Author's Note: For some reason this part has been giving me fits. It's taken me a year to write this section. And my muse is being contrary, obsessing over Harry Potter and Star Fleet Battles. Real feedback is appreciated.

And to answer accusations of "curbstomp" - these are initial fights, with the IS forces ignorant of their opponents. I've already thought of practical strategies that would allow IS forces to successfully engage Colonials. Later conflicts will be less and less one-sided.

Now to the chapter ...

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City of Eleazor, Planet Apollo, Apollo System
Trellshire Province, Lyran Commonwealth
16th Day, Season of Summer, 7352nd Year of Time
December 13, 2999 A.D.

One of the Eleazor Police Corps patrol cars was drifting past the Spaceport. Police Patrolers Tuesday and Weld were in a sour mood. The Police Corps always got calls about contractees disappearing - no surprise there - but today there was a bumper crop of them. If they weren't all scattered around, it might almost look like a slave revolt - that is, a disgruntled contractee incident. And that would involve calling out the Militia and maybe even those damned mercs of the Duke's, which was just plain trouble.

What annoyed Tuesday and Weld was that whenever there was anything about contractees, the Spaceport district was put on alert. This prevented them from patrolling their favorite district, the Fallbird Cafe, which gave doughnut discounts to police officers who ignored certain ignorable things.

It was ridiculous to think of a contractee making his way offworld anyway. Spacecraft were not cheap to operate, and few slave - that is, contractees - had the money. And few abolitionist movements could get the resources. In any case, slaves were privately owned luxuries on Apollo, not industrial workers, so gathering up large numbers would be ridiculously complicated.

Officer Tuesday was scanning the rather large number of missing contractees on the sheets and commented, "Hey, have you noticed this?"

"What?" Weld said in annoyance, recognizing the tone in his junior partner's voice. Another conspiracy theory was about to bob to the surface.

"Look at the pictures."

Weld looked over the pictures. "All seem to be ethnic ... something. Dark brown skin, straight hair - some common gene pool, anyway"

"That argues a conspiracy of neo-barbs. Probably some weird religious cult."

"You and your neo-barb religious cults! Is this going to be like your suspected Draconian vampire cult that got you suspended for three months without pay after you handcuffed the Duke's cousin?"

"There was a cover-up!"

"The only thing covered up is the number of times your mother dropped you on your head - hold on ..."

Officer Tuesday looked over where his partner was looking. At one of the service gates to the spaceport were a half-dozen people - all of an unusual ethnicity. Tuesday began looking through the sheets. "I think I got what looks like a match on two of them."

"Good enough." Tuesday reached for the radio, but Weld stopped him. "I think catching a half-dozen rogue contractees by ourselves will make us look good to the brass. Pay-bonuses are due next month, you know."

The two police corpsmen got out of the patrol car and approached the small group. Tuesday had his riot gun handy and Weld began the standard speech; "You are now under the authority of the law. Any resistance -"

A voice interrupted, "What is going on here?!"

The officers turned to the dark-skinned man in the old-fashioned suit. "You are interfering with authorized police activity, sir. And who are you?"

"Doctor Madison Jeffries, with the Botany Bay Trade Delegation. What are you doing and why?"

"This is not your concern. These are -"

Jeffries interrupted; "- friends and relatives visiting their relations from the Old Country. And what's wrong with that?"

"There are laws concerning the movements of contractees without the permission of contract-holders. And there are laws about interfering with police corpsmen in their duty."

A large pale man in a brown jacket (with a large handgun) came out. "Is there a problem, Dr Jeffries?"

"These individuals seem to be bothering our ... visitors, Lieutenant Gilmesh."

The tall Kobolian nodded thoughtfully. "Well, can you hurry it up? Looks like a thunderstorm building."

The two cops looked at the cloud-covered sky. "What are you talking about -"

Long ago, on the planet Leo in the Cyrranus Cluster, the martial artists of that world developed the Art of the Gun to levels that had never been rivaled anywhere else. Ancient tales told of pistol-saints who could shoot down the missiles that they themselves fired from the same pistol. Most of the Colony of Leo were not that good, but it was a truism that Leos could handle a pistol better than non-Leos. When the United Colonies formed, the Colonial Service Warrior Cadre took the best elements from the training of all the Colonial military elites and combined it into the Warrior training program. This included the pistol-skills taught to Leonine elite commandos.

