Veni, Vidi, (Re)aedificavi "I Came, I saw, I (Re)built" (A Commissioned Battletech Isekei)

[MarkWarrior]

Chapter 1

Well, it was over for me. I'd followed the advice of the MBAs the Board had hired, and we'd attempted to harness the AI boom. The company that I'd built from the ground up was going to be split up and sold off. I should never have gone public with it in the first place. But the allure of the money and the chance to create generational wealth for my family had been too strong.

I didn't even have a nest egg built up. I had poured every spare dollar I had into reinvesting in my company. Over the last twenty years, I'd spent many a month going without a paycheck to make certain that my people were paid. When we had gone public, I'd poured the revenue from dividends into various trust funds for my parents and siblings.

Two decades of hard work and trust built up with customers, employees, and a board gone overnight. I screwed up and blew everything on what I thought had been a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

Turning around, I looked at the darkened office and warehouse beneath it. I felt tears at the corner of my eyes as I handed my keys over to Jack, the Security guard.

"It's been a pleasure, Mister Blaze," Jack's voice hitched as he extended a giant hand to shake mine.

"Pleasure's all mine, Jack," I pulled him in for a hug. He'd been one of the first people I'd hired when we were starting out. This building had been in the worst part of town until we'd spent money on helping make it better. We'd hung out at the bar, played some video games together, and even gotten in more than our fair share of fights at a few football games. "And you know you can call me Edmund."

"It wouldn't feel right this time," his face was somber. "If you need anything. You gimme a call."

"Have a good night, Jack," I swallowed down the lump in my throat again. "I'll see you around sometime," I lied. The board had dismissed me, and shorted my shares when they had started to see that the AI boom was disappearing.

Slowly, I meandered over to the old, beat-up Toyota Camry that had served me since high school and climbed in. I pulled out the ring with the car and house keys on, pushed it into the ignition, before attempting to start it up. It turned over once, twice, then a loud rattle echoed through the dark parking lot. Old reliable had finally given its last desparate gasp.

I could probably have called an Uber or something, but I didn't want to waste whatever money was left in my accounts. So, I grabbed the backpack with the laptop and my personal effects before slinging it over my back and staying right there in my car for a while. Just processing.

There was something final about all of this. The end of a season, the end of my time at Blaze Incorporated, but not the end of my life. No, there were still plenty of opportunities out there in the world. I wasn't in the prime of my life anymore, but I wasn't dead yet either.

Taking a deep breath, I released the death grip on my emotions and allowed the tears to flow down my cheeks. I'd been blessed beyond measure through my years, and now it seemed like I had been abandoned. For the first time in a long time, I was truly alone.

I'd cared deeply for my employees over the years, but as we grew bigger, I could no longer know everyone as intimately as I once had. Relationships had drifted apart, leaving us no more than mere acquaintances most of the time.

Everything washed over me in one burst, all of the emotions that had built up over the last few months of trouble breaking through the dam I'd built around it and overflowing through my heart and soul.

Eventually, though, the flood stopped. The flood drew to a close, leaving behind destruction in its wake, but also the glimpse of life that was in the future.

The decision to start over had already been made, but now I was set on it. So, I opened the car door, looked over it one last time to make sure I hadn't left anything behind, and then closed it, leaving the car key behind inside of it along with the note. "If you can fix it, you can have it."

Then I turned and walked away. Heading down the sidewalk towards the apartment I'd purchased half a decade ago. It was time to take stock, figure out what mistakes I'd made, and how to learn from and not repeat said mistakes.

Today and tomorrow were going to be rest days. I'd spent too many sleepless nights trying to make things work over the last month and a half. Goofing off with some old PC games and/or diving into the world of designing random stompy robots was in my future.

In hindsight, I should have been paying more attention to the roads. Instead, I was buried in my own thoughts and ignored the sign at the traffic light. Walking through until I heard the screech of tires.

I glanced up in time to see a truck that actually had the logo of my company stenciled across the trailer. Time seemed to slow down. The light from the streetlights poured through the window, revealing someone I'd been responsible for hiring a couple of years ago. She hadn't been expecting much, just hoping for a job that could help get her family into something more than a ratty apartment at first. During the interview, I'd asked what her eventual goals were. When she'd told me she wanted to see the rest of the States, I'd marked her down for a potential CDL and made sure she got the certification.

