TEXT: BattleCorps
  THE TOP OF THE 
  SCRAP HEAP
  Jason Hardy
  
  BattleCorps
  The Top of the Scrap Heap • Page 
  Carolinas, Alpheratz 
  Outworlds Alliance 
  14 September 2783
  The legs didn’t look right. They were too thin, and the metal 
  was clearly recycled. It hadn’t even been properly melted down 
  and remanufactured—instead, it looked like scrap metal had been 
  chopped into pieces that just might fit on the leg and then welded 
  into the appropriate spot.
  “Did someone just weld scrap metal onto the legs?” Jacobs de-
  manded.
  Murphy threw the machine a sideways glance. “No. No, of 
  course not.”
  Jacobs stepped closer so she could see the dents and pockmarks. 
  “Are you sure?”
  “Absolutely.”
  She moved away from the machine and shook her head. “They’re 
  not going to like this.”
  “Who?”
  “Nobody!” she said. “Nobody who sees it is going to like it.”
  “Why not?” Murphy asked. “It moves. It shoots. It’ll easily cut 
  through regular infantry and it’ll make quick work of most vehicles. 
  It’ll do what a ‘Mech is supposed to do. What won’t they like??”
  Jacobs considered the machine again, with its three cockpit win-
  dows and its shoulder-mounted launchers. Her eyes kept falling to 
  those woeful legs.
  “Will it trip the minute it goes off-road?” she asked. “Will it break 
  its legs when it goes into a run?”
  “It’s a ‘Mech,” Murphy insisted. “It will do what a ‘Mech is sup-
  posed to do. It’ll work better than it looks.”
  “It had better,” Jacobs said.
  
  BattleCorps
  The Top of the Scrap Heap • Page 
  18 September 2783
  Alliance Defenders Limited was not part of the Outworlds 
  Alliance military, but sometimes the generals liked to pretend it 
  was. General Bashere had been paying particularly close atten-
  tion to the progress of ADL’s ‘Mech project, so naturally he was on 
  hand when the machine took its first steps.
  “It looks wobbly,” he said gruffly as the machine stepped gin-
  gerly across the rocky ground of the training area. “Is it wobbly?”
  “Not especially, sir, no,” Jacobs said, hoping she sounded believ-
  able. “The pilot just needs some time to become acclimated to the 
  machine.”
  “Hmmm,” Bashere said, and Jacobs thought he did not sound 
  convinced. The general watched the Locust make its way across 
  the field for a few more minutes.
  “How comparable is this to an Inner Sphere Locust?” he finally 
  asked.
  “Very comparable,” Jacobs said. “The armor might have a little 
  more scrap on it than an Inner Sphere machine would have, but 
  inside she’s top of the line.” She paused, then threw out her next 
  remark like it was a throwaway observation. “Well, the targeting 
  computer is different.”
  She hoped Bashere would simply let the comment slide. He 
  didn’t.
  “How different?” he asked.
  She shrugged. “Not very. It’s primarily a software issue. I’m sure 
  your aware of the difficulty in dealing with military software and 
  the draconian measures nations take to keep it from being export-
  ed across international boundaries.”
  “I know the problems,” Bashere said gruffly. “I want to know how 
  well you overcame them.”
  “Quite well, quite well,” Jacobs said brightly. “Through our peo-
  ple’s ingenuity and a fair amount of reverse engineering, we have 
  assembled a fine facsimile of Inner Sphere software.”
  “‘Reverse engineering’?” Bashere asked. “We haven’t captured 
  any Inner Sphere ‘Mechs. What are you reverse engineering 
  from?”
  
  BattleCorps
  The Top of the Scrap Heap • Page 
  Jacobs hesitated. “A ‘Mech from some pirates. A sizeable group 
  operating near the Federated Suns border.”
  “A pirate ‘Mech?” Bashere exclaimed. “Good hell, Jacobs, we 
  don’t know where their machinery came from! We don’t know 
  what those people have done to it! And that’s what we’re basing 
  our targeting system on?”
  “Well, sir, in the end, I think you’ll agree that it’s a sensible thing 
  to do. After all, the comm system and much of the firing controls 
  are also based on pirate designs, so using the targeting software 
  the pirates use is a good way to ensure that everything will …”
  “Firing and comm are pirate designs too?” Bashere shouted. “A 
  minute ago you were telling me these were virtually Inner Sphere 
  ‘Mechs. Now you’re telling me there mostly pirate machines?”
  “No! No, no, far from it. There are also parts from the Tortuga 
  Dominions.”
  “The Tortuga Dominions!” Bashere yelled. Jacobs efforts to calm 
  him were having the opposite effect. “They are pirates! The only 
  difference between the Tortugans and most pirates is the pirates 
  have better tech! This so-called ‘Mech might as well be held to-
  gether with chewing gum!” Bashere threw the binoculars he was 
  holding to the ground. They splintered while Jacobs reflexively 
  jumped backward.
  Then, somehow, Bashere got control of himself. His face lost its 
  red color, his breathing evened. “Look, I know this isn’t easy for 
  you,” he said. “I know the lack of government and popular sup-
  port here makes your firm’s progress difficult. The deck is stacked 
  against you.” He took a deep breath. “But we need better than this. 
  This will not stand. I can give you six more months. If you cannot 
  come up with something better than this—” he gestured contemp-
  tuously at the Locust “—I’ll have to ask the Board of Directors to 
  come up with someone who can.
  He marched out. Jacobs thought about demonstrating the 
  Locust’s firepower by having it attack Bashere’s motorcade, but 
  then she decided the long-term effects of that decision would 
  probably be unpleasant. Instead, she just watched him go.
  
