Chapter 4
At a glance, I should have been fine to look out into the salvage yard and pick out what would be easy and quick to fix for an easy sell. Or at least that's what I had theorized. The problem was, this wasn't just the salvage Sylvie's grandfather had picked up from the nearby gladiator games planet Solaris or other places. No, this salvage yard had been built up since something Sylvie called the Age of War. Whatever this newfound power was, it informed me of that every time I so much as looked out a window at the yard itself.
In fact, glancing was about all I could do without an immediate migraine setting in. Still, we needed to find something to repair and get started on. So, I grabbed a small rag, telling Sylvie that it was for the smell, and headed out into the yard. I'd already taken a couple of painkillers in anticipation, but I still wasn't prepared for what happened.
Talos
Too damaged to repair quickly…
Locust,
The fusion engine was the only thing working on that machine-
Griffin GRF-1A
Manufacturers: Maxwell Manufacturing Inc
Weapons:----
I forced myself to look at the ground, holding the rag to my nose as I felt warm liquid trickle down. We weren't a factory, and I couldn't replace the older 'primitive' frame. Whatever it was that meant. But, everything else could be worked around.
Another look around the yard, and I'd identified what parts we could pull from the other 'mechs in the yard to make this a functioning machine. Looking back at the ground, I did my best to ignore the heavy pounding in my head.
Slowly, I stumbled back into the workshop and collapsed into a chair. Grateful that Sylvie had decided to go somewhere else for a moment. Pulling the rag away from my nose, I winced as a blood clot came with it. Worse, I was still bleeding, my brain working overtime as I did my best to retain the information.
Grabbing a pencil and the notebook I'd left here, I quickly jotted down the 'mech, which 'mechs we would need to strip down to repair the Griffin, and where everything was located in the yard. My handwriting gradually grew worse until eventually, I let it trail off and dropped the pencil as a new and sharp pain stabbed into my brain.
It hadn't hurt this badly when I was working in the factory. Maybe it was because the designs were all the same with only a few variations. Maybe it was because I had completely internalized exactly how to manufacture a Scorpion or a Hetzer. I didn't know for sure, but I did know that this was the worst pain of my life.
Resting my head on the cold, comfortable steel of the workshop table, I picked up the pencil and started correcting the awful handwriting while I could still remember everything, etching the rough plan of how to repair the ancient Griffin and make it something worth selling.
The feeling of the cold steel on my neck helped, and I gradually felt the blood stop trickling down the back of my throat and my nose, leaving me feeling stuffy and sick. It eased the pain a bit and allowed me to think about something other than the pain and the 'mechs.
As the pain receded, so too did the information. Leaving me with lingering pain and the notes. This wasn't the first trip I'd taken out there; it was just the one that had given me the highest chance of success. There were some tanks that we'd dragged into the workshop for repairs, a couple of missile carriers, and an all too familiar Scorpion among them. But those were things we were going to sell to keep afloat. Not things to give us a much-needed boost.
This Griffin, on the other hand, was a chance to make some real money and begin true salvage operations. I knew that there were more than a handful of guys I'd worked with at Quikscell who would love to come work for someone else. I'd just have to give them the opportunity.
Right now, though, I was in desperate need of something to drink. The aspirin might have taken the edge off the migraine, but as I'd discovered over the last few weeks, it didn't do much aside from allow me to function with the excruciating pain.
Still. I was going to have to work on things anyway, and now that I had located the first 'mech to repair and sell, I could confidently work on the missile carriers and Scorpion,knowing that Sylvie would drag the designs back in with the aging Buster later.
Groaning, I tossed the bloody rag onto a pile with a bunch of greased-up and oiled rags. Given how much Sylvie and I'd banged up our knuckles, it wasn't the only bloody rag in the pile. So, hopefully it'd go unnoticed.
Glancing at the Scorpion, it was almost comforting to have the normal stream of information filling my brain, with the fine details telling me what was still wrong with this particular tank.
The big issue Sylvie and I were running into wasn't that we didn't know what was wrong with things. It was that knowledge didn't translate well into actually doingsomething. I hadn't exactly been a handy person with anything other than a computer in my old life. Sure, my old man had shown me how to change the oil in a car, but old Reliable hadn't needed more than that or an occasional A/C recharge. This left me knowing what problems there were, and broadly how to fix them on everything we were encountering, but no practical way of knowing how to apply said information.
So, I was learning how to do things on the fly. Adjusting things and waiting for my power to fill me in on whether I had made things worse or not. With this particular Scorpion, there were problems with the motive systems, the autoloader, and a few of the electronic aiming systems.
Electronics had been the easy part. Even with generations of drift and changes made to things, it had been easy enough to intuit and fix the problems with the targeting systems. However, when it came to the engine, I was completely lost.
"Need any help, Edmund?" Sylvie asked from outside the turret assembly.
"Yeah, can you find me the 10mm?" I asked, this one bolt being undertorqued was causing something to go screwy in the compression of the combustion engine.
"Sure!" Sylvie cheerfully responded, and I heard the distant sounds of tools being shifted.
It shouldn't have been that hard to find. I'd made certain that all of the tools were organized when I'd first moved into the workshop.
"It's not there," She called down.
"What do you mean it's not there?" I asked, standing up and narrowly avoiding hitting my head on the ceiling before grabbing onto one of the chairs to prevent myself from collapsing as my head began to spin.