This was going to crush her. I realized as time seemed to speed up. I wasn't going to be able to move quickly enough to avoid getting hit. Worse, Avery had already lost most of her family. She was going to be devastated because of this.

–
–

It was odd, lying here looking up at the dark skies and the stars that were only able to be seen when the lights of the city were at their lowest. It didn't hurt as much as I thought it was going to.

"Ohmygod!" Avery stumbled over her words and fumbled with her phone, tears streaming down her face as she called 911. "Mister Edmund, I'm so sorry!" The call finally connected, and I heard her weep while talking to the dispatcher. "He's bleeding everywhere. There's so much blood!"

That would explain why I couldn't feel all that much. I tried to touch the young woman with my right hand, but it refused to listen. So, I switched to my left, gently touching her face and looking her in the eye.

"It's okay," I garbled out as best as I could, trying to keep a smile on my face. "It's okay, Avery."

"Nonono!" Her words rushed together. "Mister Edmund, don't die, the Ambulance is on it's way."

I could hear the sirens, but just like I'd known, I didn't have time to move out of the way. I knew that the paramedics wouldn't make it in time.

"Shhh," I said quietly. "It's okay, Avery. Everything's going to be okay. You're going to be fine."

"But you're not," Avery sobbed. "It's all my fault. I wasn't paying attention."

"No," I tried to shake my head, but found that I couldn't. It was odd how calm I was now that I was dying. I just felt so very tired. I was going to close my eyes and rest. Just for a little while…

---

I woke up to an oppressive heat weighing down on me. My right hand and arm moved immediately to shield my eyes from the oppressive sun as I sat up. When my eyes adjusted, I wiggled my fingers in wonder.

There were tears and rips in my clothes, but my backpack and few personal items were intact. My limbs weren't the shattered and broken messes that they had been last night. No, everything was just fine. I began to giggle, which eventually turned into full-blown laughter and finally into tears as I wept.

I was alive! By all rights, I was dead. But here, by the grace of God, the universe, whatever you call it, I was alive!

Moreover, I felt better than I had in the last twenty years. It was as if the years had been turned back, and I was in my teens again. Energy bristled within, and I felt like I could take on the world.

Pulling myself up to my feet, I looked around the alleyway I'd found myself awake in. It didn't look like the city I'd come to call home when I started my company. In place of the humid and chilled air of the Eastern Seaboard, it felt like I'd been dropped into a desert. Gone were the silver skyscrapers and old buildings, replaced by the tan and earthy tones of desert stone intermixed with the modern era.

The streets weren't asphalt or concrete; instead, they looked like some sort of in-between that was both and neither at the same time.

I stepped out of the alleyway and into the busy streets, looking around with wonder at everyone and everything. Then I saw a storefront with what looked like TVs, a strangely familiar sight playing on it.

That was an Atlas on the screen, and the longer I stared at it, the more my head began to fill in the blanks.

Atlas AS-7D:
Manufacturers: Independence Weaponry, Defiance Industries
Weapons: Long-Range Farfire Maxi-Rack LRM-20; Close-Range 'Mech-Hunter Autocannon-Twenty, Tharhes Maxi SRM-6, four Defiance B3M Medium lasers
Engine: Vlar 300-

I forced my eyes away from the 'mech, and the information stopped feeding into my brain. That was odd. Surely that wouldn't happen again, right? Glancing back over, I saw that the display had shifted to another bipedal war machine. One that I didn't recognize immediately, and the information began to roll in again. Crusader: CRD-3R. I turned and began walking away from the storefront entirely. I didn't know what that was, but it was starting to give me a headache, and I still didn't know where I'd woken up. I didn't recognize anything, and this odd information that kept filling the back of my head wasn't helping.

On the side of the street, there was something I hadn't seen in a long time. Newspaper stands in the city had long ago been replaced by other vendors renting that space. Still, though, it would help me figure things out. Honestly, I was probably in the hospital suffering from some sort of mental delusion while hooked up to machines after the paramedics had gotten to me.

"You can't read that without paying," The guy manning the stand crossed his arms at me and glared. "So, cough up some cash or put the paper down."

Carrying cash was almost something that I had forgotten about entirely over the last few years. My company had mostly been in the digital marketplace, and it was rare that I'd had to pay with anything other than a debit card.