Gilmesh's gun-hand - with elite training, combined with the standard Warrior's neural enhancement - blurred, and a sound that no one had ever heard on Apollo sounded.

The police cruiser exploded in a fireball.

The cops almost jumped out of their skin. They turned back, and Gilmesh's weapon was holstered. They couldn't be sure they had seen him move.

Tuesday pointed his riot-gun at Gilmesh. "Hands up! You're under arrest!"

"For what?" Dr Zealand asked. "Being nearby when your vehicle was struck by lightning?"

"What?! He shot our car!"

Weld put a hand on the riot-gun's barrel and pushed it down. "Stand down, Tuesday."

"But - but he -"

Weld pulled him close and hissed in his ear. "Either the car was struck by lightning, or we're going to try and take in - by ourselves - a gunfighter who is not only faster than anything I ever saw, but has a sidearm that can explode a car with one shot. Hm?"

Gilmesh shook his head. "Vehicle struck by lightning. Shame about that." His hand flexed near his blaster.

Tuesday reluctantly nodded. "Yeah - Act of God type stuff." He looked around, and noticed that the escaped slaves - that is, rogue contractees - were gone. "Where did they go?"

"Who?" Gilmesh looked around. "Don't see anyone. Anyway, shouldn't you contact your headquarters and get a new vehicle?"

Weld nodded. "Yes, we should. Thank you, sir." As he pulled his junior partner away, he whispered to the younger officer, "Remember - the car was struck by lightning and we saw nothing!"

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Adept-IV Shuutaro Mendo and his three Acolytes pushed their carts of luggage and tools through the spaceport, looking for a particular berth. The Adept was excited to be working on such a unique mission for ROM and the Blessed Order. This was a chance to truly fulfill the Mission of the Order and bring these 'United Colonies of Kobol' neo-barbarians back into ComStar's flock.

He had been briefed that these were not true neo-barbarians, but Mendo was born on Luthien to a wealthy aristocratic family. While he no longer served the Dragon, he couldn't help but think of everywhere else as 'less civilized', and the Periphery as 'not civilized'. A bad habit, but one he recognized and took steps to minimize.

At the designated berth, Mendo looked with curiosity at the three ships. He couldn't understand how they could have flown under power (fast, too, according to the records) for several days and not required refueling. He noted a rather attractive young blonde woman who was dressed in what he had been briefed was the uniform of the Colonial Service, aiding a scruffy man in loading large boxes into the small-but-blocky gray ship (the Boomerang Fish, he recalled).

He cleared his throat. "The Peace of Blake be upon you," he said solemnly. "I and my assistants have been sent by the Precentor Apollo to accompany you to Botany Bay and help repair your HPG system."

"Oh! Yes! That ComStar priest. I was told to expect you. I'm Lieutenant Brie, this is Linten. You two should have a lot to talk about - he's a priest, too. You guys are going on the other ship - Gilmesh will take you over and you can stow your grip. Make it march, we're on slide time - twenty centons to launch."

As Gilmesh led the Acolytes to the other landing area, he asked Linten, "'Priest'?"

"Not as such. I'm a junior astrologer with the One-Star Faith."

"I see." Mendo had little personal opinion of the One-Stars, as they were just another superstition to him. Some of the more hot-headed among Blake's Own tended to decry them as pagans and heretics of the worst type, but as the decryers were the sorts to see heresy in new snack foods; Mendo hadn't heard anything reliably negative about the One-Stars. "And you have an interest here?"

"Our Star-Gazer says that the United Colonies know much about the stars beyond the Deep Periphery, that Lieutenant Brie has seen worlds that are unknown to even the Star League! Our quest for the One-Star may be finished soon with their lore. We're sending a Star-Gazer to Botany Bay to consult their starcharts."

"On this ship?"

"They rented out a hauler for some big shipment - the Mariposa, that big aerodyne Dropper that's been sitting out there for two months? It's going with us on their JumpShip. We managed to club together funds for a passenger ticket."

Mendo knew that the United Colonies delegation had not made any bulk purchases - unless one counted the numerous boxes of chocolates that Lieutenant Brie was loading. He couldn't figure out what they had that would require a Monarch's cargo capacity or rather extensive passenger quarters. Unless they wanted the Monarch itself - it wasn't a military craft, but might be worth studying to someone unfamiliar with Inner Sphere ships. "And how did your sect discover the United Colonies had this lore?"