  BattleCorps
  The Top of the Scrap Heap • Page 
  19 September 2783
  Jacobs glared at Murphy. “You’re thinking about how well you’ll 
  get along with the new CEO, aren’t you?”
  “No!” Murphy said. “Of course not. I’m thinking about our prob-
  lem.”
  “There’s nothing to think about,” Jacobs said. “We got our hands 
  on the best materials that managed to leak into our godforsaken 
  corner of the universe. It wasn’t good enough. We’re out of op-
  tions. We can tinker with the Locust for six months, but in the end 
  any improvements we make will not be enough. I’ll be out of a job, 
  and you’ll be learning how to get along with a new boss.”
  “You’re not sounding like yourself, chief. Where’s the can-do 
  spirit?”
  “Facing reality,” she said. “We wrestled with this project since I 
  came on board, and in the end we came up with something that, 
  between you and me, isn’t as good as what most of the nearby 
  pirates have.” She shook her head. “It’s what we get for playing by 
  the rules. You can get tech a lot easier when you steal it.”
  “I suppose,” Murphy said.
  Jacobs drummed her fingers on her desk. She worked hard to 
  keep her face expressionless, to do nothing to give any indication 
  to Murphy of the idea that had just sprung, fully formed, into her 
  head. It was simple. It was obvious. She couldn’t understand why 
  she hadn’t thought of it before, why it wasn’t the strategy she had 
  pursued from the beginning.
  Well, there was the chance of imprisonment or, if things went 
  really downhill, execution. But what great business career pro-
  gressed without some big risks?
  
  BattleCorps
  The Top of the Scrap Heap • Page 
  23 November 2783
  None of the business of this task could be conducted over comms, 
  or in any of the places Jacobs normally found herself. She took a 
  roundabout path to her destination, making a few false stops and 
  starts before she finally arrived at a nondescript coffee shop on 
  the city’s west side. It had a brown awning, brown upholstery on 
  the booths, brown tables, and brown floors. You could spill coffee 
  practically anywhere and there would be a good chance no one 
  would notice for days.
  Jacobs tried to act normal even though her stomach was tied in 
  knots. She could make decisions that would effect a large busi-
  ness and each of its hundreds of employees without a qualm, but 
  this cloak-and-dagger stuff made her nervous. But if she wanted 
  to keep making decisions at the head of her company, this was 
  what she had to do.
  “Irene!” a voice called out. A tall man in a long tan coat waved to 
  her, sleeve flapping loosely. “Over here.”
  She responded to her code name with a smile and walked to the 
  man’s booth. “Hello, Jerry,” she said, and exchanged a kiss on the 
  cheek with him. “Thanks for meeting me here. Hungry?”
  “Famished.”
  “Well, let’s take a look at the menu and get some food.”
  She hadn’t eaten in a coffee shop (or any restaurant without a 
  decent wine list, for that matter) for years. That, plus the fact that 
  she was wearing a green windbreaker from the back of her closet 
  and had her hair in a pony tail, should go a long way to prevent her 
  from being identified.
  She and “Jerome” engaged in small talk for a few minutes as they 
  waited for their food, then grew a little quieter as they took a few 
  bites of their lunch. When they spoke again, Jacobs and Jerome 
  made their voices quieter and quieter until they were ready to talk 
  about the real purpose of their meeting.
  “How did the initial contact go?” Jacobs asked. 
  “Perfect,” Jerome said. “The information your military sources 
  gave us was top notch—told us more about pirate gangs operat-
  ing near Valasha than we’d been able to learn in years of recon. 
  We narrowed it down to a few good candidates right off the bat 
  
