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Chapter Text

Frederick Steiner
and the Man Who Knew Too Little

“The greatest and noblest pleasure which we have in this world is to discover new truths, 
and the next is to shake off old prejudices.” - Frederick the Great

Prologue

Curitiba, Summer
Federation of Skye, Lyran Commonwealth
4 May 3005

The hospital garden had been left deserted by both patients and staff, thin rain falling over the capital of Summer and trickling like tears down the floor to ceiling windows of the gallery that encircled the small space.

Hauptmann-Kommandant Frederick Steiner found the weather appropriate and headed for the door, one hand wrapped around a plastic cup of truly terrible coffee. Rain falling into the cup would hardly make the brew any worse and he needed to work off the frustrated energy that was boiling inside him. There weren’t many opportunities for that inside the planet’s largest hospital.

The broad-shouldered blond was about to push the door open so he could stride back and forth across the small garden, when a patient strode past, expression reflecting much the same helpless anger that Frederick felt.

‘One of ours?’ No, he didn’t recognise the face below the bandage circling the head as belonging to any of the Third Royal Guards’ mechwarriors and the crown of the man’s head was bare of the light blond hair visible around the top and bottom of the bandage, usually the mark of a mechwarrior using a second-rate neurohelmet, needing to shave some of their hair off so the sensors of the helmet fit close enough. ‘Militia perhaps?’ The Third Royal Guards’ equipment was better than that – one of the perks of being one of the Lyran Commonwealth’s crack regiments.

The rather paunchy middle-aged man didn’t look like an elite soldier, but he knew that appearances could be deceiving. “Were you wounded in the attack?” Frederick enquired; his voice more grating than he’d intended.

The Draconis Combine Mustered Soldiery had hit Curitiba hard, most of the damage falling upon the estates of the wealthy around Mount Curitiba. Objectively, Frederick knew that hitting the other city districts would have caused vastly more casualties, not something that House Kurita’s commanders generally cared about. Emotionally though… he didn’t know the people in those districts.

The upper crust of Summer’s society included many of his friends. He’d spent a couple of months here before entering Sanglamore for his final year of military education - acclimatizing himself to the society he’d been about to enter. The young cadet he’d been back then had been made particularly welcome by the Lestrades…

Frederick didn’t know what his face showed of his black mood, but the patient stepped back defensively. “Sorry,” the officer grunted. Failure was a bitter pill. The Third had been too late. He had been too late.

The blue eyes looking back at him from below the bandage softened slightly in understanding. “I’d ask if you want to talk about it, but you look more like a do-er than a talker.”

“Ha!” The younger man’s head jerked sharply. “You’re not wrong.”

“Given the weather, I was going to see if the hospital gym had anything for venting frustration. Therapeutic exertion or some such…”

“That… sounds like a good idea.” He didn’t have anything else to do while he waited to hear if the last few Lestrades on Summer made it… or learn that he’d failed them completely. The patient’s hospital gown wouldn’t allow him outside. “Do you know the way?” He sipped from his cup and grimaced at the taste - or lack thereof.

The wounded man shook his head. “No, but I figured I could read the signs.” He rubbed his eyes, the gesture choppy with frustration. “If they weren’t so blurry.”

“Should you be out of bed?”

“No one should be in hospital, but it seems to kind of happen.”

For a moment, Frederick considered insisting the man go back to whatever ward he was in, but if the head injury really meant he shouldn’t move then he’d probably be tied down. Curitiba Royal Infirmary was the best hospital on the planet, meaning they got the worst patients – many of them military. They knew how to keep people from wandering off if medical logic required it. And finding a weight bag or something to pummel sounded good right now. “I think I can help you with that.”

Looking around for the signs he spotted the one for the gym - tagged as requiring the stairs to get to it. “This way.” He swapped the coffee to his left hand and offered his right. “Erick.” It was his usual pseudonym when he didn’t want people to realize they were talking to the Archon’s nephew. Royal rank had its privileges, but it also got in the way of talking to actual people.

“They call me Max.”

When they shook, his hand didn’t have the calluses Frederick would have suspected. “Call you?”

“Ja. Whatever hit my head scrambled something up here.”

Amnesia? It sounded like something that belonged in a holovid, not real life.

‘Max’ - presumably Max Mustermann, the usual placeholder for a corpse that no one had identified yet - must have seen Frederick’s skepticism. “Stupid, isn’t it? I don’t know who I am, and what I do remember suggests I’d have to be a thousand years old and all this…” He gestured at… essentially everything around them… as they entered the stairwell. “Is part of a game. Which… objectively makes no sense, I admit.”

“You belong in a psych ward.” Shit, that was insensitive of him. Frederick could feel his late mother’s fingers pinching his ear.

Fortunately, the older man didn’t take offense. “So I’m told. I gather that once they’re sure there’s nothing physically wrong inside my skull, I’ll have a bed waiting for me in a specialized unit where numerous eminent doctors will write academic papers about me.” He shrugged. “Not appealing, but it’s better than starving on the streets.”

“There is social security,” Frederick pointed out. Not that he had any personal experience of it, but it existed on all the worlds of the Lyran Commonwealth in some form.

Max chuckled. “Assuming I have citizenship, and the speed of bureaucracy hasn’t magically been cured somehow, that should have me housed and on some kind of subsistence within a year, maybe two. How long does it take to starve to death again?”

Did Curitiba have homeless shelters? The Hauptmann-Kommandant had genuinely no idea, but even if the city did, a psych ward was probably preferable.

“Aha!” his companion’s vision was at least good enough to pick out the rather large lettering on the door they were approaching. “The gym!”

“It is.” Frederick pushed the door open and held it politely, in apology to his mother’s soul for the earlier discourtesy to a wounded man. “Let’s see what they have available.”

What passed for a coach here was behind the reception desk and suitably impressed by the Lyran Commonwealth Armed Forces ID card. That unavoidably told the coach that he was dealing with a royal, but he took the finger to Frederick’s lips as the intended instruction to be quiet about that around Max. A few moments later, the two of them were set up with adjacent running machines - Frederick had his uniform tunic hung over the railing and turned his up to a punishing pace.

In front of them, a screen showed scenic views of Mount Curitiba and another pang went through the soldier at the reminder. Ernesto and most of his children dead… Fight, Aldo, fight - at least your father can have saved one of his sons!

To distract himself he asked: “You said it was all like a game inside your head?”

“Ja, like… cardboard cut-out ‘Mechs being pushed around on a paper map.”

“There are games like that.” For children, but Frederick didn’t add those two words.

Max nodded in understanding. “Yes, but things like… the Lyran Commonwealth, the Steiners. I remember them like they’re flavor from the game. Part of a story that develops, and as if I’m at the start but knowing how that story unfolds, who wins and who loses. Something players can tie their games too - so it’s not just their bit of cardboard that won, it was a victory for Archon Katrina or something.”

Frederick snorted. “C… Katrina Steiner isn’t Archon.” He almost slipped and called her his cousin. Then he looked at Max and saw the sober, serious eyes.

“Not in 3005,” the man told him softly, seriously. “But after a year of fleeing Alessandro’s assassins, she will overthrow him and be perhaps the greatest Archon the Commonwealth will ever know.” Then the moment passed, and he shook his head. “Inside my head, at any rate. No offense to her royal… you know, I have no idea what her title is?”

“Leutnant-General,” Frederick said flatly. It didn’t rile him that, a year younger than him, she’d climbed the ranks further and faster. Rile was probably too weak a word. She’d been lucky to have opportunities, while he’d been sidelined after that botched ejection. He rubbed the scar above his right eye. “She’s a serving officer.”

“Ah. My apologies, I understand that one naturally feels strongly about the royal family.”

“It’s fine.” He shook his head. “Really, so what does your head say about the other Steiners? The Archon and the others?” Frederick carefully didn’t name himself.

“Archon Alessandro retires to Furillo after his abdication. He doesn’t really give up on reclaiming his throne until he’s almost dead, then he passes the aspirations to his great-nephew Ryan.”

Frederick blinked. “Do you mean Richard?” Alessandro had only two great-nephews and neither was called Ryan.

Max’s lips quirked. “Ryan Steiner, born this year to Alessandro’s niece Donna. She dies in action when he’s five or six, I think Alessandro becomes his guardian - or a mentor, at least.”

Very nearly stumbling, the young man caught himself and tried to hide how the idea of his little sister dying hit him. And Donna was pregnant. “I’m afraid to ask what your head says about Frederick… or Nondi.” His own name and that of Katrina’s sister.

“I’ll keep that to myself then.”

The military officer grunted in appreciation. “I don’t suppose that your memories tell you if Aldo Lestrade lives? The heir to Summer, he’s in an operating theater upstairs right now.”

“If memory serves, he lives.” Max’s voice was flat. “A cybernetic arm, and inability to sire an heir, but he lives. Too bad.”

“What was that?”

“I hope, very much, that the Aldo you’re talking about is nothing like the one in the… story inside my head.”

“I’m going to have to ask you to explain what you mean by that,” Frederick demanded sharply.

Max looked at him and then dialed his running machine down so that he could stop running. “I’ve never met the real man, you understand.”

He slowed his own device so that he was barely walking. “That’s clear.”

“I’m not trying to slander the real person but, in the story, Aldo Lestrade was definitely a traitor and probably a patricide.”

“Bullshit!”

A shrug. “It’s left ambiguous on the last one - Third Royal Guards autopsy showed that his father died to bullets of the right type for the new duke’s sidearm… but the official record on Summer claimed it was shots from a DCMS laser rifle. Probably neither is actually complete yet so my head’s just wildly throwing conspiracy theories around.”

Frederick nodded. “He’d never do that. Aldo loved his parents.” Loved, not loves. Their faces swam before him for a moment. Dammit, I’m trying not to dwell on that.

“Perhaps so. But in the story, he definitely leaked information to the ISF to enable raids on Skye, led the Free Skye movement in their strategically ludicrous claims that Skye was better off independent, and tried to assassinate Katrina Steiner so that he could place a puppet on the Archon’s throne.”

“I don’t want to hear another word of this!”

Max Mustermann gave him a rueful look. “I don’t want to live it. Fortunately, the entire idea I can predict the future is ludicrous.”

“Damn straight it is.” At least Max was aware of how crazy his words were. Nothing he said could possibly come true.

Except that Katrina could be a pretty good Archon, Frederick’s subconscious whispered. And you don’t know what gender Donna’s child will be, much less what she’ll call the kid…

Chapter Text

Book 1

“Artillery adds dignity to what would otherwise be a vulgar brawl.” - Frederick the Great

Chapter 1

Curitiba, Summer
Federation of Skye, Lyran Commonwealth
13 August 3007

Two years and countless shocks later, Frederick Steiner was back on Summer. He was in transit and shouldn’t really have stopped on the world, but social calls to one’s contacts, patrons and allies were expected of an officer in the Lyran Commonwealth Armed Forces. Too much perhaps, a treacherous part of him agreed with Katrina.

Even a stopped clock can be right twice a day, he thought.

Perhaps the greatest Archon the Commonwealth will ever know, Max’s voice whispered in his mind.

Frederick had never quite forgotten the man. How could he, when he was reminded of his predictions every time Katrina or his infant nephew Ryan so much as came up in conversation? But he’d had little chance to follow up on any of those thoughts. Only recently, with Uncle Alessandro dethroned, had he the opportunity to leave Tharkad and investigate further.

Not that he’d done so personally. The ‘ancient wisdom’ of House Steiner was to hire an expert (and watch them carefully), so he’d sent an HPG message asking a friend on Summer to have a private investigator draw up a detailed profile on Mustermann. He hadn’t gone to Aldo though. Frederick hadn’t seen Ernesto Lestrade’s dead body himself but he had seen the two autopsies… and they’d differed, exactly as the mental patient had predicted.

That… might not be Aldo’s fault. He hated to think the young man was involved. Hated it.

But there was always the whisper about how much Aldo had wanted to be favored over his elder siblings… both of them dead in the attack two years ago. How very much he had wanted it…

Frederick Steiner knew what it was like to be held as second-best, knew the sweetness of being the heir at last when Katrina was gone, and Uncle Alessandro had started to groom him as the next Archon.

And he felt the bitterness of losing that.

When he looked in the mirror and saw the same look he’d seen on young Aldo’s face… that was when his doubts told him that just because he hated the idea, it didn’t make the idea wrong.

The investigator had done a good job, Frederick thought. It was on his lap as he sat in the driver’s seat of the staff-car he’d requisitioned after arriving on Summer and he leafed through it. Medical records. Police records of trying to list him to anyone dead on the planet for fifty years… Max estimated his age as forty-four when he was found by search and rescue in Curitiba. Forty-six now - honestly, the thirty-five year old Frederick had guessed that there was more than one decade between their ages. The social security applications to provide him a legal identity. Citizenship applications - denied. He had resident status, a menial job and was apparently scraping together some savings. Frederick winced at the sight of the weekly income - he’d spent more than that on a single meal (admittedly, when covering for several guests).

There was a more recent photo - Max had lost weight and grown a beard. The lack of hair up top was male-pattern baldness, not the result of a razor. No evidence of trying to hide it with a comb-over or similar, although the rest of his hair was long enough.

Frederick checked his watch and then glanced at his wing mirror. He’d parked on Max’s route home from work, and he was reportedly about as regular as a metronome. This time, unlike the last two occasions, he saw the object of his interest approaching with a small bag of groceries in one hand. Lowering the passenger window on his car, Frederick closed the folder, turned on the inside light and waited until the man was level with it.

“Mustermann.”

The older man paused and then stooped to look into the groundcar. “Can I… oh, you’re that soldier? Erick?”

Frederick nodded and put the folder into the back seat. “Get in. We need to talk.”

“...I’m in the shit, aren’t I?” Max said in a resigned voice. But he obediently opened the door and climbed into the passenger seat.

“That remains to be seen.” He looked at the groceries and frowned. Cheap. What he could see of them looked cheap and frankly unappetizing. “You’re going to eat that?”

“I was going to cook them first.”

“I will buy you dinner.” It sounded like he was pitying the older man, and Frederick feared for a moment he would take offense.

However, Max simply looked at him for a moment and then shrugged. “Okay. Kind of random for you to turn up and offer me dinner, but what the hell.”

Frederick put the car into gear and pulled away. He was actually getting hungry himself, now that he thought about it. “I’d rather talk privately though, so it’ll be a takeaway. You know any?”

“I don’t make a habit of it - they’re more expensive than cooking for myself.”

“You’re not that poor.”

Max’s eyes flicked back towards the folder. “I’m saving what I can.”

“What for?”

“To move somewhere I can get a better job. If I’m bringing enough to be charged income tax and keep that up for five years, I qualify for citizenship.”

“There aren’t any jobs in Curitiba?” Frederick asked in surprise. It was the planetary capital.

“Tax brackets are lower elsewhere, as are the costs of living. And I don’t have the skill set for anything much around here.”

Frederick nodded in understanding. He saw the lights of some shops and slowed, pulling over when he saw that among them were takeaways. “Fish and chips?”

“Fine.”

Parked, Frederick opened his wallet and passed Max twenty kroner. “Get me a fish and fries, plus whatever you want. My face is a little too well known.” And now that he thought about it, military fatigues would probably leave him standing out.

Max frowned at the note and then accepted it. He left the groceries behind him, and Frederick moved them to the backseat while he waited. The frozen pizza sticking out looked about as edible as a plate. Pulling it out, he noticed the price was only twenty pfennigs. He couldn’t remember ever having bought anything that cheap. Shaking his head, he put it back in the bag.

The smell of hot, fried potato and battered fish healed the damage to his appetite and Max sat down and put two of the paper-wrapped meals on the dashboard and then opened the third.

“Three?” Frederick asked curiously.

“I am abusing your generosity,” Max told him cheerfully and offered him the change - fifteen kroner in notes and a handful of coins as well. “And we might want seconds.”

“Keep it.” Frederick pulled out into the traffic. “In the interests of honesty, Erick is only part of my name.”

“I assumed as much. Most people have a family name.”

“Frederick Steiner.”

“...”

Glancing sideways, he saw Max’s jaw was slack. The other man recovered before any of the fries he’d been chewing fell out, fortunately. “I see. Kind of glad you decided against asking about yourself back then. You almost smacked me as it was.”

“I did not.”

“I said almost.”

“You said my sister was - is - going to die. In three or four years.”

“That is fair,” Max admitted as the car pulled up outside the small house he rented the ground floor of. The owner lived upstairs, supplementing her own meagre income with Max’s rent and – judging by the smell - some borderline legal intoxicants grown in the garden. 

Once inside, they resumed eating the fish and chips at the small table. At least here there was something Frederick could adjust to - company-grade officer’s base quarters weren’t really larger, and if the room’s decoration was poor, it was also tidy and clean. Half the table had been stacked with notebooks that Max had moved aside onto his bed before they ate - they were clearly organized.

“You know,” he asked Max, “That a lot of what you predicted has happened.”

“I don’t follow the news a lot, but even I can’t miss a change of Archon.”

“And I checked both the autopsies of Ernesto Lestrade.”

Max put his fork down. “Before we go further, let me point out that slandering the duke of the world I live on would be… problematic for me.”

“Legally?”

“If a couple of Free Skye yobs decide I’m ‘too Germanic’ and ‘accidentally’ beat me to death, they’ll get a few years of three warm meals and a bed. I, on the other hand, will be dead. The stakes are a bit higher for me than for them.”

Frederick frowned. “Do you think that’s really likely?”

“I don’t know. I don’t fit in here, not very well. And slums like this don’t really welcome outsiders. I doubt I’m of interest to anyone important, but for that reason I’d be easily silenced if I did come to the interest of someone with influence. My point is,” he continued, words coming out faster and faster, “I’m not refusing to talk, but I want you to understand that depending on what you do with what I say… you’re a Steiner. That doesn’t make you safe, but it still means you’re safer than I am.”

“...I’m beginning to believe that you’re really not from around here. If you help me,” Frederick explained, “You’re one of my people. Which doesn’t make you perfectly safe, but it does mean I am obligated to consider your safety.”

The older man eyed him and then shrugged. “The thing about unspoken accords is sometimes you don’t realize that you don’t actually have an accord.”

Frederick grunted. “Alright. I acknowledge that you’re taking a risk. As am I. Did what you remember include Archon Margaret Olsen?”

Max smiled. “Ja. It did. And I take your point, as a Steiner who is consulting a… call me a soothsayer… you would lose any political credibility.”

The soldier sat back slightly, happy that he was understood. The seventh Archon of the Lyran Commonwealth had been a Steiner only by marriage and she had also been obsessed with the supernatural. Some of her decisions had been based on divination, others were fed to her by self-proclaimed mystics acting for powerful men and women at her court. Many of them had been poor decisions, and just over five hundred years on, the repercussions of the civil war fought to unseat her were still unfolding. Aldo Lestrade, for example, was directly descended from a Lestrade who had supported Robert Steiner in overthrowing Margaret Olsen.

“Alright.” Max put some of the fish into his mouth, chewed and swallowed. “What do you want to know?”