"Well, it was a dark and stormy night ..."

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Over at the Mariposa, another half-dozen Botaneans boarded the DropShip, bring the total to ninety-seven. Adrienne kept track of the people that she had helped notify of their new route home and acted as an official greeter.

On the flight deck, Captain Goro had figured out what was going on several hours ago. He asked his First Mate, "What do you think, Hanna?"

Hanna shrugged. "A cargo's a cargo. And it's not the first time we've transported something not entirely legal."

"True."

"What I'm worried about is 'will this annoy the Commies enough to burn us out of the sky?'"

"I was thinking that, too. The Kobolians say they'll provide cover."

"With two light fighters?" Hanna asked snidely. "How good do these Kobolian flyers think they are anyway?"

"Well, if we're lucky, we'll never find out." A chime sounded, and Goro checked the monitor. "Well-well, our paying passengers are checking in."

"The One-Star loonies? Plus the people who are not escaping slaves? This is going to be one of those trips."

"I'll get the extra antacids."

Captain Apollo came onto the flight deck. "Everything going well?"

"So far, Mr Apollo.," Goro said. "So far, ninety-seven of your average, ordinary passengers who are not suspicious in any way have boarded."

"Glad to hear it." He looked over the controls. "Just 'Apollo' - I don't stand on formality."

Hanna gave a salute. "Yes, sir, Captain Planet!"

Apollo couldn't help but laugh at that. "I know, I know. You ever land on a planet with your name?"

"Not many planets named 'Hanna'."

"Cute name." He looked over the controls. "Mind if I walk through the flight warm-ups with you? Inner Sphere control layouts are different from Colonial custom."

Hanna gave him a smile. "I never mind a handsome pilot hanging around. Especially one who isn't one of those egocentric MechWarriors who think the universe revolves around them. You have a lot of experience piloting?"

"Fighters, shuttles, cargo ships, troop carriers, missile boats, support ships - some variety. Even handled orbital racers when I was young and full of hormones. Although I have to admit the engine layout is unique."

"Monarchs were intended to be cruise ships," Hanna said. "The space drives are laid out to keep the axis of acceleration under the floor."

"Must have been quite nice in it's day."

"Oh yes, these were gorgeous ships. The original specifications had casinos on board but we converted them into steerage."

"Casinos?"

"Gambling places?"

Apollo nodded in understanding. "Oh! Chanceries. Shame they're gone - Starbuck would have liked that. But if it was intended to be a pleasure ship there must have been people running all over the place. That must make balancing the thrust difficult."

"Our gyroscope is pretty good."

As Hanna showed him the details of balancing the drive, Captain Goro chuckled to himself. Hanna had picked another target to chase. Hopefully she would shoot down her target before they were shot down themselves.

Adrienne came in and announced, "Sire Apollo? There are one-hundred-fifty-one now. We only have fifteen minutes to our scheduled launch."

"Thanks, Adrienne. And please, it's 'Captain'."

"But Julie said that Kobolian Lords were called 'Sire' -"

"Yes, technically 'Sire' is correct, but I prefer 'Captain'." He rolled his eyes. "Why does she keep telling people about that? It's embarrassing!"

Hanna nuzzled closer. "Oh you have to tell me about it."

"Um ... Captain Goro? You have the com-system adjusted with the Colonial frequencies?"

Goro, grinning at the Kobolian's discomfort, showed where the controls were and Apollo opened the channel.

"This is Mariposa, prepared for launch in fourteen centons. Status, people?"

'Boomerang Fish, Lieutenant Brie here. Ready for launch. The expedition members are on board. Lieutenant Moreland is on her way to the Mariposa as per orders. And it's minutes - you should get used to Thirteenth Tribe measures'.

"Thank you, Brie."

'Viper One - Starbuck. Engines hot, weapons hot.'

'Viper Two - Gilmesh. Engines hot, weapons hot.'

"Remember, people, this crate has over a hundred-fifty liberated Colonial citizens aboard but doesn't have antigravity or force fields. By Thirteenth Tribe standards, it doesn't even have real armor. Brie, you have to get behind us and extend your force fields around the Mariposa - act as a blocker against energy weapons. Starbuck, Gilmesh ... If anything looks like it's on an attack run, destroy it. I know they're human, but we can't afford courtesy. Remember, we learned from the pirate raid that sustained laser-torpedo fire on a Union can penetrate the armor, just get into it's drive plume so it's kinetic weapons can't get a lock."