  BattleCorps
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  and looked for ways to make contact. A few of the bands had dis-
  solved, or lost their leaders due to … well, various circumstances, 
  but we managed to make contact with representatives from two 
  bands. The first one smelled something about the deal and de-
  cided to steer clear of us, but the second one couldn’t resist the 
  lure of the money we were waving in front of him.”
  Jacobs nodded. Most of the bait they had used was cash from 
  her personal accounts—she had invested a lot in this project. “Is 
  his band any good?” she asked.
  “Quite good,” Jerome said. “They’ve started venturing into the 
  Fed Suns more and more, where the spoils are much better but 
  the risk is higher. They’ve got the skills, and they’re getting to 
  know the territory.”
  “Good,” Jacobs said. She’d much rather give money to a band 
  that wasn’t actively raiding her own country. “When will they 
  start?”
  “Well, we have them interested,” Jerome said, “but they’re not 
  fully on the hook yet. Our man in charge of the negotiations—” for 
  deniability reasons, Jacobs didn’t know this man’s name “—is still 
  meeting the various representatives of the band.”
  “Has he met with the leader yet?”
  “No. Pirate leaders are reclusive, as you might expect. But our 
  man tells me he’s meeting with decision-makers, so he’s optimis-
  tic.”
  “All right,” Jacobs said, nodding her head. “I think we’re getting 
  somewhere.”
  
  BattleCorps
  The Top of the Scrap Heap • Page 
  11 January 2784
  She ran, instinct pushing her forward. Part of her knew it wasn’t 
  good instinct, wasn’t smart instinct, but it was all she had right 
  now.
  She grasped the handrail of the stairs and used it to pull herself 
  around a bend as she jumped, passing over half a dozen steps in 
  mid-air before she landed smoothly and kept running down. She 
  heard footsteps and voices above her, and was pretty sure she 
  heard voices below her as well.
  “Stairwell B!” one voice said from above, echoing down loud and 
  clear. “She’s in stairwell B. Put a team at the base and send them 
  up.”
  Clearly she couldn’t stay here any longer. Really, she had no-
  where to go. Any security team worth their salt would have sealed 
  all of the building’s exits before they came after her, so she was 
  bound to run into them sooner or later. But it would be fun to see 
  how long she could avoid them.
  Well, maybe “fun” wasn’t the right word.
  She exited the stairwell on the third floor and ran over to stair-
  well C, figuring she’d take that down to the second floor and look 
  for a window to jump out of. But when she pulled the door of the 
  stairway open, she saw three long muzzles pointed at her.
  “Freeze right there!”
  Her completely illogical instincts told her not to freeze. She piv-
  oted, ran back down the hallway, only to encounter half a dozen 
  more gun-toting police officers. Finally, her instincts decided that 
  now would be an appropriate time to surrender.
  “Emma Jacobs?” one of the police said. “You’re under arrest on 
  charges of treason, piracy, and conspiracy against the Alliance …”
  
  BattleCorps
  The Top of the Scrap Heap • Page 
  8 April 2784
  “You’re not making any sense!” Brinson pounded the table. The 
  plastic creaked.
  Jacobs shrugged. “Maybe not,” she said. “But you don’t need 
  to understand what I’m doing. You just have to follow my direc-
  tions.”
  There wasn’t enough room in the small cell for Brinson to pace. 
  He could cross the entire room in five steps, so walking back and 
  forth across it would quickly make him dizzy. He had to content 
  himself with standing in place while bouncing up and down on the 
  balls of his feet.
  “For two months you had me in panic mode!” he exclaimed. 
  “Looking into what kind of bargains you might make, investigating 
  the judge’s background, checking out prison facilities, everything! 
  You were panicked about everything! And now you tell me that 
  there’s nothing to worry about?”
  Jacobs sat back in her chair. Her prison haircut showed off her 
  grey roots, and she was dressed in an ungainly olive jumpsuit, but 
  she had recovered the bearing and command she had displayed 
  before her arrest.
  “That’s right,” she said. “There’s nothing to worry about. Really, 
  there’s not much for you to do. Just make sure any trial proceed-
  ings get pushed beyond May 5th. Then come back here on the 5th, 
  because I may need you to cover some of the finer legal points.”
  “Finer legal points of what?”
  “That’s my concern. You just make sure you’re here.”
  Brinson stared at her wordlessly, then started shoving his note-
  puter back into his case as he prepared to leave.
  “Maybe it’s not too late to work on an insanity plea,” he muttered 
  as a guard escorted him away from the cell.
  
