The streets of Andro's capital city buzzed with a peculiar energy, a mix of excitement and unease that seemed to ripple through the air. The Seventh Kommando operatives, clad in civilian attire and blending seamlessly into the crowd, moved through the city with practiced ease.
Their mission was simple: listen, observe, and report.
The impending Shephard Industries auction had stirred the pot, and the Dragoons needed to know how deep the currents ran.
In a bustling café near the spaceport, one operative codenamed Rook sat at a corner table, nursing a cup of coffee that had long gone cold. His ears were tuned to the conversations around him, his sharp eyes scanning the room for any useful tidbits of information. The café was packed, the chatter a cacophony of voices, but one conversation in particular caught his attention.
"Did you hear? Shephard Industries is bringing in a Colossus-class dropship for the auction," a man in a business suit said to his companion, his voice tinged with awe. "They're saying it's going to be the biggest event this planet has seen in decades."
His companion, a woman in a sleek dress, nodded enthusiastically. "I heard they're auctioning off some new mech, something called a MAD-CAT. Supposed to be a game-changer. If it's anything like their other products, it's going to be worth every C-Bill."
Rook's lips twitched in a faint smile. The locals were clearly excited, their enthusiasm palpable. Shephard Industries had a reputation for quality, and their presence on Andro was seen as a boon for the local economy.
But not everyone shared that optimism.
At a nearby table, a group of dockworkers were deep in conversation, their voices low and serious. "I don't like it," one of them muttered, his face creased with worry. "Every time SI shows up, trouble follows. Remember what happened on Lesnovo?"
The others nodded grimly, their expressions darkening. Rook's interest was piqued. Lesnovo. The name rang a bell, though the details were hazy. Whatever had happened there, it was clearly a sore spot for the locals.
"Yeah, but that was different," another dockworker argued, though his tone lacked conviction. "SI's employees are good for business. They spend money, they tip well, and they don't cause trouble. Mostly."
"Mostly," the first dockworker echoed, his voice heavy with skepticism. "But it only takes one bad apple to spoil the bunch. I'm keeping my head down until this whole thing blows over."
Rook made a mental note to look into the Lesnovo incident later.
Later that evening, in a quiet residential neighborhood, another operative codenamed Wraith listened in on a conversation between two neighbors as they stood on their front porches, the warm glow of the setting sun casting long shadows across the street.
"I'm sending the kids to my dad's place in the countryside," one woman said, her voice firm. "He's got a bunker out there, just in case. Better safe than sorry, you know?"
Her neighbor, an older man with a weathered face, nodded in agreement. "Can't blame you. SI's good for business, but you never know when things might go sideways. Better to have a plan."
Wraith filed the information away, her mind already working through the implications. The locals were preparing for the worst, even as they hoped for the best.
Smart of them really.
From what she gathered, the attitude of the Spheroids were in one way cynical borne of living in a non-stop war that simmered down to skirmishes and raids due to the loss of industry and knowledge to sustain total war.
LosTech was the word she heard, and that basically summed up the philosophical outlook of everything.
It was a romantic notion of all things lost, of a glorious utopia when things were better and safe, and that all technology must be saved, since older was better and the newer were crappier.
Seems like Shephard Industries was going to upset the status quo mightiliy with them as the only source of it.
As some of the Kommandos were canvasing public sentiment, the others were going through mercenary bars and known military haunts on who would be present in the auction and the ones also running public security.
The mercenary bars and military haunts of Andro were a different world altogether, a seedy, smoke-filled underworld where loose lips and alcoholic drinks flowed freely. It was here that another group of Seventh Kommando operatives went to work.
Their mission was clear: gather intel on who would be attending the Shephard Industries auction and who might be running security beyond Cerberus. They needed to know who the competition were in this auction, and perhaps get enough time to build a profile if any were known or capable for any... shenanigans.
In a dimly lit bar called The Rusty Wrench, an operative codenamed Ghost leaned against the counter, nursing a glass of cheap whiskey. The bar was a favorite haunt of local mercenaries, and the air was thick with the scent of sweat, alcohol, and the faint tang of gun oil. Ghost's sharp eyes scanned the room, picking out the familiar faces and noting the unfamiliar ones.
At a nearby table, a group of mercenaries from a mid-sized outfit called Iron Talons were deep in conversation, their voices carrying over the din of the bar. Ghost edged closer, his ears tuned to their words.
"Goddamnit it, it would be fucking nice if we had the C-bills to even go for them MAD-CATs. The warchest is basically 500,000 and that's only good for some spare parts and weapons!" a drunken mechwarrior raged as he bemioaned his luck.
"Well, that fucking sucks mate. Best we can do is take a loan from MRB or sign up with the Outreach Program of SI for them discounts and perks, and I know what the boss'll do after buying one or two of those double freezers; proof that all of us were there in an SI auction, yanno?"
Ghost's lips twitched in a faint smile. The Iron Talons were clearly interested, and their presence at the auction was all but guaranteed. But it was the next part of the conversation that caught his attention.
"Speaking of SI, did you hear who they've got running security?" the veteran asked, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Cerberus. Those guys don't mess around. If anyone tries to cause trouble, they're in for a world of hurt."
The younger woman nodded, her expression serious. "Yeah, but Cerberus isn't the only one. I heard Steel Vipers and Blackstar Company are also in the mix. SI's not taking any chances."
Ghost filed the information away, his mind already working through the implications. Steel Vipers and Blackstar Company were well-known local outfits, both with solid reputations. If they were involved, it meant Shephard Industries was pulling out all the stops to ensure the auction went off without a hitch.
Meanwhile, in another bar called The Drunken MechWarrior, an operative codenamed Specter was deep in conversation with a mercenary from Crimson Blades, a medium-sized outfit known for their hit-and-run tactics. The mercenary, a wiry man with a penchant for tall tales, was more than happy to share what he knew.
"SI's got everyone and their mother coming to this auction," the mercenary said, his voice slurred but still coherent. "I heard Silver Falcons and Ironclad Sentinels are gonna be there too. And that's just the mercs. Rumor has it some of the big corporations are sending reps as well."
Specter raised an eyebrow, feigning casual interest. "Oh? Which ones?"
The mercenary leaned in closer, his breath reeking of alcohol. "Word is, Defiance Industries and Kallon Weapon Industries are sending people. Maybe even Corean Enterprises. They're all itching to get their hands on that MAD-CAT. Can't blame 'em, really. If it's half as good as they say, it's gonna be a game-changer."
Specter nodded, his mind racing. Defiance, Kallon, and Corean were major players in the Inner Sphere's military-industrial complex. If they were sending representatives, it meant the auction was drawing attention from the highest levels. That was both good and bad. Good because it meant the Dragoons would have plenty of cover, but bad because it increased the risk of exposure.
As the night wore on, the Seventh Kommando operatives continued to gather intel, their efforts yielding a wealth of information. By the time they regrouped, they had a clear picture of who would be attending the auction and who might be running security. The list included several well-known local mercenary outfits, as well as representatives from some of the Inner Sphere's most powerful corporations.
Jaime Wolf listened to the reports in silence, his expression unreadable. When the last operative had finished speaking, he leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled in front of him.
"Interesting," he said finally, his voice low and measured. "Shephard Industries is pulling out all the stops. They've got Cerberus running security, and they've invited some of the biggest names in the business. This auction is going to be a powder keg, and we are going to get challenged like no other. Start formulating plausible deniability and exit strategies, just in case."
Jaime Wolf was a patient man, and he knew that sometimes, the best move was to let the enemy make the first mistake.
Seems there are going to be so many who were eager to do so.