Still, I pulled my wallet out and went through it, hoping that past me had been wise enough to keep even a small amount of currency close. A pair of bills was all that stared up at me. One crisp, fresh, five-dollar bill that looked like it had come out of an ATM. The other… Well, that was the first dollar my business had ever made. It was rough, worn, and faded, the Eagle and President Washington barely visible. But it was still a dollar. Over the years, as things went uphill and downhill, I'd stop to look at that first dollar. Remembering that I'd accomplished something and that I could keep going even when things were tough.

I swallowed back the emotion as I looked at that dollar. I didn't want to spend it. Yet, I knew that I was probably going to have to. A little sacrifice of sentimentality to restart everything all over again./

"Here," I finally said, looking up at the dark-skinned man who was in charge of the newspaper stand. "It's not much, but it's what I've got."

The man looked at the green bill after I handed it to him and frowned before sighing. "Just take the newspaper," He handed me back the bill. "Try not to get jumped by the gangs again."

Unfolding the media article, I raised my eyebrows first at the date, and then at the headline.

January 1st, 3025.

"Parliament resumes session, beginning with debates over what trade restrictions should be placed on the other members of the Kapteyn Accords!"

Author's Note: Credit to @Warslick for commissioning this

 

[MrSplashy]

I am absolutely interested to see how this goes, it's gonna be interesting to see what Edward will do especially with his isekai power.

 

[NitroNorm5688]

Never could get into he details of Battletech. When people start spouting numbers and words it doesn't mean anything to me. Usually I'm left wondering if that means it walks like a man or like a chicken with backwards legs, then spend half an hour looking through the Sarna Net Wiki.

But I do like the stories. So, please, keep on writing.

 

[RobotSquid]

ah, the good old days of 3025! but please, remember the tanks. nothing like an SRM carrier to ruin someones day, after all.

 

[CelestialJade]

3025, nice! Very, very interested!

 

[lusians]

ah, the good old days of 3025! but please, remember the tanks. nothing like an SRM carrier to ruin someones day, after all.

Click to shrink...

Pretty shure thats dependant on comisioner.

 

[MarkWarrior]

Pretty shure thats dependant on comisioner.

Click to shrink...

Not exactly. I've got a lot of freedom to do things.

 

[MarkWarrior]

Chapter 2

Date: January 5, 3025
Location: Kalidasa

This wasn't the first time I had ever been homeless. The path to being successful in my life had led me to purchasing the first office and warehouse space out of my own pocket early on in my career. I'd spent those weeks that the deal was closing living out of my car. A local gym owner owed me a favor, and I'd used that favor to borrow the showers.

Of course, I'd been working towards a deal back then, and still had some petty cash that I'd used for food and gas. Not exactly the same thing I was dealing with now.
The circumstances might have been different, but my goal still remained. I would be rebuilding everything. I just had to start from a lot less than I had the first time around. Initially, I'd considered trying a few pawn shops or antique stores to sell my last few dollars, but had decided against it in the end. There was something in the back of my mind whispering to me that they'd come in handy later.

Shaking my head, I pulled myself from my thoughts and really looked around me. I didn't know this city, whether it was built on a grid, or if it were haphazardly thrown together like a ton of the cities back home seemed to be. It was kinda funny though, just like so many lost souls had, I had stumbled onto the doors of a Catholic Church. Or, more accurately, what seemed to be a friendly rivalry.

In front of me was the Catholic Church, a few doors down was a Jewish synagogue, or temple, and down from there was some sort of Protestant church, and then a mixture of religions further on down.

They all had one thing in common, though: a bunch of people who looked like me, with tattered clothes, low-hung heads, and low chances of finding a good meal tonight were being helped. Everything from new clothes to food, and even a handful of small charities that offered 'help with job hunting'.

I still had one of my suits in the duffel bag, along with a couple of pairs of jeans and some shirts. So I was set on clothes. What I needed was food, a place to stay, and help with employment.

Stepping up to the first table, I was given a bowl of soup by a nun, while a larger man with a Priest's collar handed me a paper bag with what looked like modern MREs.

"Here, son," the Priest's voice was higher-pitched than I expected. "Enough for two weeks if you do it right."

Then I was waved on through the line. I meandered past the people offering haircuts, the handful of people trying to help with clothes, etc. Instead, I went straight for the two groups that were offering what I needed the most right now. Shelter and employment.