“Tell me how my sister dies.” He felt his fists clench at the thought of Donna dying.

The other man’s blue eyes met his. “What I know is that she was with Winfield’s Brigade… sorry, it would be the Winfield Guards at the time.”

Frederick nodded in understanding. Two elite regiments of raiders, formed by his uncle. “She wasn’t assigned to them before she took medical leave, but I could see her getting a post with a more prestigious unit. She’s a hell of a pilot.”

“Huh. I honestly didn’t know she was a pilot,” Max admitted. “The entry on her said she was part of their second battalion.”

“Aerospace lances are notionally attached to ‘Mech companies. It’s supposed to improve co-operation.” He let his tone say what he felt about how that worked in the field, but it did help with logistics since that was the ratio of fighter bays to ‘Mech bays in most dropships.

“I see. They were fighting on Sevren in 3011. As I understand it. There was an intelligence failure and the Second Winfield Guards regiment got mouse-trapped - encircled by heavier ‘Mechs with tank support, bombed by aerospace fighters. The DCMS cut them apart - the first regiment was hit hard as well. The Guards pulled off-world with only two battalions of ‘Mechs, which is when they were reorganized into Winfield’s Brigade.”

“We lost Sevren?” Frederick asked, aghast. The world didn’t matter for itself but it was one of only two secure jump-routes to Tamar, which was intensely important. The Draconis Combine had slowly pushed the border between the Lyran Commonwealth back over the course of the Succession Wars, despite occasional reverses. The capital of the Tamar Pact, one of the three interstellar realms that had merged to form the Commonwealth, would be a political nightmare to lose. “I thought you said Katrina was one of the greatest Archon’s in history.”

“That doesn’t mean she had a perfect record. Sevren was retaken in 3024. Six years later, the Lyran Commonwealth controlled Radstadt and Utrecht.”

Frederick actually had to think for a moment before he could place those worlds. Then his eyebrows rose. “That’s impressive.” The two worlds had been border worlds in the days of the Star League - and on the Draconian side of that border. These days they were fairly deep inside the Combine. “Hard to believe, but impressive.”

“Your cousin had three major accomplishments in her reign - to simplify what’s probably a much more detailed account than I know. She reformed the LCAF to the point that it could defeat the DCMS on a grand scale. She forged a close alliance with the Federated Suns…”

“It was a two front war?” That made the accomplishment - well, not unimpressive. But even so, more believable.

Max shook his head. “The AFFC was primarily fighting the Capellans. Operation Gotterdammerung was a Lyran victory.” He paused. “You were part of it, but not a large part. She couldn’t trust you.”

No question who ‘she’ was. Or why. Frederick bared his teeth. “I take it that pushing the border back was the third victory.”

Max nodded.

“So she reigned twenty years, at least.”

“Katrina Steiner abdicated in early 3039 and died around a year later - cancer.”

Frederick paused. That… it wasn’t like hearing that Donna would die… but it wasn’t as easy to accept Katrina’s death as he’d supposed it would be. “With your help I could…” He trailed off. Max clearly admired Katrina.

The older man chewed on a fry, waiting.

I could do better. I have his foreknowledge, however he got it. It would be hard to hide, people might think I was another Olsen. But if she could do it, I could. I could crush the Combine, make the Commonwealth strong again.

“I never became Archon, in the future you read about?”

Max shook his head. “Nope. There were two attempts I know to make you Archon. In 3029, Aldo Lestrade tried to assassinate Katrina Steiner. In 3052, ComStar’s Primus tried to overthrow her daughter. Both of them wanted you to be their puppet ruler.”

The taste in his mouth was disgust. “I could take the throne with an army! I wouldn’t use an assassin!”

“You weren’t consulted.” The older man shrugged. “But since you had been very much in Aldo’s pocket, the first attempt was the last straw for Katrina. You accepted the chance to attack a DCMS stockpile that was fueling a counterattack on the Isle of Skye - and when your command was cornered you exchanged yourself for their escape. Officially, Colonel Frederick Steiner was executed by General Theodore Kurita the same day.”

“I was still a colonel!” After more than twenty years this would be the last promotion he had?!

“Why would she have entrusted someone openly seeking to usurp her with more power?” asked Max.

Frederick had no answer for that.

“You weren’t actually killed - Theodore changed his mind at the last second, or so he claimed. Maybe he botched the shot. You took a bullet to the head, destroying your right eye. A few years later, ComStar had something he wanted; and they needed an experienced military officer, so he handed you over to the Primus.”

“What did ComStar want a soldier for?”

“They were building up an army of their own. And, to give you full credit, as the head of the ComGuards, you proved yourself a military commander of the first rank. With a new name and a new face, you commanded - and won - the largest battle since the Liberation of Terra. And when Primus Myndo Waterly offered you the Archon’s throne, you shot her.” Max put his cutlery down. “You outlived your cousin by more than forty years, your legacy was… complicated, but perhaps larger than hers. But no, you never became Archon.”

“I could be Archon.”

The other man said nothing, just picked up his cutlery and started eating again.

“I could!” He sounded plaintive, even to his own ears.

“I’m not disagreeing.”

“But you wouldn’t help me,” Frederick accused.

Max sighed. “To quote - probably not word for word - a book that may not even exist in this universe… Lots of people covet the Emperor’s throne. How many covet his desk?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Do you want to spend the rest of your life - and you could live another seventy years, you were over a hundred when you died in that history - on Tharkad. Arguing with the Estates-General. Sweet-talking nobles and businessmen. Negotiating, compromising. Drowning in ink and paper?” The older man shook his head. “Look me in the eye and tell me that that’s who you want to be.”

Frederick hesitated. “That’s not…”

The man across the table from him sat and ate. Waiting.

Irritated, the younger man jabbed his fork into the fish and cut a large section of it away, stuffing his face with it. He thought as he chewed.

“Maybe… maybe you have a point,” Frederick admitted grudgingly after he’d swallowed. “I’ll think about it.”

“I’m more than happy to try to find a way to save your sister,” Max offered in a conciliatory manner. “And I can certainly think of some opportunities that would benefit House Steiner and the Lyran Commonwealth, if you can exploit them.”

Frederick lifted his water glass and extended it over the table. Max clinked his own against it.

“I’ll appoint you as my secretary,” the colonel offered. “As a noble, I’m allowed a civilian staff even in my military duties. I don’t really admire the rule, but I can use it. It pays, and it’ll get you off Summer.”

“Sounds good to me.” The balding man sipped from his glass. “So your sister… what does she fly?”

“Lucifer.”

Max began coughing violently, almost dropping his glass.

“What?”

“That fucking deathtrap? No wonder she died!” the man exclaimed between coughs, red-faced. He hammered his hand against his chest. “Lockheed/CBM haven’t put an ejection seat on it after five hundred years of operational history, which makes them mass-murderers in my book.”

Frederick rubbed the scar over his right eye. “She said you just have to be good enough not to need it.” Which sounded stupid even to him, but he wasn’t an aerospace pilot.

Wyatt City, Wyatt
Federation of Skye, Lyran Commonwealth
21 September 3007

Max Mustermann - he was deeply annoyed that his real name was among the things he did not remember from before whatever had happened on Summer two years ago - had come across a number of things he disliked about the 31st century. Skye Basketball wasn’t the highest on the list, but it was on that list.

“You just don’t like losing,” Frederick chuckled from behind his desk, looking disgustingly happy about yesterday’s match.

At least I’m amusing, the civilian thought as he shot his superior a dire look and shuffled over to the desk where he worked. His everything hurt right now. It would probably help him keep weight off, and not participating in the regiment’s sporting events would have cemented him as an outsider but playing a mutant mix of boxing and basketball the previous day was a painful experience right now.

The military base that the Seventh Lyran Regulars were assigned was new to them, but by no means new. Stationed for decades on Loric, at the far end of the border of the Free Worlds League, they’d been redeployed for an indefinite period to show that the Archon was not ignoring Skye’s security concerns. The move hadn’t done much for morale, and the loss of their colonel to a financial audit hadn’t helped much.

As the new colonel, Frederick wanted to give the troops something else to think about - as well as instill a spirit of aggression in them. That was what he’d explained to the officers in the meetings Max had sat in on, anyway.

The sporting gear to get every mechwarrior, most of the techs and a smattering of other supporting personnel kitted out to play had been paid for out of Frederick’s pocket. Max knew that, because keeping track of his employer’s personal finances was now part of his job.

Just Frederick’s personal finances, thank god, he thought as he checked the numbers on receipts stacked at the desk. Both the finances of his corporate holdings, his income from the Steiner family’s collective trust funds or - worst of all - the ducal revenue of Duran were handled by other people on other planets. Being the personal secretary of the man who reigned over an entire planet was not an easy job, particularly when you had few of the experiences typically asked for on adverts for positions at this level. Max typed up a summary and batched it with the other documents to be forwarded to the Wyatt HPG station for low priority transmission back to Frederick’s accountants.

It had taken him about twenty minutes to get that done but when he looked up, Frederick’s mood had shifted. “Is something wrong?”

“The Quartermaster Corps have redirected the shipment of replacement ‘Mechs we were supposed to get,” the younger man snarled. “They’re apparently needed more urgently elsewhere.”

Max paused in thought. “We’re a company and a half under-strength, aren’t we?”

“Ninety active ‘Mechs once my Zeus is counted,” agreed Frederick bitterly. “What do they want me to do, disband a battalion and pretend we’re Capellans?!”

Leaning back in his chair, Max contemplated the ceiling for a moment. “And if we had those ‘Mechs, we have the Mechwarriors for them?”

“Finding dispossessed Mechwarriors isn’t a problem at the best of times.”

“I figured, but the only stupid question is one that you don’t ask.”

Frederick nodded. “True. Trust me though, I could add enough ‘Mechs to the roster to bring us to full strength plus battalion command lances and a regimental command company and we still wouldn’t be close to hurting for qualified mechwarriors. Why? Do you know of a tree that ‘Mechs grow on?”

“No… but I might know a hole where some are buried.” Max rubbed at his eyes. He could remember words well enough, but images were harder - and right now he needed a map. “Do you have a map of the old Terran Hegemony around?”

“It’s not the kind of thing I keep on my desk but I can probably get one.” Frederick stood up and walked over. “Are you talking about a Star League cache?”

“No… I might be able find one of those but not conveniently nearby,” Max admitted. “But I think we’re within a jump or two of something a bit older. About sixty years from now, an expedition hired by… a Kurita? Ja, Uncle Chandy.”

“Chandy? Really?”

“Chandrasekhar Kurita - he’s just a boy right now, but he was one of the sharpest minds they produced this century. But anyway, they dug up a Terran Hegemony militia base on a world depopulated by the Mariks during the First Succession War. The militia itself had been destroyed twice over, first fighting Amaris and then the Mariks and their active equipment was gone. But there was a sealed boneyard dating back to just before the Star League, where they’d retired equipment that was considered too old to use.”

“But what the Star League considered obsolete might be comparable to what we can build today,” Frederick exclaimed. “That’s brilliant!”

“I don’t know what the condition is,” warned Max. “This could be first generation ‘Mechs, even more primitive that what you’re used to - and it’s unlikely they’re ready for immediate use. But…”

“Better than no ‘Mechs at all!” the colonel exclaimed. “What world is this?”

“New Dallas.”

He watched as Frederick frowned and walked to a filing cabinet that Max didn’t have security clearance to open. “I don’t know it. Depopulated, you said?”

“Ja - the terraforming broke down and there was a nuclear bombardment. ComStar had some sort of outpost there at one point - digging out the dead cities was a punishment detail, I think. It’s hot in the literal sense, but I’m not sure how much radiation would be a problem after more than two centuries. “

“Not so much, depending on what was used. And, as you say, it was - would have been - explored sixty years from now?”

Max nodded. “It’s not something I’ve ever had to consider before.”

Frederick snorted. “But you can find it.”

“Again, I’ve never tried. If my information is correct, then perhaps. Maps and information about New Dallas would be useful, but how to get that without tipping people off that it’s of interest is new to us.”

“That’s easy enough.” Frederick opened a drawer and started thumbing through the folders inside. “Aha, here it is.” He removed one, locked the cabinet conscientiously and then brought the folder to his desk. “Raiding is within my authority and knowing uninhabited systems that can be used to hit worlds is useful for that. And if we might need to set down somewhere, it helps to know the options.”

Max pushed his chair back and stood, wincing as his legs reminded him of yesterday’s abuse. “Is it classified?”

“Somewhat. No one will know if I show you something from it… Here, New Dallas.”

Accepting the one sheet map, Max examined it. Yes, this looked familiar. Three continents, two connected by an isthmus, one of those with an inland sea at its heart. “This is the world I’m thinking of,” he confirmed. “Most of the major cities were here.” He tapped the lake, then moved his finger across the map. “And the militia base in question was here: Caddo City. The boneyard was an underground bunker - the entire city was subterranean at first, before the planet was fully terraformed.”

“A militia base should be easy enough to recognise. Military infrastructure is fairly recognisable.”

Max nodded. “I think the entrance was built over by… a barracks. And I don’t want to get you too excited, but the other major find in it was a Hegemony intelligence datacore. Specifically, one they used as a back-up for their files on foreign development on early BattleMechs. The data led to a number of companies redeveloping earlier designs that were within their reach. I don’t know if the core alone would be enough for that, but…”

“Why didn’t you mention this first?!”

“You’ve been a little busy setting up the basketball games and settling in,” the older man replied reasonably. “And mostly we’ve been talking about what you can expect in the next ten years or so - anything after that was subject to change.” And I’m not telling you about the Helm Cache until I have a better idea if I can trust you, Frederick. Getting me off Summer is fine, but I don’t think you’ve given up on replacing Katrina yet. That wouldn’t just invalidate my foreknowledge, it might leave someone like Aldo Lestrade pulling your strings. He’s not the only schemer around.

Chapter Text

Chapter 2

Caddo City, New Dallas
Free Worlds League
8 November 3007

Max, Frederick had noted, did not like jump-travel. Or travel at all. He didn’t say anything about it, but he tensed up if someone even drove at speeds he considered ‘too fast’. Dropships taking off and landing had him white-knuckled, and actual jumps made him so nervous that out of simple sympathy, the more experienced traveler had offered him a sedative usually reserved for those with Transit Disorientation Syndrome. The older man had declined though, stating that he didn’t like to medicate for anything that didn’t actually require that.

On a scale between comfort and jumpships, the cooling vest and rad-suits being worn for the salvage work were about a three out of ten in Fredrick’s estimation of his new secretary’s discomfort.

However, the Geiger counters made it clear that rad-suits were needed for the men on the ground. The residual radiation was worse than Frederick had expected - probably evidence of the Mariks using particularly dirty nukes. In hindsight, that probably shouldn’t have surprised him. The Captain-General during the early First Succession War had been easily offended, he’d probably taken New Dallas’ refusal to accept the questionable benefits of joining the Free Worlds League the way a debutante took being turned down for a dance.

Being more used to the cooling vest part of the precautions, Frederick himself was having a better time than Max as they entered the vault that had been uncovered in the ruins.

The barracks building had survived the centuries fairly well - unlike much of the above-ground city it had been built to SLDF specifications, meaning that the years hadn’t done much to wear them down. That hadn’t been enough to save the inhabitants from the shockwaves or heat of a nuclear detonation, but it at least made it stand out among the other ruins.

Clearing it had required careful work by the company of combat engineers Frederick had recruited for the raid, supported by the Seventh Lyran Regulars BattleMechs, with their ability to move tons of debris with comparative ease. He’d brought four companies, leaving all of Second Battalion and a company each of the other two battalions in order to present a threadbare pretense that the Regulars were still on Wyatt.

Even SAFE - the Free Worlds League’ intelligence service - would have seen through that, but having deduced that half the regiment was missing, he figured they’d probably be too proud of that discovery to do more than warn inhabited worlds in raiding range that they might encounter the Seventh.

Forty ‘Mechs, working in shifts, could do an astounding amount of work and thus, not only was the ramp leading down into the old bunkers now cleared, there was also a wide roadway from the entrance to their dropships. That would make carting away the contents relatively easy.

“What are we looking at?” asked Max, looking at the shadowy shapes lying in the first cavernous vault.

It wasn’t a ‘Mech hangar - the ceiling was too low - but Frederick could decipher and order to what he was seeing. “I believe that’s an early-model Orion,” he answered, pointing at one of the dust-covered machines. Then he gestured to others behind it. “Several of them. And there must be other chambers beyond.”

“There are, sir.” Captain Timothy Hickson of Charlie Company saluted as he approached. Frederick had drawn lots among the company commanders for who got first shot at exploring the contents and Hickson was the lucky devil. “Would you like the good news or the bad news?”

Max snorted slightly but Fredrick shook his head. “Bad first.”

“There’s more than we can take with us,” the slightly younger officer reported. “Which as bad news isn’t that bad, but it’s going to break some of the lads’ hearts.”

“That much?” Frederick exclaimed.

“‘Mechs, as you can see. Tanks. Artillery. Some aircraft… although, honestly, I don’t think those are serviceable.” Hickson shrugged. “Small arms, spare armor plating… we only have three dropships so there are some hard limits.”

“Well, that’s a Star League problem.” Frederick felt his lips curl into a smile, and he lightly smacked Hickson on the shoulder. “As long as no one knows we’ve been here, we can load up the best of it now and then arrange a follow-up expedition for the rest.”

He’d only been able to arrange a single jumpship for the ‘raid’, so he’d brought a pair of Overlord-class dropships which were significantly underloaded with four companies of ‘Mechs and two squadrons of aerospace fighters, plus a Mule freighter for what they hoped to find. That was thousands of tons of lift capacity… he tried to rub his forehead and wound up patting the top of his rad-suit. “Can you give me an idea of the quantities involved?”

“I saw some kind of heavy tank - looked a bit like a Von Luckner - a couple of vaults further in,” Hickson told him. “There has to be full regiment of them down here.”

“A regiment!” Frederick exclaimed. He hadn’t cross-trained to serve with conventional troops like Katrina, but that didn’t make him the sort of fool that ignored their potential. A regiment of heavy tanks was a significant presence on the battlefield - and that alone could fill up the hold of the Mule.

Max took a deep breath. “Might be early-mark Merkavas,” he guessed. “They were the Hegemony’s preferred heavy tank right up until the Star League - Mark VII and VIII were fusion powered, it could be these are earlier models with diesel engines.”

Hickson shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m pretty sure there’s some LTV-4s as well, why anyone would retire them I don’t know but that’s what they looked like. And then there’s the ‘Mechs.”

“I saw the Orion over there,” Frederick agreed, stepping aside as a work crew went by them, clearing the roadway for the flatbeds to come in and recover contents. I might have to leave the trucks behind, he thought. We can replace those, and the equivalent tonnage of parts could be worth a fortune. “How many ‘Mechs are we looking at?”

“I’m not sure,” the captain admitted. “Several companies worth. There’s not a lot of variety - but Archers, Orions, Rifleman… and about half the ‘Mechs seem to be Mackies. I can’t help but think that those belong in a museum. I didn’t think there were any left.”