Gilmesh responded; 'Relax, captain. We remember the briefing. and the fastest thing they can get off the ground is a limper compared to us.'

Starbuck's voice broke in. 'Just remember, Gilmesh - one lucky shot is all anyone needs to make you another kill-mark on his blaster-haft. And we don't have a battlestar backing us up out here.'

"Speaking of reminders," Apollo said, "Who is it that keeps telling everyone about my ancestry?"

"I swear on the graves of my ancestors it wasn't me!" Starbuck insisted.

"Graves of your ancestors?! You're an orphan!"

"So have some compassion!"

"Just cut out telling everyone about my family. Alright?"

Three voices responded, "By Your Leave, Sire," before cracking up in laughter.

Lieutenant Moreland came in and Apollo nodded. He reported, "All accounted for - transferring control to Captain Goro."

Goro took the microphone. "You know, Captain, that little speech of yours has raised a lot of questions."

"You'll get your answers once we're underway."

Goro nodded and switched over to Spaceport Flight Control.

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A signal sounded in Spaceport Flight Control. The voice of the Director came over the PA system.

"Red Alert, people! Plenetary Security has given an alert Over one-hundred-fifty contractee disappearances have been reported in the past day. All of them were of an ethnicity identified as originating on the planet Botany Bay. And the Botany Bay Trade Delegation is about to ship out accompanied by a passenger ship that they just hired. The logic is not hard to follow.

"Planetary Security is sending troops and ... oh effing god, MechWarriors to secure the craft. And a fighter CAP. The Spaceport is in lockdown as of now. Everything is grounded. Airspace is closed. Everything in approach will enter parking orbit."

The Flight Control personnel responded and put out the word.

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"Mariposa, this is Flight Control. The Spaceport is in lockdown. Launch is not authorized. Repeat, lauch is NOT authorized. Anything entering airspace will be shot down. Acknowledge, Mariposa."

Hanna mentioned, "Got seven fighters incoming - five lights and a couple of big ones."

Goro threw up his hands. "Well, that's that. I timed the warm-up to the launch window, so we can't get airborne in less than eleven minutes. So unless you have a magic trick to pull out, Mr Apollo, I won't get these people killed."

Apollo nodded. "Continue countdown. Starbuck, Gilmesh, they're underestimating us, otherwise they'd have a DropShip covering us. Try to clear the sky - but be careful of kinetics and missiles!"

"On it, Apollo."

"May Sagan watch your astrum," he said before switching on his com-bracelet. "Moreland? We might have borders. Get Adrienne to get the passengers into the central part of the ship. Got the combators?"

"Ready for Freddy, Captain."

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The Green Company was a rarity in mercenary companies - a fighter-heavy unit, with an oversized company of fourteen fighters organized into two oversized flights. This made them a valuable support unit for other companies.

Right now Alpha Flight was doing a patrol over the arctic areas of the continent, where military research was conducted. Beta Flight had received the orders to head for the spaceport and enforce a no-fly zone.

Captain Pat William detected two ... things ... coming straight up from the spaceport on visual. His warbook designated them 'Code Zulu' and radar and lidar showed nothing. "Heads up, Beta. We got two weird bogies. I'm thinking these are those fancy light fighters from the United Colonies. Nothing is known about them, they're a new design, but I hear their pilots are vets. And as you can see, they got the Devil's Own ECM suite. Should be a challenge. Hot guns, Beta. Visual targeting."

He went to official frequencies. "This is the Green Company, Beta Flight, in contract to the Duke of Apollo. A no-fly zone is in force. And we outnumber you seven-to-two. Land those toys or we burn you down."

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Starbuck listened to the challenge and looked at his warbook.

A Lucifer heavy fighter, R15 variant, lots of Thirteenth-Tribe lasers, but with a 20-shot swarm-missile launcher. The rest were four Seydlitz Z2 light fighters and two Sparrowhawk light fighters, all laser-armed. Coming in at just subsonic, but engines burning hot - ready for combat acceleration.