Of course, not all of the people trying to 'help' were charities or doing it for the right reasons, and I could tell immediately that this was going to be the smartest decision I made today, or the dumbest in my life.

"Quikscell Company," I read the sign.

"I'd steer clear if I were you," one of the other guys who had accepted food whispered into my ear. "It's room and board, but it's miserable work."

"I dunno," I stroked my bare chin. "Any start is better than no start."

"Your funeral," the other man shook his head as I stepped towards the tent full of what felt like slimy weasels.

"How can we help you, good sir?" a man in a pair of well-pressed slacks and a golf-polo grinned at me from behind a cigarette. "My name's Jim Baker, you look like the kinda fella who's seeking gainful employment!"

"Sign says you cover housing on top of work?" I asked, crossing my arms over my chest.

"That we do," Jim blew a bit of smoke in my direction. "Food's gonna have to come out of your paycheck, but we've got beds and work aplenty for you to do."

"So, how do we go about this?" I continued. "Do you need some ID or something to get this process started?"

"Ha!" He gave a short barking laugh. "We don't worry about pesky things like that. Just need your signature on the contract, and we'll take things from there."

If this had seemed shady at first, now it felt downright predatory. No one hired like this unless they were certain that the turnover was going to be high enough and the labor unskilled enough to be worth it.

Some of my early competitors had done similar, instead of trying to hire skilled people, or cultivate their internal workforce with pay incentives, etc. They'd gone with the 'mass employment' strategy of hiring a bunch of people, and cycling them out due to overwork.

The sad reality had been that it was in fact cheaper to do things that way. It just wasn't sustainable forever. Eventually, something would come crashing down and it'd stop working. No one had hit that point back home yet, though.

"Lemme see the contract," I sighed. Predatory or not, I needed the income. I could deal with some temporary hardship to get myself started here.

"Here ya go," Jim grabbed one of the mass-produced documents. "Sign it and go join the guys over there," He jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the group of people lounging or napping in the 'tent' behind him. "We'll probably leave in a couple hours. There's water in the chest over there," for once he actually did look sorry for something. "But we forgot to pick up any ice, so it's lukewarm at best, hot at the worst."

I didn't respond, too busy looking over the contract. Unfortunately, I had no proper sense of pay scale or how much things actually cost here. Not yet, anyway.

Still, it actually didn't seem all that bad. Even when I dove into the fine print, there were mandated breaks, the previously mentioned housing, and you could even opt out of their ludicrously expensive 'meal' plan that took half of your check away to pay for what was probably subpar food.

So, taking note of which options would work out the best for me, I signed my name along the dotted line and handed it over to Jim.

---

This might have been a mistake. The first thing that happened after getting settled in with the few clothes on my back was a tour of the factory complex. Complete with Jim wildly gesturing at various things he was responsible for.

It seemed the reason they were willing to hire people off the streets and provide them with what was essentially free housing out of old militia barracks they'd bought on the cheap was because they didn't care what quality of work was put out.

They had factories in need of bodies, and they had quotas to fill. If something was broken, they didn't care. It got shipped out anyway. Buyers beware.

If that were the only issue with my new place of employment, I probably could have worked through it, even thrived here. Instead, the moment we entered the factory proper, I was hit with the mental equivalent of a flashbang.

Everywhere I looked, information filled my head as if I had a computer built in. The first tank I looked at, data began to just stream through my consciousness, forcing me to look anywhere but at what the factory was constructing, lest I deal with a massive migraine.

The one time I stopped to stare at one of the Scorpion Light Tanks, I saw exactly what had been done wrong on every vehicle that was about to be shipped. One had an autocannon that would never be able to fire; the autoloader was improperly mounted. A single shot through it would jam it up, and it'd be nothing more than a death trap.

While staring at it, though, information beyond just what was in front of me began to fill in the blanks.

Scorpion Light Tank
Manufacturers: Quikscell Company, Joint Equipment Systems, Hellespont Industries
Manufacturers Future: Benson and Bjorn
Weapons: Deleon 5 Autocannon, Gatling Gun 20mm
Possible Weaponry dependent on technology access and user desires
Engine: SitiCide 100 ICE
Armor: ProtecTech Light (Possible Ferro Fibrous upgrade)

It didn't seem like a lot at first, but it wasn't just the machines and their manufacturers that filled my head. It was everything. The longer I looked at a piece of military technology, the more I began to understand. I knew how to build the factory from the ground up to build every possible variant of the Scorpion light tank right now.