“We might donate one to a museum if we can’t fix it up,” Frederick told him. “But for now, we need to catalog what we have here - search thoroughly for anything that might be hidden - and figure out what to take. We can’t carry an entire regiment of ‘Mechs unless we start discarding our own…”

“Take off the armor,” suggested Max quietly.

“What?”

“They’re not operational,” his secretary pointed out. “And the Commonwealth can make armor without any difficulty. First generation ‘Mech armor was heavier than current standard plating, so it might as well be left behind. It’s just taking up tonnage and volume, plus the techs would need to remove it to make sure they’re fit for use. This way that can be replaced by fresh, modern armor that’s just as good - a heavy ‘Mech could save several tons with that.”

Hickson chuckled. “I guess we don’t need the armor from here either then?”

Max shrugged. “Check it. But with more than we can carry, that’s something we can set aside for later at the least.”

“Taking armor off a ‘Mech without wrecking it will take up technician-hours,” Frederick told him. “It’s all very well if we have the time but we can’t stay here indefinitely. If nothing else, we only have the food and other supplies for a couple of months.”

He looked around, hands on his hips. “We’ll get one ‘Mech of each model we found here back to the ‘Mech bays of our dropships and see if the techs can get the plating stripped quickly. If so, it could get us ten to fifteen percent more lift capacity. It’ll also give us a chance to see what we’re getting. No offense, Max, but if the armor’s that bad then the rest may also be barely worthwhile.”

“At least the LTV-4s will be fine,” Hickson offered reassuringly to the civilian. “We’re still using them today, so it’s just a matter of getting them loaded.”

“That’ll be second after the sample ‘Mechs,” decided Frederick. “By that point we should have enough of an inventory going. Your company can have the rest of the day to explore, Tim. But I will want a detailed map and report at the end of that.”

Max walked over to the Orion and tapped it with one gloved hand.

Watching him, Hickson lowered his voice. “Was he the source on where to find this?”

Frederick narrowed his eyes. He didn’t want stupid subordinates, but at the same time… “He had some of the information, I had some. We put it together.”

The captain’s grin was visible through his visor. “I thought he didn’t seem to be the normal staff a… senior officer brings around. But getting a lostech prospector into the mission under that cover makes more sense.”

“He’s actually working out as a secretary as well,” Frederick told the captain. Max had considerably more patience when dealing with some of Wyatt’s nobility than he did. A rather substantial number of that group had realized suddenly that they had a highly placed member of House Steiner on-hand who wasn’t married and there had been a ridiculous number of invitations before he managed to get the raid away. “Anyway, get on Hickson. You’ve got to be more interested in what else we find here than in my personal staff.”

The captain saluted again and strode off into the darkness, his hand-torch flashing over all sorts of interesting shapes as he went.

Frederick watched him for a moment and then turned to look at Max. “Ha-” He was cut off as his comm pinged urgently for attention - the tone that meant ‘no, really, this is an actual emergency’.

Reflexively, the young colonel reached for the device - currently inside his rad-suit - and managed to press the receive key. “This is Colonel Steiner.”

“Sir.” The voice wasn’t familiar yet. “Captain Moffat needs to speak to you. Captain?”

Moffat was in command of the Overlord-class dropship Shield of Skye, Frederick’s command vessel for the raid. His voice, at least, was identifiable. He, like his ship, was from the Isle of Skye, the heartlands of the pre-Lyran Federation of Skye.

“Colonel,” Moffat reported. “We’ve had an alert from the observation satellite that we left in orbit. Multiple jump-signatures at the Nadir jump point.”

“Damn!” Frederick exclaimed. That was lousy luck - this was a dead world, who would be visiting. “Well at least it’s the Nadir jump point - they might not realize we’re here.” Their own jumpship was waiting at the Zenith jump point, meaning that New Dallas’ star was between the new arrivals and them.

“I’m sorry, Colonel.” Moffat’s voice was apologetic. “There are also dropship plumes visible. A flotilla is headed in-system and there isn’t really any other planet they could be heading for.”

“...I see.” It was unlikely to be a coincidence, Frederick concluded. But almost no one had known that this was their destination. “Very well. Radio silence then - let our jumpship know by tight-beam, and we can use low power transmissions for now without worrying about them being picked up in the outer star system. I assume they’re under normal thrust.”

“I don’t see anything to say otherwise, Colonel. So they’re likely to arrive in only four days - at best.”

Which meant three days to load everything that was possible, Frederick concluded. “Understood, we both have preparations to make. Get everyone up and working, we’ll be eight on and four off for the next forty-eight hours.” By that time, they’d know if whoever was arriving had enough strength that the Regulars would be better off escaping, or if they could hold their ground while more was taken onto the dropships.

Cutting the channel, he strode over to Max - who had turned already, overhearing some of the conversation. “We have a problem.”

Max waited as he outlined the situation and then scowled. “ComStar.”

“ComStar?” They were neutral - or at least had to pretend to be. Taking a side here was something that seemed unlikely to Frederick. What would they gain at the cost of endangering their status? He said as much.

The older man shook his head. “They know we’re here for a reason, and they know it’s appealing enough for a member of House Steiner to come here personally. Besides, who else would know where we are? You, me, the jumpship captain and navigator were the only four people who knew before we left the Wyatt system. But the ComStar outpost here might have its own HPG, in which case they could have passed the word.”

It still seemed a little far-fetched to Frederick, but Max had had a lot to say about ComStar during their quiet conversations about the possible future. And at the end of the day, the chances that whoever was arriving was friendly was negligible.

“Either way, it looks as if we’ll have to fight for this. I need to get ready - see if you can find the core that you talked about. That, if nothing else, we cannot afford to fall into the wrong hands.”

Caddo City, New Dallas
Free Worlds League
12 November 3007

Major Azi Ochombo wasn’t privy to whatever intelligence had brought the Twenty-Fifth Marik Militia to this sweltering wreck of a world, but for once it seemed to have been accurate. The distinctive shapes of three dropships were visible in what had clearly once been a thriving city and their markings were those of the Lyran Commonwealth.

“Positive identification,” he reported diligently to his commander, back at their own landing zone. “Two LCAF Overlords and a single Mule.”

“Graverobbers,” Colonel Yusagi pronounced solemnly. “The Lyrans have no respect for the sanctity of the dead.”

Azi refrained from pointing out that it was their own nation that had killed the people of this world. It had been a long time ago, and the current Captain-General would not have approved such excesses. “We have no sign of their aerospace fighters,” he said instead. “They could easily have two squadrons available.”

That would leave the Lyran fighters outnumbered two to three, much like their ‘Mech strength. And the flagship of the Twenty-Fifth’s dropship force was the mighty Excalibur-class vessel Retribution, which had brought a cavalry regiment along - two tank battalions and a third made up of mechanized infantry. While the infantry would be in a poor state if they had to fight here - the radiation wouldn’t be immediately deadly but it would cause long-term issues and the men knew it - the tanks would give the Militia a substantial edge in firepower.

He could almost imagine Yusagi shaking her head. “Azi, once they launch the fighters they’ll need to bring them back aboard the Overlord with cranes - you can’t land them in the launch bays while you’re in a gravity well. They weren’t going to launch when it would draw our attention. If their commander was a fool, he’d do so now - to try to bounce you before our own fighters could intercept, but he’s more likely to keep them in reserve to use when he must - probably to escort them on take-off.”

Bringing his Hermes II up behind what had once been a church of some kind, Azi let just the sensor fins around the ‘Mech’s head poke up and over. “There’s a lot of heat and metal out there,” he concluded. “They may be spooling up the drives to take off.”

Yusagi made a disappointed noise. “A very competent Steiner. Unfortunate - if he stood to fight for whatever they came for, we could have torn half a regiment apart in an afternoon. But at least this way we can secure whatever they found for the Free Worlds League. Move your ‘Mechs forward - Second and Third Battalions will focus in once you have their exact location.”

If the Lyrans were really pulling out, Ochombo wouldn’t be surprised if they left booby traps, but that just meant that the Colonel was right - the sooner he got on site, the less time they had to do that.

“This is Arcane-Actual,” he ordered on the battalion net. “We’re the point of the spear. Move in and find them. If you’re taking fire, take cover and report in. Fire support lances, be ready to hunker down and use your LRMs.”

Purple-painted ‘Mechs moved through the ruins - most of them fast mediums. Ochombo kept his Hermes II with the center of the line, flanked by a Phoenix Hawk and a Cicada. Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see three Trebuchets and a Dervish moving up behind them - the fire support lance for A Company. The four ‘Mechs could put a lot of LRMs into the air, but rough terrain like this might favor larger and heavier designs - which was very much the Lyran style of warfare.

They crossed the center of the city without incident and Ochombo checked the map - a hastily compiled one printed off on the dropship after they were diverted to deal with this incursion. He didn’t know who’d reported the presence of Lyran ‘Mechs here but it was probably a lostech scavenger who’d been scared off. That would explain Colonel Yusagi having lostech on her mind. More likely the Lyrans were building a supply base for raids deeper inside the Free Worlds League. The FWLM had raided deep inside the Lyran Commonwealth while Alessandro Steiner focused his regiments on the border - it made sense that his successor would want to repay that.

“Reactors powering up!” The report was shouted over the battalion net. “Grid Delta Four - ambush!”

It was the left flank - Ochombo turned automatically in that direction. “Spot for the missiles,” he called. “Diabolist-Actual, we have contact on our left flank.”

“Understood.” Andrew Merrick - not Marik, as he was careful to point out - was new to command of Second Battalion, but he’d got plenty of command experience. “We’re moving up to support you.”

First Battalion’s commander checked his map. Still no solid targets being reported. “Pull out of Grid Delta Four,” he ordered. “Fire support, put some fire into that grid. Let’s flush them out.”

Long-Range Missiles erupted from the ‘Mechs behind Ochombo, arching up over the long devastated city. The dropships seemed to be in or near an old planetary militia base. It made sense - there was open space for the three dropships to land.

Explosions shook the buildings in Grid Delta-Four, but they sounded like the LRMs hitting stone and concrete. Even at this distance the difference between that and hitting ‘Mechs was significant.

“Colonel, can you swing the armor around the left flank, envelop the militia base from the west?” he requested. “The highway should be clear enough for them.”

“I’m way ahead of you, Major,” Yusagi reported. “They’re rolling up on your flank right now.”

There was something to her using her command company to defend the dropships, Ochombo conceded. It left her out of the action with freedom to look at the big picture.

“Arcane-Actual to Arcane-Blood-Conjurer,” he alerted all three companies under his command. “Pivot and envelop the enemy in Delta-Four from our left.”

The shift left disordered the thirty-six ‘Mechs even more than the streets had already, but they were moving the right way when two more reports came in.

“Artillery fire!”

“Gamma-Three, ‘Mechs moving!”

“Guru-Actual -!” Ochombo was just beginning to call in the two companies of the Third Battalion (the third was Yusagi’s command company, on guard at their landing zone) to hit this new concentration of Lyrans when he was drowned out by a barrage of explosions smashing into the streets that Andrew Merrick’s battalion was entering. Buildings blew apart - fortunately nothing left was tall enough to come down on the ‘Mechs, but the debris added to the shrapnel from the shells.

“Arcane-Blood-Conjurer, push through!” he snarled instead, switching back and forth between radio channels. “Guru-Actual, you’ll need to be our hinge. Colonel…”

“Keep the pressure up,” she confirmed without waiting. “Their dropships are preparing to launch, whatever you picked up were decoys!”

“We’re under artillery fire,” he warned, his Hermes II smashing the rusted remains of a groundcar underfoot as he moved through the ruins as fast as he dared. That had to mean someone was on the ground, fighting. Surely the Lyran commander wouldn’t just abandon them? Then again, they did have a reputation for social generals…

Yusagi didn’t reply directly. “They’re launching their fighters,” she warned. “Our own will try to intercept, but they must be making for orbit - there’s no other possibility!”

Despite distant sympathy for the Lyran soldiers who were being betrayed by their leaders, Ochombo lowered the shoulder of his Hermes II and drove the forty-ton warmachine through the wall of what might have been a factory at one time. The interior was gutted and he was able to crash out of the other side, barely slowing.

“Sir, the reactor signatures are pulling back.”

Were they breaking? “Accept surrenders if offered.” But only if offered. Trapped rats could bite.

Between the buildings he saw the egg-shape of one of the Overlord dropships lifting off. The roar of the engines reached him just a moment later.

As the first dropship rose off the ground, the other two came into view - contrails around them marking the aerospace fighters providing them with coverage.

As Ochombo kicked aside half a truck, part of the wreck caught on the wing-like flanges of the Hermes II’s ankle, and he paused to make sure that it was clear. Looking up again after he’d made sure he wasn’t about to wreck his actuator, something about the angle of the dropships struck him.

They aren’t going directly upwards, they’re going to stray over our anti-aircraft umbrella… no, over the dropships. “Colonel!” he shouted in warning, but it was too late.

Up above the Twenty-Fifth Marik Militia’s landing zone, both Overlords opened their lower hatches and ‘Mechs began to rain from the sky.

Caddo City, New Dallas
Free Worlds League
12 November 3007

Low altitude drops were dangerous - there was very little time for a mechwarrior to adjust if something went wrong. In addition, more than half of Frederick’s little force didn’t have integral jump-jets. They’d been fitted with auxiliary jump-packs instead, but those mechwarriors had less experience with their use so there was more risk.

But given Marik aerospace advantage, there was no safe route. Even escaping was in question - and Frederick had a preference for taking the aggressive approach.

He also wasn’t averse to learning from mistakes. Max had told him about the Alliance Games, a military exercise where he and the Tenth Lyran Guards would have been humiliated by the Davion Heavy Guards - outmaneuvered to the extent that they lost their dropships and were forced into a long slow chase, trying to pin down a more mobile foe while unable to resupply.

Well, now the boot was on his foot!

Half the distance to the ground was gone before he fired the thrusters attached to the back of his Zeus, just a light tap to keep the eighty-ton ‘Mech correctly orientated.

Below him, the enemy dropships stood almost defenseless. A single company of ‘Mechs was scattered around them, clearly having been focused on patrolling the perimeter rather than maintaining a close guard. Bright light spilled out of the open dropship hatches - with the interior already contaminated by the air, it made little sense to close them up when the ‘Mechs would be expected back shortly. And almost none of their turrets were firing upwards.

A few hundred meters above the sprawling parking lots of a derelict shopping mall, Frederick triggered the main burn of the jump-pack. A digital display blurred as his vertical velocity reduced sharply, turning a fall that would have shattered the Zeus like glass into something survivable.

The landing was brutal, even with the ‘Mech’s legs flexing to absorb the impact, he felt it up his spine and Frederick’s neurohelmet slammed forwards, dragging his shoulders against the straps. But now he was on the ground, and more than thirty other ‘Mechs were landing across the site.

“Move move move!” the burly Colonel roared. One ‘Mech had been near the dropships, a purple Centurion, trimmed in red and blue like all of the Marik Militia.

The smaller ‘Mech opened up with everything it had as Frederick pushed his Zeus into a charge. Autocannon fire pelted his chest while a laser slashed barely above one shoulder. Long-range missiles roared across the divide, barely arming before they added a few more trivial craters to his ‘Mech’s armor.

He didn’t bother with his own LRMs. His autocannon was smaller than that on the Centurion, but he had a large laser as well as a medium and they carved glowing lines across the Marik ‘Mech’s right arm. That wasn’t his real objective though. The cylindrical missile launcher that made up the right arm of the Zeus was reinforced for this, and he brought it down like a hammer on the crested cockpit of the enemy.

The crest broke, but the head itself was still basically intact - testament to the protection around the man or woman inside.

Still, they were off balance and with more than fifty percent advantage in tonnage, Frederick rammed directly into them. Back-pedaling frantically, the Centurion struggled to stay upright - being trampled here could leave it helpless.

Lasers flashed back and forth between the two briefly, carving more damage into both. With both thicker armor and more lasers, that exchange would eventually favor the Zeus, but it wasn’t what Frederick was after.

They reached the ramp up into the nearest of the eight Union-class dropships and the other mechwarrior didn’t realize until it was too late. The Centurion stumbled and then fell off the ramp, onto its back between the ramp and one of the dropship’s landing legs.

For a moment, the mechwarrior must have feared that Frederick would destroy them - but he ignored the ‘Mech and marched up and into the dropship’s interior.

It was not mercy. As soon as the Centurion was no longer obscured by the bulk of the assault ‘Mech, a Commando and a Griffin from Hickson’s company began working it over with lasers and short-range missiles.

Standing his Zeus inside the ‘Mech bay, Frederick thumbed his speakers to maximum volume.

“I’m inside your dropship,” he demanded. “Power down and surrender, or I’ll open you up from the inside.”

There was a double ping from his radio, someone was on the emergency channel. “-eus, calling the Lyran Zeus!” the voice called.

He cut his loudspeakers, replying on the radio. “I hear you.”

“Hold your fire - if you hit a fuel line, you’ll kill yourself too.”

“I’m inside the better part of eleven tons of armor,” Frederick told him. “I like my chances better than yours.”

There was a pause.

“Ceasefire,” another voice asked - someone older, calmer. Smart enough to be worried, steady enough not to panic. Good. He could work with that. “We request a ceasefire to negotiate.”

Frederick flipped back to the regiment’s channel. “Did any of the dropships managed to close up?”

“No.” “None.” “We got them.” The company commanders were unanimous.

Still… “Confirm, do we hold all nine of them.”

“Every last one of them, sir,” Timothy Hickson sounded confident. “I’ve cleared their perimeter and we have a ‘Mech or two in all of them.”

Frederick smiled wolfishly. “Excellent work.” Then he went back to the emergency channel. “Ceasefire - as long as your ground forces hold their position - and pull your fighters back so mine can make sure that they’re complying.”

He was more concerned about them overrunning the remaining troops around the boneyard, really. Every truck he had left was roaming the streets in flatbeds with salvaged reactors tied to them, pretending to be ‘Mechs lying in wait. And the artillery barrage they’d fired had used up the tiny stock of artillery shells someone had left in the vaults for no reason he could see. Fortunately, none had misfired, but it could easily have been otherwise.

“Understood,” the man on the radio requested. “May we recover the mechwarriors outside? They’re being exposed to the radiation.”

“We’ll bring them to the external airlock of this dropship,” Frederick told him and then gave those orders.

That took precious moments and he waited for the message that someone had done something stupid, and he was going to have to follow through on his threat.

However, the next signal was from the small headquarters van he’d left at the cache. “Max?”

“As far as I can tell, they’re holding position,” the older man told him seriously. “We have visuals on over a ninety active ‘Mechs, seventy-odd tanks and enough heavy APCs for a battalion. They’re forming a defensive perimeter between us and you, but the fighters don’t see anyone heading for either of us.”

“Stay sharp. It’d be easy for someone to sneak through the ruins,” Frederick warned.

“One more bit of good news,” Max added.

“Oh?”

“Would you believe that firing the artillery shook up the vault enough that one of the walls crumbled?” the secretary asked. “And right behind it was the datacore. Of all the luck. We almost missed it entirely.”

