and were eager to work under him. Though he wagered a lot of that was in an attempt to get him to notice their achievements and skills in some sort of affectious nostalgia. But he wasn’t their father here in New Anchorage, he was their boss; a fact his son and daughter would learn eventually. All of the employs would learn he was not playing some game or shitty power fantasy. He had an agenda with New Anchorage and he would see it through.

He clipped the datapad to his utility belt before putting his hands behind his back.

“I intend to take a proactive approach in making New Anchorage relevant beyond these subversive criminal elements and the leaders of New Anchorage have faith in my command of this operations base in that. That is why we have hired you lot on, to help with my direction going forward. As for feuds? We have some tension with Red-Star, Volkov, and Fairbanks, but nothing major.”

He looked at the rest of the group as he felt he sufficiently answered Alexander Sky’s question as he waved his hand in a gesture for the group to follow him through the facility.

“Anyone else?”

---

"Sir."

Agatha's head turned mechanically towards Graham. In contrast to her aroused neighbor, she viewed Graham with a level of heightened curiosity and respect. Being formerly an independent NC pilot, Agatha was familiar enough with working under a cornucopia of commanders whose skill and leadership ability could fit on a sliding scale from Suicidal Incompetence to Future Emperor of the New World Order. Regardless of who she worked under, it was expected and appreciated if she could be respectful until she had seen them act under pressure. Being cocksure and dismissive under a good commander reflected poorly upon yourself, while slighting a bad commander would find your life at risk in retribution.

Furthermore, this wasn't the first time she had encountered Graham. Even with thirty years of history separating their first and last encounter, she wouldn't forget that final battle In her old career. His skill behind an NC was beyond reproach, but she couldn't judge him as a leader of people just yet. Just as she had to prove herself to him, even in her desperation she had to gauge the man who effectively owned her.

"What would you consider an unacceptable action during an operation or on base? What lengths are you willing to go to achieve New Anchorage's goals and your own?"

Would they partake in the slave trade? Raid bountiful settlements for resources? Sell there services to fight in corporate proxy wars? She didn't have an personal issue with the actions, but knowing the lengths their commander would go was a good judge of his character for Agatha.

---

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---

Graham nearly smirked. After all this time she still was as aggressive as ever yet with enough wit to know how to phrase the question without incident. It was interesting to him to see Agatha still had her “edge” despite retiring to three decades of being a scrapper and scavenger over what she was actually good at. All those years ago with him being an upstart brat in an iron armor… did it make her quit being who she was? or was it simply the fact of her children? Either way, he was glad he had not demoted himself to such things – it made him know he was different, and perhaps greater than what was effectively a husk of what once was even if she tried to have the same bite as before. He wondered if she could pass his test? It would be interesting to see.

Graham thought about this question often because it had been one that came up with valiant cries of morality that many people had shot at him in the past; cries he had rejected entirely. The first part of Agatha’s question was one that was often directed about how far was morally or ethically acceptable with things such as slavery, raiding, genocide, and so forth being accompanied with the conversation. While Graham viewed all of those things as bad he didn’t think so for the same reasons as his peers. It brought him back to a talk he had with the second member of the trinity back when he was still just a simple NC pilot... it had been after the Elysian War.

“That is a very large question.” He stated as he stepped outside to the white fuzz of a “mild” snowstorm before turning his head.

“This obviously goes beyond simple insubordination and circumnavigation of authority or regulations.”



“Let me make something abundantly clear to all of you. I don’t believe in children’s fantasies of ‘good’ and ‘evil’, I believe in the absolute principle of order— a concept that promotes excellence, professionalism, integrity, organization, and heart. Order doesn’t allow fantasy, order allows you to be happy with your reality. I will tell you that I will do everything in my power that I can to make New Anchorage efficient with no empathy for fantasies of my officers. There is no place for it in my organization. None.”

He took a light breath, the cold air leaving his lips.

“If it requires me to be “unfair” than I will do it. If that scares you… then resign right here and now, and take your tail between your legs and get the hell out of my base. I refuse to have pilots who get a little queasy around decision and shake when the cards are drawn.”

His brows narrowed as his turned head looked over the group in their entirety.

“So what of it? Are any of you rabble not worth your spit? Are any of you unable? Tell me now.”