Then I looked away, and most of that information vanished, leaving behind only a handful of key details and the short pain of the information download.

The rest of the tour went the same way. Eventually ending with us back at the barracks.

"You're all going to be on first shift. So, I expect to see everyone ready to go at five in the morning. Have a good night."

With that, Jim walked away, leaving us in the barracks.

I looked around at the handful of people around me, contemplating whether it'd be worth trying to make friends with any of them or not before they all vanished into their rooms.

Shrugging, I turned and headed for my own room, opening the door to the dimly lit, small room. There was an old, ratty mattress with fresh sheets on it, a metal dresser bolted into the floor, a tiny closet, and a mirror. There was no air conditioning in the entire building, but the concrete somehow remained cool enough that the desert heat wasn't unbearable. The bathrooms, showers, and kitchenette I'd seen were all communal, further reinforcing my thoughts that this had been purchased from the military.

Sitting on the mattress, I pulled out my bag from underneath the bed and opened it, searching for the notebook I knew was somewhere inside. After pulling it and a worn pen out, I began jotting things down.

I didn't know what this "Repository of Information" was, to borrow the term from a show I'd used to watch. But I did know that it came and went. If I wanted to make use of this, then I had to start documenting the information that it provided me.

While I was at it, I also needed to write down what little I remembered of the Mechwarrior 5 game I'd played. There hadn't exactly been a lot of time for video games while running a business, and I barely remembered beating the main storyline, more content to simply run around and shoot at things with the giant 'mechs. But there were probably a few bits here and there that might prove helpful. At least if they existed instead of simply being one of those things that only occasionally worked out to be true.

Regardless, I needed a plan. I already had an inkling somewhere in the back of my mind that Quickscell might be the start. Just had to make sure that everything was lined up.

Flipping to a fresh page, I began to write down the steps. Including the ones I'd already taken.

Step one: Secure food and shelter
Step two: Obtain primary income stream
Step three: Sus out local opportunities and niches to begin a new business in
Step four: Establish business and provide superior support compared to competitors

Sure, it was only four steps, but I'd add substeps and begin working out the fine details of things as I began to acclimate here. It'd only been a few days so far. I was going to need to take some time to figure things out.

Closing the notebook around my pen, I lay my head down on the bed and tried to rest, only for Avery's weeping face to fill my vision when I closed my eyes, just like it had every night I'd spent out on the streets.

Most people saw living in a new world as an opportunity, and it was. But opportunities always come at a cost, and it was one I was paying now.

 

[Bev]

I'm pretty new to BT, but just from that companies name it's giving me the same vibes as Cyberpunk corpos.

 

[MarkWarrior]

I'm pretty new to BT, but just from that companies name it's giving me the same vibes as Cyberpunk corpos.

Click to shrink...

The company summary on Sarna actually fits fairly well.

"The Quikscell Company (also known as Quicksell Company and Quickscell Company) is a military goods manufacturer with branches across the Inner Sphere. Though known throughout the Sphere, their products are notorious for being of low quality. In fact the AFFS doesn't accept Quikscell products into service until a team of technicians have inspected every vehicle. If repairs need to be made, they are made immediately and the AFFS charges the time to Quikscell."

 

[Bev]

The company summary on Sarna actually fits fairly well.

"The Quikscell Company (also known as Quicksell Company and Quickscell Company) is a military goods manufacturer with branches across the Inner Sphere. Though known throughout the Sphere, their products are notorious for being of low quality. In fact the AFFS doesn't accept Quikscell products into service until a team of technicians have inspected every vehicle. If repairs need to be made, they are made immediately and the AFFS charges the time to Quikscell."

Click to shrink...

I take it back. At least Cyberpunk corpos tell you that their products are one use throw aways, Budget Arms and Darra Polytechnic.

 

[Killagane]

Quickcell when it works damn things can do a lot of heavy lifting, but emphasis on when.

They have a rep that if a Quickcell product lasts more than a year it would be the longest lasting thing in your inventory if not be prepared to be biggest hangar queen and that is if it does not stop working after 3 tries.