“Heh.” He’d have been happy enough with the ‘Mechs, but this was good. Almost too good. Everything was coming up trumps. “Alright. Now I need to do the hard part. Talking them out of fighting to the death.”

“It says something about humanity that that’s the hard part.”

What was so odd about that? The soldier thought. The Marik regiment’s honor would be stained by this either way. It would be necessary to handle it carefully, so they decided to take the route of retreat rather than fighting to the death.

Opening the channel, he demanded: “Put me in touch with your commander.”

There was a pause and then another voice. “This is Major Ochombo.”

The equivalent of a Kommandant? Ridiculous. “If you’re trying to tell me that you came here without a single Colonel, I can only assume that you think I’m an idiot.”

Ochombo snorted. “Colonel Laws of our supporting regiment flipped a jeep while we were loading. He’s back on Dieudonne with a broken leg. And Colonel Yusagi is among the wounded. I’m senior among the battalion commanders. If you wanted a Colonel, it’s your own fault none are available.”

Frederick laughed. “Congratulations on your battlefield promotion.”

“If you come out of the dropships, I’ll be pleased to accept those congratulations.”

“Not just yet.” Then he let a chill enter his voice. “You can probably overwhelm the forces I still have at the cache, but not before I wreck these dropships and withdraw to my own. And if you come at me directly, I can do the same although withdrawing might be a little harder.” The Twenty-Fifth Marik Militia had enough fast ‘Mechs that breaking contact to embark on the dropships would be challenging.

“And yet those seem to be my basic options,” Ochombo replied, tersely. “Unless you have a third path. And I’ve no intention of surrendering my entire regiment to you.”

“Death before dishonor? I can respect that. However, any attack will destroy your regiment anyway. Without dropships you have to survive on what food and other supplies you have in your combat units. Not to mention that exiting them risks radiation exposure. I can’t imagine it taking less than a week for rescue to arrive - and that assumes that your jumpships finish charging, report in and a rescue mission can depart immediately. At best, any such mission will be able to recover your equipment - you yourselves will be starving and probably suffering radiation sickness.”

“But we might at least take you with us - whoever you are.”

“Ah? Frederick Steiner, Colonel of Seventh Lyran Regulars. Destroying your regiment for half of my own works out in my favor, but really… this poisoned mudball isn’t exactly worth that to either of us. So, here’s my offer: I will ransom you six of your dropships in exchange for the other three. That’s enough that you can keep your force intact until additional dropships can arrive to rescue you.”

Ochombo paused. “What do you get out of this? What’s worth giving us back the dropships?”

Frederick grinned to himself. He’s interested. He values his honor, but not to the point of self-destruction. “Honestly, the cache we found is too large for us to carry it all. Even with three additional dropships we can’t take it all. Your Excalibur and two Unions will be enough for us to take quite a bit more of the contents back to the Commonwealth.”

“You want me to surrender the Retribution?! Do you have any idea how rare Excalibur-class dropships are?”

“There’ll be one less in the Inner Sphere if you decide to fight this out,” Frederick pointed out, hearing steel enter his voice for a moment. Then he forced himself to relax. “Either way, you’re losing it. But if you take the deal then you avoid losing six other dropships and hundreds of soldiers.”

The Marik Militia officer hesitated. “You said you can’t take everything from the cache.”

“There’s more than a regiment of ‘Mechs and at least that many heavy tanks inside it. And that’s just the start. I’d have to leave my own ‘Mechs behind to take all of them and I’m not quite willing to do that.”

“...and I suppose it’s all wired to blow once you take off.”

“Absolutely,” lied Frederick. They’d used all their mining charges to get into it.

“Remove the charges and let me send a squad of infantry to verify that, and you’ve got a deal. I’ll need something to show for this disaster, even if it’s just your leavings.”

Gotcha! He kept the victory from his voice though. “Twelve hours for us to remove them, then you can check the cache and see what we’re loading up. Once that’s done, you evacuate the three dropships, and we’ll move in our own crews. But before that, you ground your aerospace fighters.”

Once they were down, it would be difficult for the Leaguer’s to get them up in the air again. Frederick would have to stage his own through the two Overlords, but that was manageable and with air control he’d be in a much better position.

“...alright. But I’m alerting our jumpship to depart for reinforcements as early as I can. If they arrive before you’ve loaded up everything you want, then it’s just too bad.”

Victory tasted sweet, Frederick thought.

Chapter Text

Chapter 3

The Triad, Tharkad
Protectorate of Donegal, Lyran Commonwealth
30 January 3008

The Archon’s apartments had changed since Alessandro moved out of them. Katrina had completely refurbished them. While Frederick hadn’t been invited into most of the rooms, he assumed they mostly followed the dark oak and blue theme. Which wasn’t terrible, but he found it odd to not see various equestrian pictures and the steel-gray curtains that had been the signatures of the rooms under their uncle and grandfather.

“My security detail are rather upset about that briefcase,” Katrina told him as she sat down behind a heavy desk that matched the coloring but not the workmanship of the cabinets at the side of the room. Perhaps there was some fashion he was missing, or it might have some personal significance. “For some reason, they aren’t very trusting.”

Frederick sat down facing her, not waiting for permission. “That’s their job.”

He had some of the Archon’s personal time, he reminded himself. Most people - even the commanders of a ‘Mech regiments - would not receive that.

She steepled her fingers in front of her. “You took risks on New Dallas. You’re usually more conservative than that.”

“I was fighting the Free Worlds League. A DCMS regiment would have chosen death over dishonor but my understanding is that the League’s soldiers are more flexible.”

“Janos Marik is displeased.” A smile crossed Katrina’s face. “I can live with that.” She had spent most of her career on the border with the Free Worlds League while Frederick had served mostly against the Draconis Combine until now. “So you adapted. Good.”

It had been a nervous week, waiting with three of the dropships in the outer star system until his jumpship could return for them. Fortunately, the League’s relief force hadn’t made more than a cursory search for them. He’d been concerned they might bring another aerowing and some assault dropships to hunt him down, but apparently the FWLM was more inclined to cut their losses.

“Well, I wasn’t going to get the ‘Mechs I needed otherwise.”

The Archon’s cool eyes flickered. “In this case the Twenty-Second Skye Rangers’ need was genuinely greater than yours - they took a beating on Alexandria. The Seven Lyran Regulars were next on the list for a shipment from Defiance Industries. No longer necessary, I suppose?”

That was easy to say now, Frederick thought. “No.”

“Going as far as to contact Bowie Industries privately for the refits was unnecessary though. LCAF will cover the costs of that. Money is far easier to find than ‘Mechs. Unless, apparently, you’re Frederick Steiner.”

“If you can afford that, it’s more likely that Bowie will be asking for a loan,” he told her.

“Oh?”

Frederick lifted the briefcase and placed it on the desk. “I didn’t just find ‘Mechs and tanks on New Dallas.” He pressed a thumb to the lock’s miniature scanner and after comparing his fingerprint to that stored within, the lock popped open. Spinning the case, he pushed it across the desk towards Katrina.

The blonde woman arched an eyebrow and then flipped the case open fearlessly. “Hmm. A computer core? If I hook that up to the palace computer network, I suspect Simon would have some very sharp words for me.”

“I’d not suggest that. In fact, I’d recommend keeping this off any remotely public computers, and not send the contents by HPG at all.”

Katrina steepled her fingers. “What, exactly am I looking at?”

“The Hegemony Central Intelligence Directorate’s back-up database on Lyran Commonwealth military research and development. Well, a copy,” Frederick added, to be scrupulously honest. To avoid getting caught in a lie, tell the truth unless you really have to, he thought.

The Archon’s eyes caught his. “You found this on New Dallas?”

“It’s part of a much larger data core we found there. This was enough to bring as proof of it, and not so much it was obvious. You can have the rest too, I just wanted to be discreet.”

“You really are adapting.” Katrina opened a drawer on her desk and produced a handcomp. Plugging it into the datacore, she looked at the contents. “This is an impressive amount of data.”

“It’s not enough on its own to build a ‘Mech. But combined with what we already know...”

“It fills in gaps. Did you trade some of this to Bowie?”

“They used to build Archers on Wyatt.” The repair yards that the corporation operated there were what was left of that factory. “There is enough comparative data on how designs and production differed from those of the Terran Hegemony to help them reconstruct the older Archers we found. They believe - perhaps optimistically - that it would be enough for them to begin producing new Archers in a few years.”

Katrina hit the scroll command and ran through the menu of the datacore. “From one of your other copies?” she asked, presumably not finding the Archer listed.

Frederick nodded. “One of the Griffins we found isn’t really fit for salvage. We stripped it of the parts that were still valuable and I brought the carcass here - sort of a trophy to show off. I stashed the original datacore inside it so you can have someone trustworthy recover it while it’s being prepared for display.”

“You’re being quite generous. And I believe you appreciate directness, Frederick, so what do you want?”

He leant forwards. “Donna’s asked for a transfer to the Winfield Guards now that she’s passed her flight medical.”

“I wasn’t planning to deny her that. She’s good enough.”

“No, I want you to give her another assignment.”

Katrina blinked. “I was under the impression you supported your sister’s career.”

“I do but…” He indicated the case. “The data on the Lucifer - the fighter has barely changed since the data there. The Terran’s analysis was that it was a deathtrap - that the lack of an ejection seat meant that the LCAF would reject the design and keep using Thunderbirds or even Typhoons.”

“Aerospace is one arm of the LCAF I never served in,” the Archon noted. “But we both know the Lucifer is the backbone of our ground attack fleet.”

“And you’re in a better position than I am to compare its casualty rates against the alternatives.”

The younger Steiner sat back in her chair. “What exactly are you asking for, Frederick? Either of us could afford to buy Donna an Eagle or a Thunderbird to fly.”

“We’d have to make her fly it though and for some damn reason she loves the damn bird.” He gripped the arms of his chair. “The reason that the Lucifer lacks an ejection seat is that it’s too frontloaded with armament in the nose - specifically, they couldn’t fit the systems in around the laser mountings.”

“I’ll take your word for that.”

“I ran the numbers by the techs for the Lucifers of the Seventh’s aerowing and scaling back the missile launcher would allow moving the lasers around to create that volume. It would also free up the tonnage for a larger fusion turbine.”

“We have a refit that removes the missile launcher entirely, the R20…”

He shook his head. “That uses the space for more heatsinks and armor.”

“And do your technicians believe a larger engine would work?” Katrina asked thoughtfully. “Lockheed build more than eighty percent of our aerospace fighters. Even an Archon can’t just demand that they refit one of their signature designs to her requirements.”

“The Kuritans have rebuilt their captured Lucifers to use the same basic engine I’m proposing,” Frederick reminded her. “Their R16K model - it replaces the LRM launcher with a six-tube SRM system.” He indicated the case, still on the desk beside Katrina. “My price for that, Katrina, is that Lockheed have to do the same and fit a damn ejection seat… and make Donna one of the test pilots.”

“That’s not a safe role.”

“She wouldn’t accept something completely safe.”

The Archon frowned in thought. “I’ll have someone compare the numbers, but… however useful this might be, you’re asking me to spend a lot of political capital. Lockheed can cripple our entire aerospace procurement just by shifting some of their output to spare parts for a few months.”

God damn her! Donna’s life was on the line! Frederick opened his mouth to speak, paused and then bit back the angry word. No, he’d expected she might be hesitant to do this. He’d planned for the possibility.

“Poulsbo,” he said after he was sure he wouldn’t be shouting.

Katrina went very still. “Yes?”

“You’ve assumed that the bomb in your hotel was planted by Loki, aimed at you, on our uncle’s orders.”

“It’s more than just an assumption, Frederick. I know you admire him, but Alessandro tried to have me killed.”

He shook his head. “You were his golden child, the chosen heir while I was just a spare. The bomb wasn’t aimed at you.”

Katrina hissed, eyes widening fractionally. If she wasn’t the target, who else was at the hotel who might have been? And there was only one name that she could settle on: her new husband, Arthur Luvon. A man who she’d loved even before the bombing on Poulsbo sent them fleeing into the periphery for a year.

Max had told him that Alessandro had confided the truth to Ryan, twenty odd years from now. And that the former-Archon had hidden it from Katrina because while she wouldn’t kill him for her own sake, the idea that he’d threaten her family was another matter.

“Your position on the bombing, cousin?” Katrina’s voice was very steady.

Frederick rubbed his brow. “The stated purpose of Heimdall is to restrain any Archon who starts acting like Claudius the Cruel. If I received reports that they were on the move and I was Archon, I’d have to wonder if it was possible that they were right. Sending Loki after them? That just proves them to be justified.”

Archon Katrina Steiner looked at her cousin for a long moment. Her eyes were distant in calculation. “That…” Then she shook her head, dismissing whatever was on her mind. “If the figures back you up, I’ll discuss how to manage the political consequences of excessive pilot deaths with our representative on Lockheed’s board of directors,” she told him. Her eyes were steely and her mind was clearly not focused primarily on that concession though.

Frederick had never really feared his cousin before. Today though, he was glad that he wasn’t their uncle Alessandro.

Wyatt City, Wyatt
Federation of Skye, Lyran Commonwealth
3 March 3008

Frederick was almost bubbly as he drove them towards the ‘Mech hanger. Max wasn’t sure why, but if it meant his boss was driving at a safe speed then he was all in favor of it.

Normally, a Colonel would have a driver assigned so that they could do paperwork on long journeys or just be rested. As a secretary/aide, Max might have been pressed into that job but between learning his actual job and learning German - of which he had had no more than high school understanding before waking up on Summer - he’d not got around to learning how to drive a groundcar, much less earn a license. Frederick didn’t have much patience for an official driver on base either - the drives weren’t long enough for him to do any work, and it kept him in practice.

The groundcar complained audibly as Frederick J-turned before backing into one of the parking slots usually used by trucks bringing parts in for the ‘techs. “And here we are.”

“We are indeed.” Max opened his door and climbed out. “So what are we here for, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“It’s a surprise.”

I hate surprises, he thought, but didn’t say. There was no need to be petulant.

The two of them entered and for a moment Max thought they were headed for Frederick’s Zeus but the burly man walked right past it this time and to the next ‘bay along. “Here it is!”

Max looked up at the ‘Mech inside. It hadn’t been painted with unit colors yet, but even in base paint it looked powerful. “An Orion…” He examined the details of missile launcher on the left shoulder. “One of those from New Dallas. Did Bowie finish restoring it to service?”

“It’s the first one they’ve completed,” Frederick agreed cheerfully. “And it’s yours.”

“...I don’t know what to say.” ‘Are you out of your mind?’ was out of the question. He wasn’t a mechwarrior!

“It’s not an ON1-V,” the younger man continued, “we actually trimmed the weight by ten percent so with the reactor and proper myomers it can match the speed of newer models. It’s over-armoured for the new weight but the gyro can handle that. Most of the weight savings came from using current armor plating and not the crap the Hegemony was using five hundred years ago. Your idea, remember?”

“Ja, I remember.” Max shook his head. “Frederick, I’m honored… but what would I even do with a ‘Mech? I’ve no training in one and I failed the physical when I applied for the Summer militia. Shouldn’t this go to someone who can use it? Someone who’s earned it?”

With a grin on his face, Max’s employer leaned against the Orion’s ankle. “Well, first of all, you didn’t fail the physical for the militia.” He raised one hand for silence. “I know that’s what you were told, but actually your results were borderline and you’re in better shape now than you were then. The reason you were turned down was security concerns: because no one has any idea who you were originally, LIC is of the opinion that there’s a low but genuine risk that you’re an ISF sleeper agent inserted during the raid on Summer.”

“...bloody hell.” That made a few things clearer for Max, including why he’d gone all the way to Tharkad with Frederick only to be left behind when his employer was called to the Triad to meet the Archon.

Frederick nodded. “Wherever you came from and however you learned what you did, I’m sure it wasn’t the Draconis Combine. But I can understand their suspicions.”

He nodded, still numb at the bombshell.

“As for learning, everyone has to start somewhere. People have learned to pilot a ‘Mech when they were older than you. Given that a third of our current mechwarrior strength have you to thank for having rides now, there won’t be any difficulty getting volunteers to coach you in your free time. I’m not expecting you to master it instantly or to join LCAF - that would run the risk of RepDep reassigning you elsewhere - but I’ve got every confidence.” Frederick’s smile slipped off his face. “And don’t let anyone tell you that you didn’t earn this, Max. Just New Dallas alone would be more than enough, and getting Donna assigned as a test pilot was your idea.”

Max rubbed the back of his head, embarrassed. “I just… told you a few things.”

“Things that no one else could. Come on, it can’t be harder than Skye Basketball, right?”

The older man smiled weakly. “I guess not.”

“If it makes you feel better,” Frederick offered, gesturing towards the steep stairs that climbed up to the cockpit-level gantry, “I am giving a number of the ‘Mechs to other people. Besides those being donated as museum pieces because they’re not worth fixing up, I’m giving a company of them to Wyatt’s militia and the same to the militia back on my homeworld - we don’t even have an organized ‘Mech unit there, just a handful in private ownership.”

“I don’t suppose Duran is a high risk target.”

Frederick’s duchy was deep inside the interior of Lyran Commonwealth and the closest thing it had to a military-industrial complex was a single agromech factory that could in theory be upgraded to produce BattleMech components. Max knew that there were plans to change that - Frederick would hardly have been human not to want his own personal holdings to profit from the datacore that had been recovered - but that would take years.

“Not yet, but it can’t hurt to make some preparations,” Frederick agreed. “And there’s another reason to give you a ‘Mech.” He gestured, perhaps unconsciously, towards the Orion. “It gives you some social standing. I can’t give you a formal title but having a ‘Mech puts you on a level where the people I have to deal with can’t dismiss you as just a commoner I happen to have employed.”

Max grimaced as they reached the gantry. “I don’t really give a damn what they think of me.”

“Start caring. What people think of you and what people think of me affect what we can convince them to do. And politically, that’s what matters. If I were to try to take the Seventh with me to Tharkad to overthrow Katrina, besides being a rather risky military operation, I’d be depending on them being willing to follow me.”

Where had this politically aware Frederick come from? Have I created a monster? Max wondered. “Is it too late for me to say I don’t feel in any way confident in doing that?”

“More than a bit.” The other man reached over to the cockpit hatch of the Orion. “You’re not just my secretary. You’re going to have to operate on your own sooner or later, representing me when I’m absent. At the minimum, my giving you this shows that I trust you - it’ll help convince people that you really are speaking on my behalf.”

Max sighed. “I guess you’re right.”

“Get in,” Frederick ordered.

Rather clumsily, Max obeyed, accepting instruction on where to put his hands and feet. Finally he was able to settle into the command couch, the controls all in easy reach. He was careful not to touch them. Through the cockpit glass, he saw the hanger flow below, and other ‘Mechs in their bays. The perspective took him back to playing computer games - a view he’d never had for real, until now.

“Excited?” asked Frederick, leaning over to look down at him.

“...does it show?”

“We all feel like that the first time,” the mechwarrior assured him. “Later we’ll practice things like getting in without a gantry, and proper gear. But for now, let’s get you set up for the security. From then on, it’ll be your ‘Mech and yours alone.”