Joshua Ray, himself, was taken aback by the qualities Graham just presented.

He wants to reward... goodness? He wants to sponsor and foster better people? Not monsters? Not slave-soldiers?

A mild surprise, this was. "So... you're saying, what are you saying?", he mumbled out, before saluting and speaking up, his knees like jelly. He hated having to speak in crowds but god dammit, he had principles and he wanted to make sure he wouldn't have to break them. Of course...

"Sir, does... 'Honor' have a place in your.. uhh, 'order', sir?, He straightened up a bit more, and breathed a few breaths a tad heavier before calming down about having to talk in front of so many people. For his standards, anyway. "We're.. not going to act like a secret police force, or, needlessly kill people, or...-, he paused a bit, looking at Graham but avoiding his eyes in fear, "I'm not going to have to go into a quaint little town somewhere in the middle of the night and terrorize innocent people over a damn percentage, r-right?"

He went a bit quiet and looked away, shrinking like a kid who got into the cookie jar and was caught with red, crumby hands. "Uhhm... uhh.. if We're not gonna do that I won't complain. I'm fine with.. y'know... uhh...--", he took a step back, mumbling once more, "Lesser evils for the metaphorical greater good."

---

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Graham’s eyes looked to Joshua’s direction, a fire still inside of the commander for all to see. Though, Joshua’s demeanor and phrasing didn’t offend him he decided to not berate him immediately— there was no point in ostracizing his pilots who might stay on with their contract, after all.

The question of honor was one less so about morality but ethics; which was a thing Graham did slightly align with considering he believed he was an “ethical” soldier. All of the problems and horrors that came with the type of people that he mentioned were worthless as per Graham’s ideology due to the fact that they disallowed people to be the best they could aspire to be; they were given no opportunities and were forced to succumb to it. At the very least Graham was giving opportunity and he was giving choice, even if it was a bit of an abrasive and despot-like way to do so. But Graham had dealt with real slavers and knew no intelligent individual could paint him as such.

“If what you are asking is if I am going to turn this unit into a bunch of rapists, slavers, raiders, and thieves then the answer is most definitely not. While my perspective might be different on why I can tell you directly that no is the answer to that question.”

He turned his look to the others that were listening.

“You are becoming soliders. You are no longer children in an iron giant and will be treated like such. I may not offer the kindest or easiest approach, but find me an operation that does that still exists. You won't. The idea of freedom and easy life that a lot of people cling onto is a twenty-second century ideal; people need to wake up and unfortunately remember that they are in the twenty-seventh century. Trust me, I grew up in a megacity, I know the shadow of the corporation... the real corporation.”

Alexander's initial reaction on hearing Graham's words was feeling as though he had been stabbed with an icicle. Infatuation was forgotten as the twenty-four year old tried to muster a response to Graham's words; leaving was out of the question; he would not dare show weakness to this 'man of stone'. Despite having a high sense of morality, Alexander knew this, that he can now appreciate the struggles and motivations of others, regardless of whether he agreed with them or not. So he would wait, wait to see how others responded. But he would think this:

The root of our 'morality' is the desire to live a better life than our parents have, and for our own offspring to live a better life than we have. Can your 'Order' provide that, Michael Graham?

When Ray spoke up, asking Graham for further clarification, Alexander made to put his hand on the other NC Pilot's shoulder in a gesture meant to be encouraging, when Graham spoke up, offering an affirmative answer, genuine admiration flowed through the young pilot's veins, along with a new insight into the man. He couldn't help but smile, despite the risks it carried.

The next thing Alexander knew, he was giving a slight bow, before getting up, making eye contact, and saying:

"Sir, this is all I can ask for; thank you." It took a lot out of Alexander to say those words, and one can see that.

"I can't wait to see what kind of world you create," more words blurted out.

Morality will never stop being my dream; Good and Evil, those do exist - I believe that. But part of being a good person is understanding and even working with, or in this case, following, people who believe other things than yours'.

And, Michael Graham, you are that person.

Graham was pretty much everything her grandfather described him as. Stoic, with a machine like approach to duty and practice, and ironcast to his philosophical belief. It was admirable but very familiar, being a local girl, Penny had grown up around men and women like this her entire life. This part of Alaska breeds this sort of attitude.