"I mean, the 10mm isn't in the spot we set for it," Sylvie replied. "I know it was there, I used it on the LRM carrier this morning."
I waited until the dizziness and threat of throwing up what little breakfast I'd eaten went away before pulling myself out of the confined space of the tank.
"Did you check the LRM carrier?" I asked. "It's probably in there somewhere."
"I'll double-check," Sylvie sighed, stamping over to the missile carrier while I cradled my head. It was wayeasier to ignore the pain when I was focused on something.
"Did you get any sleep last night?" Sylvie caught my attention, her coveralls stained with oil and other fluids from the work we'd been doing. "Or were you up all night planning things again?"
"You can't 'catch up' on sleep," I argued. "It takes a while for your body to get back into a proper rhythm when you change locations and patterns."
"Uh-huh," She didn't look amused. "I found the 10mm," She held up the small socket.
"Where was it?" I asked.
"Still on the bolt I was working on earlier," She sheepishly grinned. "We should probably get a couple more of these."
"Probably," I agreed. "Problem is, that most of the 10mms they're selling are only rated for car repairs. Not battlemech or tank repairs. The torque we have to tighten these down to would shatter regular steel, and I'm not willing to drop fifteen hundred eagles on another socket just yet."
"Right," Sylvie winced at the sound of a month's groceries being spent on the one socket. "Maybe get that after we're done with these and have them sold."
"That's what I was thinking," I agreed, accepting the socket and squeezing myself back into the Scorpion, grabbing the torque wrench and socket before working on the bolt, tightening it down until that bit of my brain told me that I'd tightened it too far, then backed it up until it said that part of the tank was functional.
Based on what it was feeding me, all that we should have to do now was put fuel in the tank, fix the autoloader, and we'd have a working light tank for sale.
Oddly enough, the problem with the autoloader was fixed with one of the oldest of humanity's oldest solutions. A rubberized mallet and some rags allowed me to perform percussive maintenance on the part that had been installed just wrong.
One swing, almost there. Another, heavier swing, the tank shook as the autoloader clicked into place. The Machinery giving a small 'whir' of noise as it attempted to load a round that wasn't there.
Date: July 5, 3025
Location: Kalidasa, Free Worlds League
Kalidasa was a fairly frequent stopping point for merc units hoping to pick up some 'mechs or vehicles to round out their forces. For those units on a bit more of a budget, the salvage yards were often all they could afford. Which is why there was a small patch of desert the yards in the region had set aside and agreed on to use as our open air 'market' so to speak.
Around ten to twelve different booths were set up with pavilions showing their wares with regard to small arms and most of them had a single 'mech or vehicle behind them to offer as evidence of their goods.
"You'd think they'd have paid us a visit already," I muttered to Sylvie with a sigh as yet another merc unit walked by the stand we had with the trio of combat vehicles and 'Mech behind us. Sure, we weren't rocking a Manticore like that one of them, or a battlescarred Demolisher. But we had a full, perfectly functional lance. The Griffin might have been an antique, but she'd been modernized as best as we could manage. Modern armor, an engine salvaged out of the corpse of a Quickdraw, and a few more jump jets. She was a heavier, meaner Griffin.
Our offerings even looked better than half of our competitors as well. We'd painted them up in a nice desert camouflage, cleaned everything up, and tested everything before coming out here. Worse, I knew that some of the things the mercs were buying were going to fall apart on them when they put them into combat.
"They won't buy from you because they know you worked for Quikscell," the man from the stand next to us said, polishing a handful of small arms. "That kind of reputation sticks with you, man."
I'd only worked there for three months! How could that have such a large effect on what I was doing now? I couldn't believe that was the only reason we were being avoided.
Finally, we did have a handful of people meander our way. Each of them looking more desperate than the last.
"Welcome to Siler's salvage," Sylvie greeted them with a smile. We'd kep the name because alliteration draws attention. "Is there something you'd like to take a look at?"
"Yeah, name's Hammer," a gruff voice replied. "I'm not willing to buy anything just yet," I could see the lie Hammer had told. He was desperate, and probably just hoping to save face. "I want to take a look at the internals."
"That's fine with me," I shrugged while Sylvie desperately shook her head. I had confidence in our work.
Hammer and his trio of companions each split up and began inspecting the tanks. Seemingly ignoring the 'mech in the back until Hammer eventually came back after fifteen minutes of looking over everything.
"We'll give you two million eagles for the tanks," He said, and I could see in his eyes that was all he could afford to pay us for what was probably a desperate attempt to keep his business afloat. "How much for the Griffin?" He asked.
"I think we can work out a deal there," I replied. "For now, let's see about transferring the tanks to your unit, shall we?"
If we held out, we could probably get more for the tanks, the Griffin, etc. But I had a feeling that this was going to be the start of what would hopefully change our future. Besides, two million was enough for us to start hiring some people to work around the shop and begin expanding operations. Even if it wasn't quite what we were hoping for.
Moving to the side, I began negotiations with Hammer over the Griffin, working out what was essentially a car payment. With a nearby Comstar MRB rep helping us with the Escrow and releasing the two and a half million in currency we were owed, now.
Apparently, we weren't the first people to have done this sort of thing with a merc unit. While there was a chance they'd turn pirate and just leave with everything, being blacklisted by Comstar's Mercenary Review Board and having a bounty on their head wasn't generally a good idea. So, with everything worked out, we left the vehicles and 'mechs to Hammer and his mercs.
It was time to start the slow snowball rolling downhill.