Kelestra City, Furillo
Protectorate of Donegal, Lyran Commonwealth
14 April 3008

The funeral of an Archon was usually held on Tharkad, but in his last will and testament Alessandro Steiner had specified that if he didn’t reclaim his throne, he would prefer to be buried on his Furillo estate.

While the world was hardly an unimportant one, there was little precedent for so many of the Lyran royal court and other senior officials and nobility converging upon it. To attend the funeral out of respect, for the chance to network and for some of them to make sure - absolutely sure - that Alessandro was in fact dead.

Frederick would have preferred to say he was in the first category but both of the other two had influence. Without Alessandro, those who had seized on the deposed Archon as a focus for opposition to Katrina Steiner were now looking for another leader. As the man who had been visibly groomed as the next Archon for two years, he was a natural target and some of those men and women were people he wanted to meet.

It would have been grossly inappropriate to do actual business at the funeral, but even before the procession set out Frederick had contact details to set up meetings with almost a hundred people of interest to him, all passed on to Max who quietly followed him around and tried to be unobtrusive, wearing a subdued but well-tailored suit.

Unfortunately, more than half of them were from people that Frederick had no wish to spend any appreciable time with. Aldo Lestrade was trying to corner him as they walked to the limousines that would convoy the distance from Furillo’s largest cathedral to the late Archon’s estate. There had been several messages over the years, to which Frederick (and later Max) had written formal but distant replies, but physical proximity… Frederick desperately wanted to believe that the circumstantial evidence of Aldo’s crimes was wrong but, every time he laid eyes on the younger man, he saw the face of Ernesto Lestrade from the late Duke’s autopsy.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Max said in a tone that was polite despite the fact he had the honorific for a duke wrong. “This car is for the immediate family. I believe your car will be further that way.” The man blocked Aldo’s approach with quiet determination.

“Frederick, for god’s sake!” Aldo called past Max.

Frederick rested one elbow on the roof of the car for a moment. “Not now.” He forced his face to stillness before he turned and looked back at his friend’s son. “Don’t make a scene, Aldo. Not today.”

The Duke of Summer took a half-step back. “Call me later. I know what it’s like to lose one’s family.”

You also know what it’s like to cause their death, Frederick thought. But he nodded and then slipped into the car.

When he saw who was waiting for him, he was very tempted to flee. Donna sat there in full LCAF dress uniform with all the trimmings, eyes tracking him like gimlets.

“Is this an ambush?” he asked instead, sitting down and watching for her feet. His sister had a kick like a mule and her dress shoes were sturdy and practical. Max closed the door and headed for his own place among the various staffs, who would be conveyed to the estate by other means. Frederick felt curiously abandoned.

“You seem fairly sure I’m hostile,” Donna responded to the question, giving him a toothy smile.

He huffed. “I recall that expression on your face a few times from when we were younger. Sorry, a few dozen times.”

“You probably deserved it.” Her eyes narrowed as the car pulled away from the cathedral. “And I’m pretty damn mad at you, actually. Do you have any idea how many strings I had to pull to get posted with David?” David Steiner-Casval, the Duke of Porrima, was Donna’s husband and had swept her off her feet within a year of her graduation from the Nagelring although they'd not married until she returned there as an instructor. He’d also introduced her to the ‘game’ of dressing up their uniforms as far as possible without technically breaching regulations.

Setting aside the fact that David was clearly not in any sense worthy of Donna, he had a braying laugh that gave Frederick a headache. And he thought his Quickdraw was a superb Battlemech - a clear sign of mental deficiency, if ever there was one. “Where’s he posted these days?”

“He’s got a company in the Second Winfield Guards!” Donna snapped - and her leg flashed out, kicking Frederick’s shin. “I earned my place in their aerowing, Freddie.”

“Ow!” He clutched at the abused limb. “Dammit Donna, this is a funeral!”

“No one can see us,” she said unrepentantly. “Don’t you want to be an uncle again? You seemed to like Ryan well enough after he was born.”

So David was also probably going to die on Sevren. No wonder Ryan wound up being raised by Uncle Alessandro, he thought. Not that that was an issue now. “I hope you’ll have a nice big brood,” he told her sincerely. “My apologies, Donna. I didn’t know you’d got a deployment together.”

“Why were you even meddling in my deployments?! I don’t go to Katrina and ask that you be sent somewhere - although it’d serve you right to get a desk job in place of your regiment!”

Frederick sighed. “If this means you got the test pilot slot, then that might be down to me, yes. You’re the best Lucifer pilot I know.” Flattery wasn’t a perfectly reliable way to calm Donna down, but it had a decent success ratio.

She shook her head. “What do you even know about aerospace fighters, Freddie? You’re mechwarrior-mafia to the bone!”

He looked at her for a moment and then sighed. “That’s… not classified, if only because it’s too sensitive to classify. If I tell you this, you don’t tell a soul. Not David, not even whisper to Ryan.”

“I know how to keep a secret!”

“When did you learn?” he asked and pulled his leg back before she could kick it.

Her face reddened, probably thinking back to a few indiscretions when they were both younger. “Just spill it, Freddie. If I make enough of a strop, I might not be staying on Donegal for the next couple of years.”

“It’s not likely to get you into the Winfield Guards either,” Frederick pointed out. “Look, during my last raid we recovered some old intelligence summaries that Hegemony put together on the Lucifer back when it was in development.”

“That sounds terribly sensitive,” Donna snorted. “Intelligence almost five centuries out of date!”

“That was certainly my own thought - surely all the deficiencies that they saw must have been made good.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Are you insulting my ride, Freddie?”

Frederick looked at her. “They’re describing the 2528 revision of the Lucifer, which is basically what you fly. The same design that the Hegemony and later SLDF decided they wouldn’t touch with a barge pole. Lockheed’s refused for literally centuries to review the design and statistically, it’s killed more pilots per airframe than even the Seydlitz. We can do better. We owe the crews better than that.”

“I don’t tell you how to drive your ‘Mech.” Donna scowled.

“Of course not. I can see the need for change, to have a new Lucifer that’s better than what we’ve used, better even than the Kurita refits that have been outperforming -”

“Wait, what?”

He paused, hiding a smile. “Ah, I would have thought that you knew. The Combine has one of their aerospace manufacturers rebuilding captured Lucifers with more powerful engines. I’d like to think that we can do better than they can. As I was just saying: I see there’s a need to improve - but it’s people like you that can make it happen. That’s why I suggested you as a test pilot.”

Donna looked away, out of the window. “Your timing was terrible.”

“How’s Ryan doing?” he asked, hoping she’d take the lure to change the subject.

“Well, he hasn’t wrecked my career plans, so he’s currently my favorite family member.” But she took out her handbag and pulled out a small holo-display and started showing him images of the toddler.

By the time they reached the estate, Frederick thought that he was probably forgiven - although no doubt Donna would hold it over his head for a while. Until Ryan was a grown man, perhaps. Maybe a little longer than that.

Once they reached the estate, he saw Aldo’s limousine wasn’t far behind and parted ways from Donna, heading into the main house while Donna went to the gardens where the burial would be taking place. Frederick couldn’t avoid that ceremony, but it wasn’t for an hour or so, to make sure all the other attendees had arrived. In the meantime, parts of the house would be off limits to guests outside of House Steiner.

Closing the doors of Alessandro’s library behind him, he exhaled slowly before realizing that he wasn’t alone. Another man, sharing much of Frederick’s Steiner looks, stood at the window watching the cars arrive.

“I take it Donna had a go at you?” Hermann Steiner asked, not looking back.

The youngest of Alessandro’s generation by many years, Katrina’s replacement as commander of the Second Royal Guards was only a few years older than Frederick. For that reason, he’d been more of a brother to Frederick than an uncle.

“Just a bit.” Frederick crossed to the window. “How are you, Hermann?”

“I keep thinking he’ll walk in those doors. For a moment, when you did, I thought that it was him, somehow. It’s not real yet.”

“...I’m sorry.”

“I don’t suppose you remember when father died? Andy and I’s father, that is. You were half my age.”

“Not really.” Frederick put his hands behind his back. “I’d only met him a few times then. Mother was sad, but I may be remembering another occasion.”

“I saw father die,” Hermann told him. Reminded him, really. Archon Giovanni Steiner had been a keen equestrian and his fatal fall had been at a public event. “Maybe if I’d seen Andy die it would be easier. Or maybe I could have stopped him driving when he should have known better.”

The official autopsy findings, which the media had been firmly asked not to release until after the burial was done, had reported that Alessandro had been drinking before he drove his ground-car into the path of an oncoming heavy freight lorry.

Frederick wasn’t sure how that had been arranged by LIC but he was morally sure that they’d done so, and that they’d done so on Katrina’s orders. Hopefully this would be the one and only time she chose to use them against her family. The thought that he might have pushed her to a mindset where she would view that as a more acceptable measure was worrying.

“I remember losing my own mother and father.” He reached over and took Hermann’s shoulder. “I know it doesn’t help much now, but… you’re not alone.”

The older Steiner smiled. “You’re wrong. It does help a little. Thank you, Frederick.”

“Just don’t tell anyone I said that. I have a reputation to maintain,” he joked.

Hermann exhaled. “Let’s talk about something else.”

“Sure.” Frederick turned away from the window. “What’s new on Tharkad?”

“Hmm. You heard that Ed Regis is back in favor?”

It took Frederick only a moment to recall the name. Edward Regis had been one of Alessandro’s shining stars when it came to strategy, and after the change of Archon he’d been banished to the Logistics department by Katrina’s new broom sweeping clean. Unfairly, really. While he’d had a hand in the disastrous strategy of Concentrated Weakness, the real flaws had been changes that the Archon had made to the original concept.

“I hadn’t heard, but I’m glad to.”

“I didn’t think the two of you were close.”

“We aren’t. He’s a bit quiet for my company, but he’s a good man.”

“Yes, well Katrina seems to have softened on him and he’s back at Strategy and Planning. If he keeps his nose clean, then he might even be moving further up soon. You’ll have some impact there.”

Frederick blinked. “How so?”

“Let’s say that he has another plan in mind. But you’ll need to keep it close to your chest.”

“Hermann, if you’re going to gossip then gossip.” He smiled fondly to soften the criticism. “Don’t just drop cryptic hints, you know I hate that.”

“I’ll leave it for Regis to give you the details, but you must have impressed him with how you handled New Dallas because word is that he altered his plans after hearing about it and specifically asked that your Seventh Lyran Regulars be made available to participate.”

“Flattering.”

Hermann nodded. “I’m glad you and Katrina are on better terms than you were.”

“Not that much better.” Frederick shrugged that off. “We’re both strong-minded and stubborn. We rub each other the wrong way.”

“I think that might be more on your side,” the older man observed. “Just… I’m not saying he started it, but Andy was splitting the family looking for support against Katrina. I don’t want to be in that position again.”

Max had mentioned that. Said that Alessandro’s scheming left Hermann forced to choose between his beloved brother and their niece. Frederick remembered his disbelief at hearing that Hermann had finally taken a third choice: cutting his career short and retiring to a monastery rather than be dragged further into such politics.

“I can’t promise that I might not one day find myself opposing Katrina intensely,” he told his mentor slowly. “But… I have had cause to consider that my wants and the Commonwealth’s needs may not be entirely aligned.” And the latter must always take priority. That was one of the prices of being a Steiner. At least, as long as he wanted to feel safe looking at himself in a mirror. “I don’t intend to do anything rash.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” Hermann shook his head. “Anyway. What I meant about being discreet is that the operation is classified pretty tightly, and I gather you’ve hired a civilian that LIC are worrying about. Regis will probably insist he be kept out of the loop.”

“That’s crazy, he went along to New Dallas.” LIC could go whistle!

The older man shook his head. “That was a smaller operation and one you put together yourself. Working with other people is something you need to get used to moving up the ranks.”

“Maybe I’ll just stay a colonel then.” The way I did in the history Max knew, Frederick thought.

“That would be a waste,” Herman told him. “You’ve got more potential than that and you know it. With a little more luck you could have been the one with the Second Royal Guards right now. You could easily be my successor if you play your cards right.”

Frederick shook his head. “Well, that’s years away.”

“No, I’ve already been told my next assignment.”

“What?!”

“I’m being promoted, not shuffled aside. Think before you explode. Actually, it’s your work in a way.”

Frederick rubbed his right eyebrow. “How so?”

“Katrina’s had in mind a project to develop new fighting vehicles for the LCAF’s armored regiments, units designed expressly for us rather than just relying on whatever we happened to inherit from the Star League. Well, what you found on New Dallas has pushed that ahead and Project Desert Knight will formally begin next year. I’ve been named as the project leader.” Herman straightened slightly. “Between the Merkava tanks you found and design data on the Marsden and other tanks, we’re going to have a great head-start in design work.”

“The Merkavas aren’t all that good,” Frederick pointed out. “I mean, we’re keeping some for the combat support regiment being assembled, but that’s more because they’re available.”

“At least they let us know what works and what doesn’t,” his uncle pointed out. “Anyway, my point - going back to it - is that if General Regis listens to LIC, which he will, then you’ll have to keep Herr Mustermann out of the planning and leave him behind during the operation. You can fight it, but you will lose and it’ll cost you. I strongly advise that if you’re so convinced of his qualities - and you may be right, Frederick, but even so.” Hermann paused and took a deep breath. “Find something else for him to do for a while. Not forever, just something that is useful to you and removes the potential friction. He never needs to even know he’s being kept out of the loop.”

Frederick frowned. “I don’t like it.”

“That’s politics.” The older man smiled slightly. “If you ever do become Archon, you’ll have to deal with much more of it. The Archon’s rule may be absolute in theory, but not even the Coordinator or Chancellor are actually absolute rulers in practice. No one can be.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 4

Wyatt City, Wyatt
Federation of Skye, Lyran Commonwealth
24 June 3008

Edward Regis was much as Frederick remembered him from his time on Tharkad. Quiet, soft-spoken, but with a sharp eye for detail.

“Operation Commonplace has the objective of disrupting the DCMS’ operational tempo across Dieron District,” he explained to Frederick and the other senior staff of the Seventh Lyran Regulars - a larger number than it had been now that battalions of artillery and armor had been attached, making use of salvage from New Dallas. “They’re used to us focusing on countering their attacks or launching spoiling operations against border worlds. At mostly, we’ve launched counterattacks - again, on the border. They know that and have plans for that.”

“So this is something different,” Frederick deduced.

Regis indicated the chart of Dieron District. “We’re going to hit their border worlds with raids, but rather than withdrawing, the raiding forces will continue deeper, hitting worlds three and four jumps from the Commonwealth. Our thinking is that most of the Combine’s officers won’t be able to ignore that, they’ll feel obliged to hunt down the raiders in order to save face. This will pull units away from the border and force them to guess at where we’re striking. A unit that spends six months looking for raiders without finding them is a unit tying up shipping and supplies while causing no harm to the Commonwealth. Of course, if they do find the raiders, then they’ll likely be able to bring overwhelming numbers to bear so security has to be absolutely airtight.”

Frederick hid a scowl. So Hermann had been right about this. Unfortunate, but Max had thought that it sounded plausible. And to be fair, the older man wasn’t anything close to ready to use his Orion in battle unless he absolutely had to.

“It seems to me,” he said aloud, “That they might try to intercept us on return to the Commonwealth. Using uninhabited systems is risky - a jumpship failure could strand a force and if we’re broken into several groups it might be a while before we learn that a given group needs transport - and backtracking for search and rescue would be difficult.”

Regis nodded his head. “That’s true. We’re considering having the raiding parties converge at a predetermined border world that we can send an escort to assist if need be. That way the use of uninhabited system is averted.”

Frederick examined the map. “I see… may I suggest an alternative?”

“Of course, colonel,” Regis agreed graciously.

“Don’t worry, I’m not my uncle. This is a suggestion, nothing more.” He took a pointer and indicated a system that he and Max had discussed previously. “Rather than spreading out in a fan of destruction and then converging back towards our border, what if we spread out and then converged here - at Halstead Station.”

“That’s quite a way from home,” pointed out Kommandant Hickson - promoted after his excellent work on New Dallas.

“It isn’t so far from the Federated Suns though,” noted Regis. “Is that what you have in mind, Colonel Steiner?”

Frederick nodded. “I don’t recall that we’re on bad terms with House Davion - and they hate the Combine as much as we do. Dropping in unannounced would be a bit much, but I imagine that Ian Davion would be delighted to let us cross out of the Combine into his space and then transit back to the Commonwealth via the Northwind-Terra-New Earth corridor. It costs him nothing and helps us quite a bit.”

Regis pursed his lips. “It’s an elegant solution,” he agreed. “But it would require some very discreet diplomacy and that threatens the security of the mission.”

“That’s true,” agreed Fredrick. “There’s always a risk versus reward. I’d not suggest sharing this by HPG - if we do this it should be negotiated with the First Prince by some trusted courier directly. I’m sure he understands the need for security, and it doesn’t benefit him for the Dracs to have a victory against us.”

Hickson grinned boyishly. “Cut right across the Combine? It may not be the Tamar Tigers hitting Luthien again, but it’s going to certainly remind House Kurita that they shouldn’t take us lightly.”

“I’ll have to discuss this with someone higher up in diplomatic circles,” decided Regis. “I like the idea but I’m not sufficiently familiar with Federated Suns internal politics to know if it’s advisable or not. For now, we’ll plan on the original plan; but we’ll draw up an alternative plan for this exit strategy as well.”

“Who will be carrying out these raids?” Frederick asked him.

“We’re looking at five or six raiding parties with BattleMech forces from the Tenth Skye Rangers and yourselves. Obviously, your conventional assets will be participating but there will be others. The plan would be at least a battalion of ‘Mechs for each raiding party.”

“It seems to me that scouting will be very important here, not something that our ‘Mech forces are notoriously good at.” Frederick said thoughtfully. “Since you’re taking suggestions…”

Regis gave him a rather more dubious look. “Yes?”

“Wasn’t there… yes, that business on Rochelle - there was a merc there who gave us real trouble: Cranston Snord.”

The general looked pained. The invasion of Rochelle hadn’t just had ‘real trouble’, it had failed flatly. “I don’t recall the name…”

“The one Janos Marik tried to cheat. He didn’t just escape across the border to us, he’s got a whole unit and negotiations to sign them up are a tangle,” Frederick clarified.

“Oh yes. He’s on Clinton right now.”

“How about offering him a short-term contract while negotiations are going on?” he suggested. “If he can give us the run-around then let’s put that talent to use against the Combine. He can’t just sit around forever without a contract - he needs income, and it lets us take his measure. He doesn’t need to know about the actual operation until it actually begins, so security is covered.”

Regis made a face. “That’s definitely going to wait until LIC have their say… but if it’s the man I think then he does have credentials. Mind you, he got kicked out of the Wolf Dragoons because he went raiding instead of completing a mission.”

“Raiding would be his duty this time. In fact, the more bizarre his antics, the better. It’ll confuse the Combine.”