 

[MarkWarrior]

Chapter 3
Date: March 16, 3025
Location: Kalidasa, Free Worlds League

Two and a half months into my new life. Close to ten thousand Eagles saved up, an old, beat up pickup truck, and the name of an antiques dealer who my supervisor swore was going to be able to give me a deal on the five dollar bill in my wallet. Well, that and the newspaper with the Classified ad that I was holding onto for the address of later.

I waved at the gate guards on my way out. They were good fellas. A little inattentive compared to Jack. But after learning what I had about Quikscell's reputation, I didn't hold it against them. Probably wouldn't hire them to guard or secure any business I started in the future, but still good fellas.

Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out the keys I'd been handing by Billy and headed for the parking lot. The old factory foreman being willing to part with the old truck for a song as long as long as I promised to fix her up.

It said something that even this far into the future and far away from the 'Japan' section of the Inner Sphere the Hilux was still one of the most popular trucks sold. The stylized 'T" still prominent and recognizable even all these years later.

Unfortunately, I had to make a conscious effort to compress the stream of information that bombarded my consciousness when I saw the truck, but with enough force, I was able to either ignore it, or make it stop.

There had been more than one time on the factory floor where I'd had to adopt a coworker's smoking habit just to get away from the sheer amount of information I saw when looking out over a bunch of vehicles.

Thankfully, the information dimmed and faded once I wasn't looking at something. It took a while, but it did happen. Which meant I got some relief from the constant pressure that existed when I had been working.

Climbing into the Hilux, I tossed my bag in the passenginer seat, pushed in my key and turned it over, the engine roaring to life with the familiar sound of a powerful engine and making me feel a bit like I was back home.

Reaching across the bench seat, I popped open the glove box. There, just as promised, was a map of the nearby city.

Unfolding the map, I set it beside me and pulled out of the parking lot and onto the dusty roads. It was a couple of hours drive to the city, and the antiques dealer was one of the people living in downtown.

That meant they were well off, or were connected in my experience. People who dealt in antiques seemed to always come in two or three groups. Group one was the people who were just old, and had accumulated a bunch of stuff that they didn't know what to do with. Group two, was the money launderers, and group three were the ones that had a bunch of money and/or connections. Sometimes there was overlap and it wasn't a hard rule, but that had been my experience.

Regardless, I had a pretty good idea of what the $5 bill was worth, and figured I could use that along with what I'd saved up here to buy what I'd found in the Classified Ads. With this newfound headache that I lived with, I figured I might as well use it to my advantage.

---

"I can give you a hundred and twenty thousand Eagles if you want it right now," Varick's antique dealer said, setting a set of inspector's glasses down. "Or, if you're willing to wait a bit, I can probably find someone who'll buy it for closer to three hundred. It's a rare bill, but it's not one with a serial number that makes it more collectable than others."

"How about a hundred and fifty for me then?" I asked. "After all, if you're able to sell it for three on behalf of someone else, you're probably able to find someone who can buy it at two, three times the hundred and fifty thousand."

The antique dealer, a man by the name of Bartholemew Shallows fit all three of the stereotypes I'd affixed in my head related to dealers in art and antiques. He was old and had accumulated a bunch of stuff, he was most definitely a money launderer if the prices around me were anything to go by, and he was politically and monetarily connected to the people who ran the city.

Bartholomew stroked his graying goatee and sighed before agreeing.

"I suppose you're not incorrect," He gestured for me to follow him to a small room in the back. "Now, let me count this out and we'll consider this transaction finalized."

I knew that he was ripping me off. But I didn't really have any other choice at the moment. I just didn't have the funds to do anything like what I wanted to. None of my old startups would be a good idea here, the silicon industry pretty much didn't exist. However, there was an industry that the information plaguing my mind had decided I would be great in.

Manufacturing or repairing everything that was combat related here.

With that in mind, I'd bought a newspaper every day for the last few months. God I wished there was the information infrastructure for a Craigslist equivalent around, but seeing as it didn't, I'd used the classified ads instead.

One month had gone by, no opportunities, then another. Finally, about a week ago, someone listed their place for sale. An old scrapyard by the name of Siler's Salvage. Seems the old owner had passed away, and his grandkids wanted nothing to do with the place.

"Don't spend it all in one place," Bartholomew handed me the paper package with the cash in it. "I threw an extra fifteen thousand in there. Lemme know if you find any other rarities. I'd be willing to buy 'em off of you."