"Gilmesh? Wait for it, and concentrate on the big one." He responded to the challenge. "Beta Flight, this is Blue Flight, Apollo Expedition. As near as I can tell, you're outgunned roughly three to one. And we dislike killing fellow humans when there are enough folks in the galaxy willing to do it for us. So turn around and go home and ... we'll let you."

"You got balls, tiny, I'll give you that. Land now."

"Sniff my exhaust."

0-0-0-0-0

The lasers cut loose from all seven Green fighters at once at less than half a kilometer, counting on proximity and numbers to achieve a hit without a target lock. Simultaneously, the Lucifer launched an LRM-20 barrage.

It might have made them feel better to know that their plan worked. Of the thirty-five laser weapons fired at the two Vipers, twenty of them were on target. But as they passed through the Kobolian quantum force-fields, their energy was dispersed evenly into a twenty-one-meter-diameter volume of space, thus giving them the effectiveness of flashlight beams.

The two Vipers hit their turbos and accelerated from zero to Mach 2.4 in one second at an angle to the incoming fighters. The LRMs proximity detectors failed to lock onto anything, and flew through the empty space to fall at random spots on the spaceport. Combined with the sonic boom, this meant there were a lot of unhappy people in the spaceport.

The Vipers looped up - still accelerating - and three seconds later came straight down on Beta Flight at Mach 10.

The Lucifer is a well-armored heavy fighter. The Zeros of Botany Bay couldn't even damage them. But a shot from a Kobolian laser-torpedo was comparable in general destructive power to a small Capital Particle Projection Cannon. And there were four of them firing bursts of three shots, with accuirate target locks.

The Lucifer's armor boiled away, it's framework was melted and shredded, and it's ammunition ignited and fusion reactor liquified. Captain William didn't even have a chance to recognize that he had been killed before his body was scattered to the wind.

The resulting explosion shattered windows a kilometer away.

The survivors tried to find their opponent, but with the speed and their sensor-invisibility, as far as the men of Beta Company were concerned, they were fighting ghosts. The only thing keeping them alive was the fact that at the Vipers' speeds, they traveled a couple of kilometers away after each pass and had to turn around and come back.

0-0-0-0-0

Goro and Abbott were agog at the explosion and the radar image of the six surviving fighters zipping all over the place, dying at the guns of radar-invisible killers. Out the window, the Kobolian fighters were too fast for the naked eye to see, although the bright flashes of the dying light fighters were dramatic.

In two minutes, it was over.

"Sweet baby Jesus," Abbott said. "What in the name of Kerensky was that?!"

"Okay," Goro said, recovering his composure. "So they are as good as they think they are. Keep on the countdown."

A full platoon of twenty-eight militia advanced on the Mariposa. A Commando BattleMech was standing menacingly behind them. There were two Stinger Mechs hidden in the launching cradles, ready to open fire with machine guns if the slaves - or rather, fugitives - tried to escape. This was considered overkill, and more than enough for the situation.

The planetary Duke was sending a message to both his contractee population and to these Periphery neobarbs - don't mess with House Steiner.

Apollo and Moreland looked down from the boarding platform at the giant Mech.

Julie Moreland knew that a Colonial Warrior was more like a Elite Forces type, trained in everything from spacecraft to jungle fighting. Plus his nervous system was boosted to make him resistant to pain and faster than normal humans, to give him a necessary edge against his Cylon opponents. And Apollo had been fighting twice as long as Julie had been alive.

"I'm a fighter pilot, you know," she said. "I'm not used to feeling out of my depth."

"You've seen the fangbeast in a fighter," he said reassuringly. "There's not a lot of difference in one kind of fighting and another. And we just have to hold for six minutes - if we can talk enough, we might not have to shoot at all."

"Thanks, Apollo."

She looked down at the militia, with their body armor and some kind of projectile weapon she wasn't familiar with. And she regarded the weapon in her hands.

A Colonial Services combator was refined over centuries of constant genocidal war against a superhuman enemy. It's basic principle was the same as a laser-torpedo, and had as much punch as a Small Laser, plus electromagnetic effects on the target, and had a five thousand shot magazine. It included a solium grenade launcher, which was basically a man-portable nuclear warhead. For close-in fighting was a monomolecular bayonet woven from artificial diamond, plus a piezoelectric impact device in the shoulder-stock, designed to be slammed into a Cylon and overload it's systems.

If worse came to worst, the bastards would pay the price to get her people home before she would.