New Naperville, Duran
Protectorate of Donegal, Lyran Commonwealth
9 September 3008

Frederick had kept the letter of his word in not telling Max what the Seventh Lyran Regulars were going to be doing, but he’d also made a point of reviewing everything that they’d written down about the Battle of Halstead Station which would have taken place more than five years from now, so it wasn’t hard for the time-displaced (or mad) man to guess that the Regulars would be going behind Combine lines.

He wished them well, but he freely admitted that his ‘Mech operation was not up to anything of the sort. (He’d have enthusiastically admitted it if needed in order to get out of the raid.). While his Orion was admittedly a potent machine, he would have been a liability against even a Sun Zhang Academy cadre or a planetary militia, never mind the sort of elite force that might be sent after such a daring attacker. Hanse Davion had faced Takashi Kurita and the elite Second Sword of Light, not to mention regiments of the Proserpina Hussars and Dieron Regulars.

No, Max would have been quite happy to stay on Wyatt and keep the hearth fires burning, but that hadn’t satisfied LIC and so he’d got to spend two months on a dropship slowly crossing the Lyran Commonwealth to reach Frederick’s homeworld of Duran.

Like Wyatt, Duran was drier than the Terra (or Earth) that existed in Max’s memories - but there were few other similarities. While Wyatt was a world continent with most of its water locked into the massive glaciers around the poles and only a few, landlocked seas, Duran’s deserts were the result of deep rain-shadows formed by its mountainous terrain. The population was centered around the coasts and the few regions where drainage allowed the existence of considerable agriculture.

Still, it wasn’t a poor world. The population was over half a billion and New Naperville - the planetary capital - sprawled impressively over both sides of the world’s longest river, just above the delta formed where the River Nyal flowed into the sea. Massive flood defenses doubled as fortifications, though according to Frederick’s own account they’d never really been tested in that fashion.

“I trust that you’ll be comfortable here.” Brian Sebastian, a long-time family retainer of House Steiner, ushered Max into a rather palatial penthouse in one of the capital’s skyscrapers.

“It’s… really more than I was expecting.” Usually when traveling with Frederick, he got the equivalent of a middling hotel room. This was more than four hundred square meters, with floor-to-ceiling windows in every direction - looking out onto a rooftop garden.

Brian smiled and stroked his graying pencil-mustache. “You represent our duke, Herr Mustermann, and you come with his highest regards. Short of his personal rooms here, you have the full use of everything in the townhouse. The staff will see to your every need - anything less would be disrespectful to his grace’s express commands.”

“Uh… great?”

The butler - or whatever his title was - lifted Max’s bag. “I understand that you’ve been traveling light. Your clothes will be laundered and ready by tomorrow and if I may suggest, we can call in a tailor to take care of any gaps in your wardrobe. There have been a number of invitations, and while I wouldn’t presume to advise which are appropriate for his grace’s instructions to you, it has been several years since has been home. The chance to speak to someone with his ear is an appealing one to many in Duran’s government and high society.”

Max bit back some words that he felt were appropriate to that situation. He was used to managing that for Frederick, not for his own sake. “I guess I have some research to do. And as for traveling light, I do have almost seventy tons of ‘mech downstairs.” The Orion, strapped down on a flatbed, was parked in a secure section of the skyscraper’s subterranean parking lot.

“Yes sir. His grace advised that you are still undergoing training. While the city is not ideal for such activities, we can arrange access to the militia grounds or with a little more time there is the estate at Quwansner which is fully equipped for the purpose. I was honored to assist the late duchess in his grace’s education in that field and he has asked that I extend the same offer to you.”

It took Max a moment to parse Brian’s words. “He hadn’t mentioned that offer,” he said slowly, eyeing the man. While he’d taken the erect stature as merely whatever was considered locally normal for a noble household’s senior retainer, now that he looked at it, Brian Sebastian was also standing in exactly the way he’d seen some of the senior NCOs in the Seventh Lyran Regulars. “You knew Duchess Sophia well?”

Brian smiled thinly. “I spent fourteen years with the First Royal Guards, sir. His late highness Archon Alessandro personally recommended me to her when she was granted the ducal title of Duran and I headed her security and then her household until her death. It was a privilege - her grace was taken from us far too soon.”

“I only know her through her children. Both strike me as remarkable, which… reflects well on her.”

“One’s children are one’s legacy,” the older man agreed mildly. “The birth of her first grandson was a happy day, we are all hoping that the duke will also provide for the future of the Steiner dynasty.”

“Do you have the invitations?” Max asked, deciding to ignore that the other man was expressly planning to unpack his bag for him. The only things that were in any way security sensitive were in his attaché case, and the small computer core stowed behind the seat of his Orion. That wasn’t enough to contain everything from the New Dallas core but it had a choice selection and several shipments had been discreetly sent over the last few months that should mean there were back-ups already on planet with most of the core’s contents.

One of Max’s tasks here was to hide them away so that at least one copy would survive attempts to deprive House Steiner of the data. It was entirely probable that Brian Sebastian or someone else on Frederick’s staff here had been charged with doing the same since if Max didn’t know where all the back-ups were, he couldn’t betray their location if interrogated.

Max had lost a couple of night’s sleep over the prospect of certain intelligence agencies grabbing him and doing whatever they felt necessary to get hold of Frederick’s secrets. But you could get used to almost anything and so far, he didn’t think anyone had actually realized what had been brought off New Dallas beyond the obvious hardware.

That might change once Bowie started building Archers again - or any of the other projects that were being quietly set in motion with limited copies of specific files from the core. But that was a problem for the future.

“One of the offices has been set up for you,” Brian informed Max, ushering the balding man down a corridor. “We can switch to another if you prefer, but we’ve put the paperwork there until you could express your preferences.”

“I’m sure it will be fine.”

The butler opened the door into a lushly appointed study and Max looked around for the door into whatever side office he’d been assigned. He didn’t need much, really. Two or three square meters was enough for a desk, a chair and a computer terminal. And he could do without the computer terminal if necessary.

However, Brian simply gestured towards the desk, where the in-tray - of nicely carved wood rather than plastic - held letters, data chips and the other hallmarks of Max’s usual workload. “The duke’s office is across the hall, but that’s locked at the moment,” he explained.

Oh. This was the side-office. Mind-boggling. In the abstract, Max knew that Frederick was rich - he’d seen some of the numbers. He hadn’t really understood it until now, he realized. And it was possible that he was still underestimating the scale of how that affected one’s lifestyle.

“I see. Thank you.” He checked the tray and found that the invitations were held in one bulging folder with a summary list on the front. Many of the names meant little to him but two were marked as executives at Rastaban Agricultural. The corporation’s headquarters were on the world it was named from, but their factory on Duran was one of the planet’s major manufacturers, building agro-mechs that were exported to neighboring worlds.

That ticked off one of the most important groups to make contact with.

Max was about to ask about the other group to have that degree of prominence on the list - Duran Agricultural and Mechanical college, the largest and most important school on the planet - when he saw his name on a second envelope.

“I’d probably better look at getting some ‘mech practice sooner rather than later. There wasn’t much chance on the dropship,” he admitted, opening the envelope and spilling the contents out. “What would be… fine for your schedule?” There were several papers and an identity card.

Brian smiled, perhaps more ominously than before. “I am happy to be available at whatever time you prefer, sir. We can have your ‘Mech at the militia base tomorrow morning if you would like.”

I’d better get the data core out of it first. How to get that here quietly…? Max flipped over the card and saw that it had his face and name on it. A replacement for his residency card? Did he need a different one here on Duran - he hadn’t on Wyatt…

On closer examination though, there were differences. For one, this had a citizenship number.

He looked up and Brian’s expression was bland. “I understand that the Duke of Summer’s administration was less than open to your citizenship application. Duke Frederick was quite clear that there would be no such problem here, given your services - past, present and future - to the Commonwealth.”

Max sat down heavily in the chair behind the desk. “He seems to have thought of everything.”

“We try, sir.”

“I have something in my ‘mech that will need secure storage.” There was no point trying to sneak around Brian, Max decided. Frederick and his family trusted the man, it was better to lean on that than to try and almost certainly fail to get around him. “It’d be best if it could be brought upstairs without drawing attention…”

Scarborough Manufacturers, Al Na’ir
Dieron District, Draconis Combine
11 November 3008

Al Na’ir was a heavily guarded star system and hitting it with only five companies of ‘Mechs was something of a risk. As a mark of its industrial importance, two regiments of the Dieron Regulars were stationed here.

But as Frederick marched his Zeus quickly towards the Scarborough Manufacturing factory, he was tempted towards optimism.

“What are we seeing?” he demanded of the scout company moving ahead of his force. The LTV-4 hovertanks had blasted through the skirmish screen of the Fifteenth Dieron Regulars - a mix of Jenners, Panthers and smaller light ‘Mechs quite unable to match the firepower of almost three times their number of ‘Mechs - most of them heavy and medium designs - following the fast moving and well-armed hovertanks.

“Two more companies of ‘Mechs are moving out,” the report came back. “What’s left of their light company is trying to regroup with them but they’re in no fit state.”

“Good work, keep going for the goal,” Frederick ordered.

“I’m surprised they only have a single battalion here,” Hauptmann Percy Thomas commented, his Banshee loping at the head of the inverted V-formation of his company, half a kilometer to Frederick’s left.

There were a few minutes before the engagement, the Colonel concluded. Enough time to educate a junior officer - as Kommandant Hickson was hopefully learning from the experienced mercenary that he was accompanying - Frederick had given the young battalion commander a choice between leading this attack or observing Cranston Snord’s tactics. Hickson had had the maturity to take the chance, rather than clinging to his immediate command.

Not that Frederick was making a habit of taking over an individual battalion, this was the first raid he’d switched in like this - otherwise he’d kept the force mostly concentrated, not hitting a pair of targets.

“One battalion of the Fifteenth Dieron Regulars is on Nashira, according to LIC - in response to our raids. And at least one company was reported as raiding into the Federated Suns before we entered the Combine. They may have been caught there or otherwise delayed in returning,” he speculated out loud. “Just because two regiments are stationed here, not all are necessarily going to be present.”

“What about the Eighth Dieron Regulars, sir?”

The Eighth Dieron Regulars were the other half of the garrison, and while the Lyran Regulars were a relatively unprestigious part of the Lyran Commonwealth Armed Forces, the Regular brigades of each Combine District were the backbone of the Draconis Combine Mustered Soldiery, equivalent of the Donegal Guards, Arcturan Guards and Lyran Guards. The Eighth Dieron Regulars were an experienced unit with a very good reputation.

“That’s less certain - we know one battalion is stationed at Yori MechWorks factory in the asteroid belt, but we don’t know if other elements are off-world.”

“Sir, that means Kommandant Hickson and Captain Snord might be outnumbered two to one.”

“That’s the risk they’re running,” Frederick agreed. “But without them, we could be facing three battalions right now, rather than just one. Let’s finish this quickly before the Eighth can pin Snord down.”

That should be much harder than it sounded. By all accounts from Rochelle, as well as Max’s accounts, Cranston Snord was as slippery as a Duran mercat in swamp-water.

“‘Mechs in sight, I’m seeing serious metal!” called Leutnant Jan Tiercel from Frederick’s own command company.

That was unfortunately also not a surprise. “All units, dump your BattleROMs back to the dropships once you see the enemy!” Frederick reminded them.

A moment later he was out of the rugged folds of land that the thirty-four Lyran ‘mechs had used to get close to their objective. With one hand he hit the switches on his communications console and the computers around him whined as encoded data was pumped out of his radio, letting those with the right codes pick up everything about the engagement so far from his Zeus’ perspective.

With the other he brought his crosshairs across a white-painted Victor - a ‘Mech the same size as his Zeus but optimized for brutal close-range engagements - and salvoed long range missiles at it.

The two companies of Dieron Regulars were in their parade colors - they’d really not expected this attack. But that only made it more obvious how heavy they were. The lightest ‘Mech Frederick saw was an Archer, and there were no less than five of the skull-faced Atlas ‘mechs that were the largest ‘Mechs still in production across the Inner Sphere.

The Dieron Regulars were rated as having one of the highest average ‘mech tonnages in the entire DCMS. And this commander had concentrated his lighter ‘Mechs into one company to use as spotting hounds for the rest of the battalion.

“Blake’s Beard, I’m not used to being on this side of a tonnage disparity!” Hauptmann Thomas’ PPC blazed, punching lightning into the chest of one of the Atlases. Other than scorched paint, the behemoth barely seemed concerned about the impact.

“Then let’s slim them down! Magnum-Actual, this is Tiger-Actual. Fire when ready.”

“Tiger-Actual, I confirm we are weapons free.”

Frederick kept his crosshairs over the Victor, hammering it again with his missiles and adding his autocannon. Unlike the larger and slower Atlas, his target was showing visible armor damage, but it would take more than that to stop it. Shortly they’d be in range for Frederick to bring his large laser into use, at that point he’d have to start worrying about heat.

For now, he could fire on the ‘Mech with impunity - the Victor couldn’t even hope to hit him yet. With more than thirty targets to pick from, the Dieron Regulars were picking out individual targets rather than concentrating their fire. That cost a Warhammer because Jan Tiercel’s fire support lance opened up on it with all four of their Archers. A hundred and sixty LRMs brutalized the ‘Mech’s armor (as well as tearing up the ground around it as some of the missiles went astray).

“I’m legged!” one of the Lyran Regular’s Commando pilots exclaimed. The light ‘Mech had been trying to avoid fire - it lacked the reach to fight back just yet, but it had been unlucky enough to be targeted by a DCMS Stalker who was lucky enough or skilled enough to focus multiple flights of LRMs.

Crippled and limping, the Commando tried to get away. Frederick shifted his targeting to the Stalker. However, the lumbering ‘Mech wasn’t going to be seriously threatened yet and knew the advantage of reducing enemy numbers. The Commando pilot ejected a moment before thirty LRMs ripped into the light ‘mech and several of them blew the damaged leg in two.

Frederick’s missiles cratered dorsal plating on the Stalker, but the detonations were utterly dwarfed as far more deadly projectiles landed.

With a sound like thunder, more than thirty artillery shells crashed down amid the Dieron Regulars’ formation, spreading circles of devastating shrapnel scores of meters across.

The Warhammer earlier had already been missing an arm. Now it simply blew apart as explosions behind it ripped it open and reached the stored munitions inside it. A Charger was spared the same fate only because it lacked any ammunition - but it staggered out of the firestorm with both arms limp and evidently under no control as the shoulders were savaged wrecks.

Few of the other Dieron Regulars were that badly damaged, but almost all of them had armor scarred and damaged. A single salvo of Magnum battalion - the artillery element of the Seventh Lyran Regulars’ combat support regiment - had done more damage than all the weapons fire of the ‘Mechs.

And then as Frederick switched his fire back to the Victor, which was blackened and scarred but advancing determinedly, more shells came down.

And then another salvo.

When the detonations finished, the Victor was on its knees - as if the mechwarrior inside had thrown it into seiza. However, Frederick seriously doubted if it could stand up. Over a hundred artillery shells from the Apostle self-propelled guns had done serious damage to the bunched up DCMS ‘Mechs.

However, they weren’t all in that desperate shape. Despite the battering, the nineteen remaining ‘mechs were spreading out to be a harder target for the artillery.

They were also falling back. A more reckless unit might have pressed the attack to close in but that would have forced a decisive engagement they might have lost.

“Magnum, cease fire,” Frederick ordered. “All ‘Mechs, stay at long range. If you don’t have the reach for that then back off out of their range and cover our rear. The militia are probably well supplied with hovertanks.” Besides the ‘Mech factory out in the asteroids, Al Na’ir was home to the hovertank factory that was the target of Frederick’s raid.

“We can run them down,” Thomas recommended eagerly.

Frederick grunted. “No, it’d be too costly.” He’d only just got the Seventh Lyran Regulars up to strength and killing off the other half of this battalion could cost him half of this one. “Switchblade-Actual, we’ve got the Regulars’ battalion on the backfoot. How are you doing?”

“Tiger-Actual,” the woman replied promptly. “It’s smooth as silk, there’s almost fifty hovertanks waiting for shipment here and we got here before anyone managed to crew them. We should have them all out of here and heading back for the dropships in under twenty minutes - it’d be faster, but we had to fuel them.”

“Understood.” Frederick switched channels. “Wildcat, this is Tiger-Actual. What’s your situation?”

“This is Wildcat-Actual.” Hickson sounded uncertain. “I don’t think the Eighth are going to catch us, which is probably a good thing. Snord has them frothing at the mouth to judge by what they’re sending on the open channels.”

“Whatever works. Tell him you can start pulling out - they’re too far away to intercept us now. We have what we came for and we’ll be heading for our own dropships in thirty minutes.” He increased Switchblade-Actual’s estimate by fifty percent - it was better to be pessimistic about such things in his experience.

“Understood, sir.”

Frederick closed the channel. This had been a very successful raid. Only two ‘Mechs disabled - three now. And if they managed to drag the crippled Commando and the fallen Victor back to the dropships then they’d only be one ‘Mech down once repairs were done.

But there was one jump to go before he reached the target he was really after. Greed could get us into a lot of trouble, he thought. But I want this now - and after so many successes I doubt anyone in the DCMS would expect us to keep going. Hell, how am I going to get fifty extra hovertanks aboard the Retribution?

Chapter Text

Chapter 5

Halstead City, Halstead Station
Dieron District, Draconis Combine
30 November 3008

“You are a con-man, Colonel Steiner.” Cranston Snord’s words were more admiring than critical as the two men’s ‘mechs strode through the open gates into Halstead City’s principal dome.

“What in the worlds are you talking about?” enquired Frederick, most of his attention looking out for ambushes. A firefight inside the dome would endanger many thousands of lives but the ISF and DCMS were not notorious for their concern about such matters. Also, they’d trumpet that all blame lay upon the Seventh Lyran Regulars and it wouldn’t take a large percentage of the city’s population believing it for the Regulars to be badly outnumbered in manpower, if not in armament, by local resistance to their presence.

The mixed company of ‘Mechs behind them were a mix of Snord’s Scouts - as the mercenary unit had finally elected to name themselves - and Frederick’s command company. Casualties in smashing the brigade of militia guarding Halstead Station hadn’t been high, but two months of combat operations across four different worlds had left many ‘Mechs with a list of minor faults that had been neglected in favor of repairs that directly impacted combat operations. With a few days leeway before any reinforcements could possibly arrive, Frederick had ordered a full maintenance cycle to get his troops ready. The limited available infantry force he’d brought for the raids were behind the ‘Mechs as they entered the city, they’d be more useful in here.

Honestly, he wouldn’t be surprised if the DCMS didn’t bother sending reinforcements right away. Halstead Station was a fairly unimportant world - low gravity and a toxic atmosphere leaving the population below a million souls - and they’d have no grounds to expect he wouldn’t be gone before they arrived. Like New Dallas, the habitable planet was only three days travel from the jump point, much less than the usual week or so. He could take off right now and the jumpships would have finished charging their drives before the dropships reached them.