"I'll keep that in mind," I nodded, tucking the cash underneath my jacket and shaking his hand before heading out the door. I had a mission, and one particular location to go to.

---

"You want it, you can have it," Sylvie Siler, the granddaughter of the previous owner scowled, her blond curls framing her young face. "Ma won't let me keep the place, and dad's too busy working to care."

"You wanted to keep it?" I asked. "I can always find somewhere else if this is something you want to keep in your family. Believe me, I wouldn't want anything leaving my family if I were you.'

"Well, Mr. Blaze,"

"Call me Edmund," I said out of habit.

"Well, Edmund. I'd love to, but my folks don't care about places like this," She looked out over the acres of half-destroyed equipment, tanks, 'mechs, old civilian vehicles, just about anything you could imagine was in there. "Gramps used to go to Solaris and bring back the junk from the arenas. He barely turned a profit, but he always swore it'd pay off. Then he died, and none of the rest of them want anything to do with it. So, it falls to me."

The young woman sighed.

"I don't want to sell it, but I can't afford to maintain it either. So, tell me your plan, and I'll tell you whether I'm gonna sell it to you or not."

"Well, Sylvie," I met her eyes. She felt young, but I had to remind myself that twenty-three wasn't really that young. I was just old. "I'm going to take every piece of junk in that scrapyard and I'm going to fix it and sell it," I began painting my vision for the future for her. "Then, I'm going to go to the planetary militia and make an offer. In exchange for an exclusive contract, I'm going to make certain that every single Quikscell product they purchase works as intended. I'll back that with a lifetime warranty. Beyond that," I shrugged. "Who knows. I'll figure things out as they grow from there."

Sylvie just stared beyond me at the piles of waste before the piercing blue and green gaze locked back onto me.

"If you're gonna be working on all of that, you're gonna need an employee or two," she smirked. "How about you purchase half, and we both benefit?"

"On two conditions," I raised a finger. "No board of directors, and no going public."

"I can work with that," She stuck out her hand. "Welcome to Siler's Salvage, Mister Blaze. Let's see what we can get done today."

With a firm shake, we had a deal and she led me into the primary workshop of the salvage yard.

"This here's the main workshop, there's another further back, but I think it got buried a couple of years ago. We've got two 'mech gantries, and three vehicle bays. All of 'em are ripped out of dropships that were sold for scrap according to Gramps. They're not a perfect fit, but they'll do the job. Now, Gramps used to have an organizational system in the beginning. But as he got older, I think he lost his mind a bit. So, things aren't all organized or in one place. Tools were kept properly, as for everything else…" She trailed off.

I stepped out into the yard itself and grimaced. There was the smell of rust in the air, something that smelled similar to antifreeze, and a lot of dust.

"You get used to the smell eventually," Sylvie's face looked a lot like how I imagined mine did. "Anyway, I'm pretty sure the stuff closer to the workshop is what Gramps thought was going to be the easiest to repair."

"You sure about that?" I glanced at a rusted out Demolisher beside us and winced as the information about what was wrong with it filled my brain.

"No," Sylvie admitted. "I'm kinda just hoping he wasn't entirely crazy at the end."

"Well, either way I'm here for it," I chuckled. "So, let's get the paperwork done, and I'll get started. We have some money to make!"

Author's Note: This chapter's a bit shorter because the first two were actually a bit over the commissioned word limit. Also, I renamed the story to something I thought fit better...

 

[Cpetway]

I'm going to watch this with great interest...

 

[MarkWarrior]

Mental Megameklab power set initial thoughts


Pros/cons

Pros:

At a single glance can see what a mech/vehicle/dropship is, who manufactures it, how to make the factories to make the tools to make the factories to manufacture the products.

This includes Lostech and Clantech

Also sees what's wrong with individual products and how to fix/repair them. If it's worth it at all, etc.

Cons:

The brain can only handle so much excess information at once. If he's looking at too many different things, he eventually passes out. Massive migraines, etc.

He can't make things out of nothing, he has to earn the capital, endure the literal headaches, and make everything himself before passing on information to others.

Edmund can pass the information on by drawing out blueprints, etc. but if he tries to do too much, there are risks.

It's similar to the Ancient repository of knowledge, he looks at something and it pops into his Fran. But he pays a price for it.

Essentially. Scrapyard good! Unless he gets overwhelmed and has to spend some days or weeks asleep from mental overload.