Listening to the other pilots ask questions was fascinating, like watching an impromptu interview take place in front of her very eyes, she noticed that while visibly intimidated that the commander Joshua Ray was firmly sticking to his morals about not committing senseless crimes, which Penny could respect at least. But her stance was different, Penny had no problem killing people, seeing vicious atrocities across the globe in her media career had made her quite desensitized to mindless violence, and while not a sadist herself, she would be happy to follow violent orders. Her only real empathy is for the people of Smith's Rest where she considers her home and her community. Her family instilled it in her to protect it at all costs, which includes killing people from other areas and factions. Her mind was made up. But she was still curious about something.

Sir, I've lived in my Smith's Rest my entire life and my family helped build the colony when it was founded. I love being here, but will our missions allow us to travel the world? I want to learn as much about the other factions and civilizations as possible,for the greater good of protecting my home here.

She glanced around the room after she spoke, getting a quick peek at Tahlia before returning her attention to Graham.

---

Tahlia walked with the others, through the snow, the wind and the cold. She listening intently to some of the questions that were raised by her fellow fighters but chose to remain quiet for the time being. Until a mission was given to her she had no reason to question the authority of a man, such a Graham. A man that seemed to have a vision, a plan, and knew exactly what he expected of each 'soldier'... but the mention of 'Honour' was something she found as an odd choice of words from individual known as Joshua Ray. To look for honour meant that you were on the same path to become a hero. It means that that you are hoping to be idolised, admired, and expected to perform in such a way as to appease everyone. A path that Tahlia had no interest in.

Under Red Star's command Tahlia was instructed not to make contact with any outsiders that wished to know more about her and her division, in turn the Corporation would not publish her post mission debriefings in any public archives. The publicity flared up when her team managed to force a retreat on a small army of NC fighters that was looking to raid Broken Hill for it's mineral resources. Mountains of steel ore held away in storage for the higher ups to use in their NC production lines, and every known reporter was hunting for Tahlia like vultures around a carcass. From Ruby Rhod to Jimmy Olsen, Penny Maverick to Brick Tamland, they all wanted to break the news first about Tahlia's tactics and skills. The only problem was that her success on that mission had nothing to do with skill, it was pure luck.

Tahlia had managed to fool her enemy with a bluff. The enemy believed she had a small force of fifteen to twenty plus NCs, they thought she had grouped ambushes behind ridges, inside buildings, hidden under the earth. The truth to this was much more interesting. Tahlia only had command of five support NCs and a bucket load of dummy radio transmitters. It was a bluff of the most dangerous and risky kind, pushing her team and workers back at base to the very edge of insanity and exhaustion. In order to make her foe believe her force was greater than what it truly was she ordered her support NCs to return to base one by one during their fight where instead of being reloaded with Ammo, the NC's weaponry was swapped out with pre-loaded gear; all while a man that got the daily nickname of Van Gough, repainted the markings on the NC giving them a new look and call sign. It was extremely harsh on her team. She lost one man due to the phantom pain he endured by constantly entering a new load out. In the end the foe never believed once for a moment that the NC they were fighting earlier was the same NC coming back to re-battle them; that the scanned force of NCs hidden behind ridges unloading an entire payload was actually a one man team; that Tahlia's job was not to engage the enemy but instead to fire between the forces and prevent the foe from getting too close to discover her dirty little trick.

"Honour?..." she scoffed quietly at Joshua's remark, knowing that if she was to tell a reporter about her so called victory that day, it would have meant the end of Broken Hill. "You must be a kangaroo loose in the top paddock if you want to become some sorta 'secret police force superhero' or sumthing fucked up like that." Tahlia made an effort to include finger quotes around 'secret police force superhero' just to emphasise how stupid the phrase was. "If that's what you wanna become then you can rack off now before you get us all killed with your self inflated egos."

Tahlia turned towards Graham, noting his position of power, "Sir. Permission to be excused for my outburst. Haven't had a decent sleep in a long time and some of these... children," she glared at Alex with her tired eyes, "have been treating the tram like nursery pen."

She reached into her pocket to pull out a cigarette, slipping it into her mouth before lighting the tip. "Oh, and I have no questions for you, sir," she spoke in a muffled voice.