Snord’s Archer swung its arms casually as the mercenary answered - a subtle sign that the mechwarrior was also on guard for any surprises. “You brought me all this way so that LIC could dig around on Clinton for what I wanted there.”

“Oh, the Castle Brian?” A smile creased Frederick’s face. “Well what else would you have wanted there?”

“I knew it!” The mustachioed mercenary captain was grinning though. “You scoundrel!”

“That almost sounds like a compliment.”

“It’s a professional compliment, from one devious wretch to another!”

‘Wretch’? Frederick preferred scoundrel, as little as it matched him. It fit Snord though - he’d been playing out negotiations on Clinton so he could ask for a landhold containing an entrance to the long lost SLDF base buried on the world. However, in his absence on this mission, it must have been found. “Anyway, I imagine you can have the landgrant for the place once we’ve picked it over.”

Snord paused. “I had that very offer - and I shall accept. But I won’t forget being outsmarted like this, Colonel Steiner. I shall be on guard in the future.”

The duke grimaced. “And trying to put one over on me?” Would he have to watch Snord for betrayal now?

“In any and all future bargains, yes! You are sharper than I took you to be.”

Frederick laughed shortly. “You don’t have much experience with Lyrans, do you?”

Snord also laughed. “At least you - or was it your cousin Katrina - offered the landhold. That puts you above Janos Marik in my estimation.”

The other man could almost imagine Max commenting: ‘An elite company no doubt’. He shook his head. “Well, from one scoundrel to another… I will remind you of a term of our existing contract.”

“Oh?”

They had reached the center of the city and Frederick halted his Zeus facing the main administration building. “The clause where anything you capture is yours… but we must receive authenticated copies of any data you capture, salvage or uncover.”

Snord turned his Archer sharply and backed it up behind the Zeus so that the two ‘Mechs were covering each other’s weaker rear armor. “Do you mean that this entire raid is a cover for a data heist?”

“Oh please. Raise your expectations, Captain. In the days of the Star League, Halstead Station was homeport for the entire Fourth Fleet of the SLDF. They had a major base right here, with housing for dependents, their own schools and even a university.”

There was a moment of silence and then Snord said softly: “I think we’d better talk about this face to face, not by radio.”

That seemed like good advice. Frederick powered down his ‘Mech and once infantry had fanned out to add to the perimeter, he unstrapped himself and climbed down from the cockpit, taking a military longcoat with him to give him a little more coverage than just his mechwarrior shorts and boots.

Cranston Snord joined him on the ground a moment later, having apparently taken the time to put on a grubby T-shirt and jodhpurs - perhaps to further his reputation as an eccentric. The mercenary gestured for Frederick to join him in the shadows of their ‘Mechs’ legs. “Freddie, old buddy, old pal… are you suggesting to me that there might be a Prometheus core here?”

At its height, the Star League had anchored its educational system with a network of universities and libraries that had each possessed a regularly updated data core that contained - according to legend - the complete sum of human knowledge. The truth was rather more mundane - actual cutting edge research, as well as military secrets had been withheld. But even so - such a core would contain a wealth of scientific knowledge lost since the Star League fell, and perhaps more importantly, it would give the broad context into which surviving scientific understanding fell.

“Unfortunately, no. Or rather; all records indicate that there was one and that it was removed by Kerensky’s soldiers comparatively early in the Amaris Civil War after they withdrew from Halstead Station to fight.” Frederick shook his head. “However, the core was hardly the entirety of the university’s records. The site itself was long since destroyed and built over, but I believe that their vaults were missed - and those vaults likely contain what remains of the university library.”

“You are a sneaky devil, Frederick Steiner and I am proud to be working with you. Maybe some of this luck will rub off on me.”

“Just don’t call me Freddie,” he retorted.

“What’ll you give me in exchange? I know better now than to offer you anything for free,” the ex-Wolf Dragoon offered teasingly.

Frederick gestured for them to leave their ‘Mechs. A squad of guards was waiting to escort them into the administration building, where he hoped to find some older maps of the city. “If we find what we’re here for, if we make it home safe, and if there are no… games over the copies that our contract requires you to hand over, then I might be persuaded to make a gift of a derelict ‘Mech to you - one of those found on New Dallas. In exchange for certain considerations.”

“Like remembering your name?” asked Cranston, following him up the steps. “It must be quite a ‘Mech.”

“I also want your silence on what we find, however large or small.” Frederick was not smiling. “Those who recover lostech prosper but those who find the data to create more have a nasty habit of dying and their finds being lost again.”

“Ah…”

“As for the ‘Mech, how about a first-production-run KY2-D-01 Kyudo? The second ‘Mech developed by the Terran Hegemony. If the unit numbers are correct, it dates to 2444 and it’s probably the last example of the design anywhere in the Inner Sphere…”

Cranston laughed. “Oh Frederick, if only you were a woman, I’d make you Rhonda’s stepmother in an instant. You fight well, you bargain sharply, and you have a nose for salvage.”

“And if you were a woman, you’d still need to raise your game considerably to have more than my professional interest.” He pushed open the door and looked at the signs - which were in Japanese. Fortunately knowing your enemy’s language was on the curriculum at both the Nagelring and Sanglamore so he had a good working knowledge.

“So what do we want the old town plans for?” Snord enquired, playing dumb.

Better than him blurting out the truth, Frederick thought. “If any resistance springs up here while we’re in the city, they’ll likely go to ground in disused tunnels. Older maps that show such things are priceless for even a temporary occupation.”

“Clever, clever.” The mercenary nodded. “I see that I have much to learn.”

Halstead City, Halstead Station
Dieron District, Draconis Combine
9 December 3008

Dropships were burning holes through the toxic atmosphere of Halstead Station and every single one of them looked to be headed for Halstead City.

“We could have done with more aircover,” Tim Hickson noted absently on the command net. “If we had a full wing with us, they’d have real trouble getting down without losing at least one dropship.”

“Something to keep in mind for the future,” Frederick replied stoically. “It’s not as if they’re bare.”

The Eighth Dieron Regulars were apparently not done chasing after Cranston Snord yet - a pair of Scout-class jumpships had arrived within five minutes of each other, each carrying an Overlord-class dropship. That meant two battalions of ‘Mechs would be arriving to reinforce the rallying remains of the militia that were holding onto the other cities on the planet and trying to pretend that they were going to push Frederick offworld. That threat was much more concrete now, and the Dieron Regulars had one of the Dracs’ double-strength aerospace squadrons with them - twelve fighters against Frederick’s six.

The only good news was that the Overlords weren’t the only ones inbound - a pair of LCAF jumpships had arrived as well, carrying the second raiding party to reach the rendezvous point.

Unfortunately, the battalion of the Tenth Skye Rangers was also fairly light on aerospace fighters, so they were only bringing aerospace numbers to parity - and Frederick had ordered his own fighters up to escort the Rangers in. He didn’t want the Dieron Regulars to get ideas about a counter-attack.

Hickson sighed. “Sir, is there any point in my asking why we didn’t just take off to join the Rangers at the jump point? The Kuritans don’t have the fighter strength to threaten us and once the Rangers’ jumpdrives are charged we could just leave. The other raiding parties could get here at any time, but so could reinforcements.”

“Classified, Kommandant. If I wind up out of action, you know where my safe is and you’ll be authorized then and only then to find out. It’s shoot-yourself-before-reading stuff.”

The Kommandant nodded grimly. “I’m glad there are orders covering this, because if there’s a court martial they’ll say Snord is rubbing off on you.”

For a long moment Frederick met his current second-in-command’s eyes. Then he rubbed his brow. “If it comes to an inquiry, Tim, I would prefer that you report exactly that. The truth is far too sensitive to be circulated somewhere as public as a court martial.”

“Even at the cost of your career, sir?”

He slapped Hickson’s shoulder. “I can’t tell you more without breaking security. Now let’s get back into the command center. Our new comrade will probably want to ask me the same questions you just did.”

Leaving the observation deck, Frederick looked at the holo display in the middle of the Retribution’s command deck. “Is it just me or does it look like the Regulars are heading for Madison?”

“Yes sir, that is correct.”

He nodded. The planet’s second largest city and a logical choice to stage from. “Acceptable. We’ll have to see what they can pull together from the militia, but two battalions doesn’t bring them to more than parity.”

The four Union-class dropships were now in view, rotating to land, their fusion torches almost too bright to look at even at this distance. Three of them carried companies of the Tenth Skye Rangers while the fourth was an infantry-conversion loaded with their support.

“I’m going out to meet the Rangers,” he decided. “Better to give them a warm welcome - and it strikes me as pretty unlikely that anyone will try to raid us right now. The militia are going to be too busy coming up with excuses for why they haven’t pushed us off planet. Hickson, you’re in charge.”

Leaving the Kommandant studying the tactical deployments and no doubt wondering what in the world was so important about Halstead City, Frederick descended to the Retribution’s ‘Mech bay. While vastly larger than the arriving Unions, the towering dropship carried only twelve ‘Mechs - most of its cavernous capacity was committed to tank and infantry decks. However, his Zeus was waiting for him - there had been so little action that the techs had even repainted it in a slate gray camouflage suited to the rocky surface of the planet, and almost as well to the tunnels beneath it.

The hatch opened once he was mounted up and Frederick marched his Zeus down the ramp, holding position until the door closed again behind him. He didn’t want to get caught the same way that the Marik Militia had been on New Dallas so there was a rigid rule that all dropship hatches were to be opened only when necessary. It put extra strain on the circulators to have to pump toxic air out every time - but better to shave a few hundred hours off their service lifespan than to lose their way offworld.

Truthfully, he didn’t need to be in his Zeus to get to the four Unions that were landing - they were only a kilometer away. But there was always the possibility of a sniper waiting to pick off a vulnerable LCAF soldier outside of the dome.

By the time he reached the Skye Rangers, the ground was beginning to cool from the heat of their thrusters. “This is Tiger-Actual,” he signaled. “Welcome to Halstead Station.”

“Tiger-Actual, this is Lightning-Actual.” It was a young man’s voice and he didn’t have a Skye accent. While he didn’t know the Kommandant leading this raiding party, that wasn’t to say Frederick didn’t recognise him. And he could tell that the man wasn’t in the best of moods. “Hold one while we authenticate with your command center.”

Frederick waited impatiently, trying to plan for the conversation. In theory he should just be able to give orders - he was senior in rank. But the Kommandant wasn’t from his regiment, so the chain of command wasn’t entirely clear - and beyond that, the other man had connections.

“I’m on the dropship to your left,” Lightning-Actual confirmed after eighty-three seconds. “We’ll open a hatch for you.”

Sure enough, a ramp lowered from one of the Unions. Frederick’s seismics picked up other sounds from the far side of the little formation - Skye Rangers disembarking where he wouldn’t have line of sight into their ‘Mech bays. Paranoia gripped him for a moment, was this a trap? Combine dropships in false colors?

But no, they had the right codes and even if some of the raiders had been captured, there were multiple precautions. It would be very very hard to fake this.

And he hadn’t walked over here to turn around!

The Zeus entered the ‘Mechbay, although he had to halt between the actual individual cubicles, for all twelve were occupied. Obviously there had been no losses - at least to this company. The cubicles were dark, but he could tell that four of the ‘Mechs were powered, watching him.

One cubicle lit up sharply, not one of the active ‘mechs, after the hatch closed. There was a man standing on the bay gantry, wearing a field uniform and a breathing mask.

“Colonel Steiner, if you’d join me, please.” It wasn’t a question and Frederick bristled for a moment, then forced it down. Snord hadn’t found the vaults yet and without the Rangers’ help, holding onto Halstead Station would be challenging.

Pointedly, he marched the Zeus forwards until the cockpit was only about a meter from the gantry the other man was standing on. The door to the Union had closed and he could hear the fans working to replace the air with something palatable but nonetheless he donned a breathing mask of his own before opening the hatch and climbing out.

From there, he secured a safety line to the cooling vest he was still wearing before leaping across to the gantry - he was angry but not going to be reckless. Missing the landing and falling to the hanger floor, nine meters below would be a poor first impression.

As it happened, that didn’t take place and a moment later he was facing the Skye Ranger’s Kommandant - taller and leaner than him, with thick black hair. Frederick knew that the younger man had a mustache but currently the mask covered it. “Kommandant Kell.”

“Colonel Steiner.” Kell saluted crisply, like the Nagelring graduate that he was. “I felt it best to convey my concerns privately about engaging in a conflict on the surface of Halstead Station at this time. It is possible that my understanding of our orders is deficient somehow…”

“Stop trying to talk like a Draconian officer,” Frederick told him bluntly. “If we’re really in private - and we’d better be - I don’t care much how blunt you are.”

Morgan Kell nodded. “What the hell are you doing down here? This is just a rendezvous point and the plan didn’t even require us to hit the world. I can see you faking a raid to buy time for the rest of us to arrive; but now their reinforcements have arrived, it’s a fight we don’t need.”

“There is another objective here,” Frederick told him flatly.

“One that isn’t in the briefing?” The Kommandant’s voice was sardonic. “Really?”

Taking a deep breath to calm himself, the colonel regretted it. Breathing masks didn’t really make that a pleasant experience. “Kommandant, as far as everyone else here is concerned - except one other officer -” (He had a faint qualm at implying that he meant a LCAF officer, rather than Snord) “- that is a classified matter they have no need to know.”

Morgan Kell gave him no answer except a look that was the textbook example of silent insolence.

“You have a certain piece of paper,” Frederick continued after a moment. “I know it, you know it. If you insist on knowing, then I have no choice but to tell you. All I can request,” he added bitterly, “Is that you treat it as privileged information.”

The Ranger’s eyes narrowed. “You resent that latitude being given to someone?”

“Yes.”

“Because it is unearned, in your eyes?”

Frederick paused - this was a question he hadn’t prepared for, he realized. “You obviously have Katrina’s trust, but trust should be within… specific competences. I don’t know how you earned that trust so I don’t know what limits I should expect to that.”

“You mentioned it, not me,” Kell pointed out. “Did you consider that I might not pull it out for every disagreement I have with my chain of command?”

That stung. The implication that Frederick would, if the shoe was on the other foot, be doing exactly that. Frederick gripped the rail of the gantry. “A fair point,” he forced himself to say. “Do you wish to invoke that?”

“...since I seem to have made that impression on you, I’ve no reason not to,” pointed out Kell. “Would you like to see it?”

He gestured sharply in dismissal. “I don’t need to. The fact is that I have credible information that there’s a university vault under Halstead City, containing technical books from the Star League. I mean to bring them back to the Commonwealth - ideally without the ISF finding out about it.”

Now it was Kell’s turn to look surprised. “I see. You didn’t tell General Regis about this? Or the Archon?”

“My source isn’t approved by LIC,” he replied tersely. “And while my cousin trusts you, she and I are not that close.”

“I see. Is your source available?”

Frederick shook his head. “Too much chance of falling into the wrong hands.”

“I’d have liked to see it.” Kell walked over and looked at the other ‘Mechs in the hanger. “Looking for lostech… you’re more of a romantic than I expected.”

He snorted at the idea. “There are very practical benefits if we can recover it.”

The Kommandant shook his head, still facing away. “Looking for lost Star League material is one of the things my brother and I dreamed of when we were younger.” He turned back to Frederick. “I’ll not put my battalion at undue risk, but right now the odds aren’t that bad. If that changes, we may need to withdraw - even if it risks House Kurita unearthing what you’re after. I think it’s safe to say they aren’t under the impression this is just a raid now.”

Halstead City, Halstead Station
Dieron District, Draconis Combine
16 December 3008

It might be mildly heretical to some of the Lyran mechwarrior community, but the Atlas wasn’t an ideal battlemech for all circumstances. It had heavy armor and the close range firepower could be crushing, but it was slow and at longer ranges it had limited options.

Unfortunately, the streets of Halstead City were practically ideal for the design and two of them were closing in on Frederick’s position.

Twisting so that he was side-on to them, the colonel managed to avoid one of the streams of depleted uranium shells from their autocannon as he returned fire. The other ripped chunks of armor from his Zeus’ right arm, severing some of the myomers inside it. While he was already far too close to use the missiles firing from that arm, he could have done with the option of smashing the reinforced limb into the enemy 'mech.

His own fire added to visible damage on the front of one of the Atlas, but didn’t seem to penetrate, even though he’d hit with both lasers and his own autocannon.

Fortunately, he was only one step-backwards from cover and as he moved clear, a pair of Riflemen opened up with their lasers, adding more scars to the pair of Dieron Regulars leading this push through the city. They couldn’t keep it up for long - being older and smaller than the modern Rifleman the two of them combined were only equal the tonnage of one Atlas and they weren’t well armored even by that standard.

Still, it let him cool his Zeus slightly. It wasn’t the first time he’d fired everything he could and the inside of the domed city was rather warm already. Angling his ‘Mech, Frederick lifted the safety cover on the ammunition dump controls and flipped one of the two switches. Several salvos worth of LRMs spilled out onto the ground.

“Snord, I hope you’re making good progress,” he growled into his microphone. “We’re running out of space to trade for time.”

“We’re practically shoveling them into shipping crates,” the mercenary replied. “I can’t guarantee they won’t be damaged if we hurry any more than we already are.”

It would have been easier to fend off the Eighth and Fifteen Dieron Regulars (an intact battalion of the latter had arrived to tip the balance in the favor of House Kurita’s banner four days ago) without having to divert ‘Mechs to carry the university’s books away - but the longer it took to clear the vault, the longer the defense had to hold. Given the close quarters, Frederick had ordered every Archer in his force to play loadermech - their primary armament was long range missiles that were of limited value inside the city, and they all had a pair of hands to work with.

This would have been a lot easier if he had more trucks to work with, but the civilians had decided to be uncooperative by hiding everything of military value that they could - including trucks of every description. It kept the traffic light and easy to control but he suspected that someone was trying to improvise weapons to fit onto them.

That meant that Morgan Kell and Cranston Snord were working practically side to side and the Skye Ranger cut in: “We have about half of it on the dropships. Sorting it out will be a mess but if you can hold for two more hours, we should have it all.”

The Dieron Regulars were halfway across the city already. They’d realized that pushing out across the plains towards the dropships wasn’t going to work - the Apostles dug in around the dropships would murder them in the open ground, and Frederick didn’t lack hovertanks to spot for them. Every LTV-4 lost could be replaced with Saracens, Scimitars and Saladins captured on Al Na’ir. So instead, they’d rushed the tunnels from Madison to Halstead City, using the Fifteenth’s heavy mass to blast through the choke points.

It had cost them half the battalion to do so, but Tim Hickson had lost half a company and the Dieron Regulars held the ground which meant they’d salvage their fallen ‘mechs as well as several of Frederick’s.

For a moment Frederick was tempted to just tell them to burn what they couldn’t take. It was what Hanse Davion would have done a few years from now when he raided the planet. However, he’d already decided against doing so. Letting the Combine recover part of the cache was unfortunate for the Lyran Commonwealth, but LIC might be able to steal copies later. The important point was that the books survived.

“I can’t promise you two hours,” he replied. “But I’ll do what I can.”