  BattleCorps
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  5 May 2784
  Brinson was surprised to see Velma Crawford arriving at the 
  prison doors the same time he did.
  “What are you doing here?” he asked.
  Her eyes widened. “What do you mean? Don’t you know?”
  “Don’t I know what?”
  “I’m here to meet with Jacobs. About her copping a plea.”
  “What?”
  “I was told the message came from you!”
  “I haven’t heard anything about a plea,” Brinson said. “There’s 
  no plea.”
  “What do you mean, there’s no plea? What kind of game are you 
  playing?”
  “I’m not playing anything! Jacobs hasn’t said anything about a 
  plea! She’s been acting like she’s going to beat this thing!”
  “This makes no sense,” Crawford said, but her words drowned 
  out by the sound of a man yelling.
  “Mr. Brinson!” the man said. “Ms. Crawford! Hello! Wait one mo-
  ment, please?”
  Brinson and Crawford exchanged glances.
  “Do you know this person?” Crawford asked.
  “No idea,” he said.
  The man buttoned his suit jacket as he slowed to a walk and ap-
  proached the two attorneys. “Good morning! Thank you both for 
  being here. My name is Caleb Murphy, I’m an associate of Emma 
  Jacobs. She asked me to meet you here.”
  “She asked you to …” Brinson said. “We’re supposed to meet her. 
  Not her associate.”
  “Yes, of course,” Murphy said, taking no offense. “But if you wait 
  a moment, you’ll see why she asked you here.”
  “Wait?” Crawford asked. “For what? How long?”
  
  BattleCorps
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  At that moment, sirens and alarms erupted across the prison 
  campus. Guards rushed to their stations, while two of them hur-
  riedly pushed Crawford, Brinson, and Murphy inside the main 
  building.
  “The wait won’t be long,” Murphy said, speaking calmly even 
  though he had to yell over the sound of the alarms.
  The wait took exactly 17 minutes. Brinson and Crawford tried 
  to pry more information out of Murphy, but the man had become 
  closed mouthed. They also tried to get in to see Jacobs, only to 
  be told repeatedly that the entire complex had been locked down. 
  Then, at the 17-minute mark of their wait, a barrel-chested man 
  holding a large sidearm strode to them.
  “You three Brinson, Crawford, and Murphy?”
  “Yes,” Murphy said, while Brinson and Crawford exchanged 
  glances.
  “You’re all coming with me.”
  He led them out a back door and into an armored vehicle. They 
  drove outside the prison’s perimeter, staying within 10 meters of 
  the wall at all times. At the north side of the wall, the guard who had 
  fetched them stopped the vehicle and pointed into the distance.
  “Can you tell me what that is?”
  Brinson squinted. There was something on the horizon, but he 
  couldn’t make it out. It gleamed in the morning sun.
  “We have the pilot on the comm,” the guard said. “He’s asking 
  for you. We’ve told him not to move but, between you and me, we 
  don’t have the firepower to enforce that.”
  As if on cue, the gleaming object shot into the air and flew to-
  ward them. It landed maybe two kilometers away from them then 
  continued forward on the ground. Brinson could see it clearer as it 
  approached. It was a generally humanoid shape, a triangle mount-
  ed atop two long legs with arms poking out of the broad top. One 
  of the arms was holding an enormous gun, which was pointed at 
  the vehicle Brinson was in. He didn’t like the sight at all.
  The vehicle’s comm crackled to life. “Do you have Brinson and 
  Crawford with you?”
  Murphy, sitting next to the driver’s seat, replied. “This is Murphy. 
  Yeah, we’ve got them.”
  
  BattleCorps
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  “Good,” the voice at the other end of the comm said. “Listen care-
  fully. What you are looking at is a Stinger. This particular one is a 
  Federated Suns model, captured completely intact. It is the most 
  powerful weapon in the entire Outworlds Alliance. By far. And it is 
  the possession of Emma Jacobs. She may decide to reverse-en-
  gineer it and help us build more while also preserving as much of 
  it as possible for service. She may decide to have it scrapped. Or 
  she might scrap it after blowing up your vehicle and much of the 
  prison behind you. It all depends on her mood.”
  Brinson smiled. He leaned back. He saw it now. It might take a 
  bit, but he knew what was going to happen.
  Crawford wasn’t near as sanguine. “This is ridiculous! We’re be-
  ing threatened! By a machine Jacobs undoubtedly got through 
  piracy, which is why she’s in jail in the first place! Does she think 
  this is going to help anything?”
  “I’m not at liberty to say what my client thinks,” Brinson said. 
  “All I can do is reiterate what the mysterious pilot said—he is sit-
  ting in the cockpit of the most powerful weapon in the Outworlds 
  Alliance. Machines like that don’t appear here every day.”
  “She can do what she wants with it,” Crawford fumed. “She can 
  blow me to kingdom come, I don’t care. She is not going to force 
  her way out of jail like this! Justice is not to be trifled with like 
  this!”
  Crawford protested for a while longer. She protested while the 
  guard took them back to the prison under the Stinger’s watchful 
  gaze. She protested until she was out of Brinson’s earshot, and 
  Brinson guessed she kept on protesting for the next three days, 
  right up until the time Emma Jacobs was released and reinstated 
  as the head of Allied Defenders Limited.
  
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