The two Riflemen were struggling, so he signaled them to withdraw and stepped back out into the street. One of the Atlases had a burned out wreck on one arm where its medium laser had been but that was the only part of their armament that they’d lost and they both plastered him with SRMs as he came back into view, then opened up with the autocannon.

Frederick’s Zeus staggered and he rode it, stepping backwards. The pair had good pacing, but they may not be very experienced - he would have used the autocannon first and then the missiles, which might have found weak spots opened by the autocannon.

As it was, his right arm was a stiffened wreck and would likely need to be completely rebuilt, while the Zeus was heating up, suggesting something had hit the shielding around its powerful fusion reactor.

That made using his lasers a risk, but it was one Frederick had to take and he felt sweat streaming down his face inside the neurohelmet as he raked the crosshairs across the Atlas on the left at shoulder height. The skullface of the larger ‘Mech gained an extra mouth below that intended by the designers, but the rest of his shots were absorbed by the glacis and the rounded armor over the shoulders.

Forcing down his frustration, Frederick continued to back up. He knew that the command staff were monitoring pushes like this on a dozen streets - there was no point calling for help because the only reserves were already committed to replace ‘mechs that had been sent back to the dropships for repairs.

“Lean right,” a warning came across the local tactical channel and Frederick complied, hitting the Atlas again with just his relatively puny autocannon.

A PPC fired past him and smashed directly into the already battered skull-face of Frederick’s target. Adding to the existing damage, the plating buckled and the earlier scar merged into the sculpted mouth. For a moment there was a visible glow through the ‘eyes’ and then a hundred tons of ‘Mech fell backwards, the pilot dead.

The ‘Mech that had fired was a frankensteinian monster - parts from at least four different ‘Mechs of varying sizes were visible. But there was no denying its effectiveness and it strode forwards to support Frederick, lasers firing at the one remaining Atlas.

“I don’t suppose there are reinforcements on the way?” the same voice asked.

“Not in the near future,” Frederick admitted. It must be Sneede, he thought. Snord was proud of the technician-turned-mechwarrior who’d built his own ‘Mech out of discarded scrap.

Honestly, given that it worked some of that scrap was probably a little too hastily discarded and might have been retained if someone hadn’t fiddled with the paperwork. But this was no time to argue about that: Sneede met both the requirements for an ally: he shot straight and he was firing at Frederick’s enemy.

“Oh, that’s not fair,” the Scout added a second later as two PPCs fired back, one of them searing through the cover on the missile launcher that occupied one side of the mismatched ‘mech’s torso. Fortunately, no missiles exploded.

“Panthers playing back up?” Frederick asked. He couldn’t tell from his own position, which was probably all that was keeping him from even more severe damage.

“No, another Atlas!”

Who put PPCs on an Atlas? Well, that would be a question for another time. Frederick looked at the street corners. The advancing Atlas in the lead was about to reach the street he’d taken cover in just a moment ago. “Do you still have LRMs?”

“For all the good they’ll do at this distance? Yes.”

It was a long shot, but that was about what was left right now. “When it’s about to reach the next corner, put a full salvo into the road around that corner - right side,” he clarified.

Sneede didn’t reply immediately but he raised the cover on the missile launcher anyway. Fortunately, it opened without issue.

The Riflemen emerged from cover and added their fire briefly, but it was evident neither had the armor left to continue fighting without repairs.

Then a full salvo smashed into Frederick and his gyro protested as plating across the chest buckled and the weight distribution of his Zeus changed sharply. He fought the controls, but even the best Lyran engineering had limits and all he could do was ride the fall, going down on one knee and catching himself by bracing the muzzle of his autocannon against the ground.

He was a sitting duck!

There was a rush of missiles and he could feel the impacts of at least two against the canopy of his cockpit.

But then there was a louder thunder ahead of him and when he looked up past the scarred armorglass he saw that one of the buildings was collapsing on top of the Atlas.

“What the hell?” asked Sneede. “Was it not up to code or something?”

“Probably not.” Frederick forced his Zeus upright and looked for the second Atlas - buried under many times its own weight, the first one would be a while digging its way out. “And I dumped my LRMs in that street a moment ago.”

“Ah. Lucky that they went off the way you hoped.”

Seeing no sign of the other Atlas, Frederick opened the broadcast channel. “This is Tiger-Actual. We had a building come down here - may as well let what emergency services remain know about it. Hopefully it was empty.” He had issued a warning for the civilians to go to shelters once the attack began.

“Understood, Tiger-Actual. Can you hold?”

“I think this street is pretty much blocked.” And the temperature of his Zeus was returning to something resembling normal levels. “How about the other advances?”

There was an ominous pause. “Contained, for now. If losses rise, then we may need to pull back to the next defensive line.”

That was a line of heavily built residential blocks on what had once been the university campus - very close to the vault. Ceding that much distance was far from ideal. On the other hand, it was a shorter line…

“Move a lance of artillery in,” he ordered. “Have them start shelling the buildings in front of that line. Once we have a clear field of fire around the line, we’ll make an organized withdrawal rather than wait and risk doing so under fire.”

“Sir, we don’t know that those buildings aren’t occupied.”

“We issued a warning,” Frederick growled. “Issue another if it salves your conscience but I’m more concerned about our troops’ lives than I am with those of people too dumb to get out of the way when we actively warned them ‘mechs would be brawling in the streets.”

“Ho! Colonel,” Sneede said suddenly. “You might want to see this.”

“What?” He cut his microphone and moved his ‘mech to join Sneede’s.

The collapse of one building hadn’t gone without damage to others and one neighboring building had lost most of its wall. Through it, a neatly parked - if now covered in light debris - formation of trucks were parked.

“Mining trucks,” Sneede pointed out. “Open back, so if they were just stacked up they could drive right up and onto a dropship then tip the contents out.”

Frederick had an image of what the librarian at the Nagelring would have said about treating books like that. Probably best they never found out. But there were dozens of these trucks.

“Retribution, this is Tiger-Actual,” he ordered. “Get the hovertanks loaded and send a hover APC down here with every tank driver you can get into it. I think we just found the trucks we need.”

A rumbling sound from the main pile of remains of the building showed that something was trying to get out. Sneede marched his ‘mech over to the heap and waited.

After a moment, the hand and forearm of an Atlas broke through the surface. Sneede’s mech opened up on the limb with all three lasers, carving glowing lines through it. Continued waggling got the elbow out eventually but by that point, the limb was missing both the laser and the fist.

“If you keep digging yourself out, you’ll have little of your ‘Mech left,” Sneede warned the Combine mechwarrior in a friendly tone, his loudspeakers shaking the dust left by the collapse. “It’s all the same to me if you stay down there until your friends catch up and can give you some help.”

That apparently was enough to convince the samurai in the Atlas not to try again. Or perhaps that had been the only limb he could move while pinned under most of a large building. Either way, there was no further immediate evidence of reinforcements arriving until one of the large hover APCs (another prize from Al Na’ir) arrived with twenty drivers. None of them were trained on mining trucks exactly, but Frederick didn’t need them to drive neatly, just to get to the vault and then carry the contents off to the dropships. It didn’t matter if they caused a little property damage along the way - he’d just ordered several dozen buildings be destroyed.

“Steiner, what’s this I hear about trucks?” asked Snord. “We could really do with them.”

There was the - by now familiar - sound of an Apostle firing in the distance.

“And what was that? Are you firing artillery inside the dome?”

“Yes.”

“Is that yes there are trucks or yes you’re firing artillery.”

“Yes,” Frederick said again.

“Kell, did you know your colonel is crazy?”

“He’s not my colonel.” Morgan Kell sounded quite happy with that. “Are we really that desperate, Colonel Steiner?”

Frederick sighed. “If we need the final defensive line around your current location, then yes. I’d rather be prepared. Get loads ready for at least twenty trucks and maybe we can get this lot out before the Eighteenth Dieron Regulars manage to punch through. I think they know you’re here, Snord. And they seem to want revenge for whatever you said to them on Al Na’ir.”

“That conversation was in confidence,” the mercenary declared. “I can’t tell you personal details like that.”

“I really wasn’t asking.”

If Snord was taking this seriously, we might be in real trouble, Frederick concluded. But if he’s wisecracking like this then I think we might make it.

Chapter Text

Chapter 6

Neo Carthagia, Addicks
Draconis March, Federated Suns
5 January 3009

At first glance, Frederick wouldn’t have guessed that Aaron Sandoval was about the same age as Max Mustermann - or that he was close to two decades older than the First Prince. If he had to have guessed, the two lords greeting him on arrival at Addicks would have both been close to his own age rather than being several years older and younger respectively.

“Welcome to the Federated Suns.” Ian shook his hand vigorously, then lowered his voice to add: “We’ll speak again shortly.”

As the First Prince moved through the small crowd of LCAF officers, greeting the leaders of each of the five raiding forces first, Aaron Sandoval leant on his cane and offered his own hand. “May I repeat my prince’s greeting most sincerely. I’ve often thought that we have common interests with the Lyran Commonwealth. I hope this is the sign of future cooperation.”

Frederick accepted the hand. “Having a common enemy, and different areas of strength, is a decent reason to try that. We both know it’s easier to say that than it is to follow through - but if we don’t start somewhere…”

“Well, you’ve made a good start. Dieron District is bubbling, and I wouldn’t be surprised if Takashi Kurita invited a few officers to apologize in the garden.”

Frederick nodded, recognising the euphemism. “I imagine he’ll try to clear away some more of his father’s deadwood.”

“When you put it that way, it sounds like a bad thing for us,” the ruler of the Draconis March said wryly.

“Perhaps a little of both. The current coordinator is more able as an enemy, but he is also less likely to default to brutality. Even if the replacement officers are more able, they may be less likely to inflict atrocities.”

“That offsets it a little, but capable Drac leadership is always a threat,” Sandoval said seriously.

Frederick made a face. “I can’t really argue with that - and the reports I’ve seen suggest that Takashi may be the most able leader House Kurita has produced since Taragi Kurita.”

The Duke of Robinson hissed slightly. “He has a good reputation… but Taragi? That’s very bad.”

Taragi Kurita’s reign had ended over a century ago and he’d been one of the very few Coordinators not to be trained as a mechwarrior. Unfortunately, he’d been a shrewd politician and a master of logistics. Fortunately, he’d come to the throne late and had a relatively short reign, but he’d almost taken Skye. Takashi, by contrast, was a fairly young man and if he was able to address the economic and logistical weakness of the Draconis Combine…

I probably shouldn’t try to warn Sandoval about Takashi’s son, Frederick decided. Theodore Kurita was a small child right now, there was nothing but Max’s advice to tell him that the boy would be one of the greatest generals of this century. And fortunately, perhaps among the most humane of House Kurita’s leaders. An odd thing to think about someone who would have shot Frederick in the head one day, but even that was better treatment of his prisoners than some of his ancestors.

“Fortunately, both our nations have strong leadership of their own,” Frederick offered in sympathy. “My cousin is determined to amend some of the LCAFs… traditional weaknesses.”

Sandoval nodded, but his eyes were slightly harder. “And what do you see as our traditional weakness, Duke Frederick?”

“Logistics,” he answered instantly. The Federated Suns was the largest of the Five Successor States by volume, but it had one of the smallest jumpship fleets. The AFFS was almost continually overstretched, even after supplementing their numbers with large numbers of mercenaries. “And if I was a salesman, this is where I would offer an ‘ideal and easy’ solution.”

“Hmm. You’re right of course. And our problems are no more easily solved than those you Lyrans face.”

Frederick nodded. “I may be able to provide some assistance,” he added quietly. “But you understand that I must take it to your Prince first.”

Duke Aaron shook his head slightly. “Also plan on convincing Michael Hasek. Ian may reign, but it’s his brother-in-law that manages much of the affairs of state.”

“I’d heard as much.”

Ian returned to them, having circulated. “Aaron, are you keeping the duke to yourself?” he asked cheerfully. “What are you two conspiring about?”

“Confusion to the Kuritas,” offered Aaron.

“I’ll drink to that. But first!” Ian waved his hand and uniformed stewards came around with trays of glasses. “But first, a toast to the success of Operation Commonplace.”

Hopefully you have no idea how successful, Frederick thought as he drank. The Davion’s spy agency, MIIO, was a peer to the Lyran’s own and penetrating foreign military secrets was naturally one of their major focuses. The Federated Suns and the Lyran Commonwealth weren’t technically at war right now; but they had been in the past, and their respective royal houses were technically rival claimants to the throne of the First Lord of the Star League. MIIO no doubt had spies inside the Commonwealth - the LIC certainly had some inside of the Suns.

“So,” Aaron observed - just loud enough for Ian to hear him, “Like any good Lyran, Duke Steiner wants to sell me something. May I ask my Prince to at least witness how I’m being horribly taken advantage of?”

Ian laughed. “Now, now, Aaron. Anyone mistaking you for a soft-touch is both blind and stupid. I should just come along to make sure our poor Lyran friend comes out of this with both arms and at least one leg to his name.”

Frederick laughed politely and let himself be drawn away from the main reception hall of the Addicks military spaceport and into one of the many meeting rooms that such a facility naturally needed.

The bonhomie fell off Ian’s face after the door was closed and it was replaced by what Frederick could only describe as friendly determination - like a large dog so intent on being walked that it was towing its owner behind it. “So, I’m guessing you found something on Halstead Station.”

“How secure are we here?” Frederick asked seriously.

Aaron snorted. “It was swept this morning and again five minutes before you disembarked. We’re secure.”

The Lyran went to the table and produced a pocket holo-display from inside his jacket, placing it on the table. He wasn’t a businessman, but he knew about presentation. The first bite was with the eye, and thus he activated the unit and stepped back to see how the pair took the image it projected.

Aaron Sandoval hung his cane on the back of one of the chairs and squinted curiously. Ian Davion put both hands flat on the table and leant forwards intently.

“I don’t recognise the ‘Mech,” the duke said at last.

“You should,” Ian told him. “It used to be built on Robinson.”

Dark eyes narrowed. “Swordsman? Yes, now that I look at it…”

“A forty ton medium trooper - armament comparable to a Shadow Hawk, armor of a Clint, mobility of a Rifleman.” Frederick ticked off where the ‘Mech stood in the trifecta of general characteristics. “Designed to be cheap and easy to build - a way for the AFFS to expand their ‘Mech strength back when such weapons were still rare.”

“FPF.” Ian Davion wasn’t looking away. “The AFFS came later.”

“I stand corrected.”

“It was Rostov’s ‘Mech,” Aaron mused. “Phased out of regular use after the formation of the Star League. I don’t think there’s a single surviving example. But I don’t think you just have a picture of it for us, Duke Steiner.”

“A full Terran Hegemony dissection of the design.” Frederick folded his hands behind his back. They were looking, now it would be necessary to hook them. “Both intelligence reports and a literal dissection of an example that they captured. It appears to have had some influence over their own medium designs later. Short of having the original design data, this would be as good as it gets for bringing the design into production again.”

“We could do with more ‘Mechs.” The First Prince’s first words were obvious. Everyone could do with more ‘Mechs. “But this one comes with a poisonous legacy.”

“The iconic design of the last real internal rival House Davion had,” Frederick agreed. He’d not particularly focused on the Davion Civil War of the early 26th century during his studies, but he had a rough idea of the major players. “However, while Dimitri Rostov was certainly a traitor, his father Nikolai was a genuine war hero with an excellent record against the Terran Hegemony and the Draconis Combine.”

Aaron looked thoughtful. “How hard do you think it would be to put back into construction?”

“The reactor and gyro assembly of the SWD-2 model can likely be replaced with a modified package from a Locust, the electronics of a Shadow Hawk should be sufficient for anything the Swordsman is expected to do.” Frederick shrugged. “We’re not talking about Star League level automation, but Bowie Industries are close to bringing the Archer back into production - in principle the same should be feasible for the Swordsman. And the LCAF certainly needs medium ‘Mechs.”

Both men nodded - the LCAF wasn’t entirely top-heavy through choice. What any nation fielded depended heavily on what production they had left after two centuries of strategic raiding to try to cripple each other’s military-industrial complex. “So, if you’re interested in building these, why are you showing it to us?”

“Because someone in the Federated Suns still owns the legal rights. And may even have some records of how they were originally built. I would personally relish the circumstance of the Dragon finding that a long unseen ‘Mech is now being fielded along the borders it shares with both our realms; but if it’s to be solely a Lyran ‘Mech, I would still prefer it be done legally.”

He watched the other two men exchanging looks and knew they’d been hooked. Reintroducing a ‘Mech with awkward historic connections wasn’t impossible, but the blowback if another realm started building it and they’d turned down the chance would be severe. The Federated Suns loved and respected their military and being deprived of a new weapon was something that would stir dissent.

It wasn’t that there was no downside, but the scales were heavily weighted in favor of them accepting.

“So, what do you have in mind?” enquired Ian, pulling a chair back. “In outline, at least.”

Now for the ‘reeling-them-in’ part, Frederick thought as he sat down and began outlining an agreement which would no doubt need a double or triple-digit number of lawyers to finetune later. Some people actually enjoy this?

New London, Skye
Federation of Skye, Lyran Commonwealth
4 February 3009

“Hail the conquering hero!” Aldo Lestrade was lying in wait for Frederick and the burly officer allowed the younger man to slap him on the back with a resignation he tried to hide.

The duke of Summer drew back and examined him for a moment, seeing the change to his rank badge. “Leutnant General now?”

“It doesn’t change much.” Typically, the rank would involve a staff posting but since the Seventh Lyran Regulars were blossoming into a multi-regiment formation, Frederick had been assured he would remain in charge of them still. Infantry and tank crews would be arriving to expand them further over the next few months - although Frederick had pushed back on that a little, concerned that the force might become too large for strategic mobility.

Aldo shook his head. “Nonsense! It’s well deserved and rather overdue in my opinion. If you’d been promoted sooner, think how much more you could have accomplished.”

“The thought has crossed my mind,” he admitted.

Growing more serious, the young Lestrade drew him aside. “I don’t say this lightly, but I would rather that you had more influence over the security of Skye. Operation Commonplace was a great success - I don’t say otherwise - but while that is heralded as a great triumph, it’s as much to hide the failures of others.”

“I’m glad you’re taking care for the safety of the region.” Frederick would have had to tear his arm free of Aldo’s hands not to be led, so he went along with it. Making a scene here wouldn’t be worth it - not in the palace of the senior Lestrade line. “Not all of the nobility do.”

“No.” A shake of the head. “No, they don’t. Has anyone mentioned Wyatt to you?”

Frederick paused, then scowled. “No. Why?” It was his command’s garrison posting - even though they’d been detached for this operation, they were to return there shortly. They would have embarked sooner, but Katrina had arrived and the rigmarole of royal court was slowing everything down.

The reason for the Archon’s presence was holding the bulk of the attention in the great hall of the Dukes of Skye. Ian Davion, First Prince of the Federated Suns, had elected to cross into the Lyran Commonwealth to meet directly with his counterpart and open discussions towards establishing new ties between the two Successor State. Beyond the formalities, Frederick could see some logic to keeping the Regulars here as an extra garrison - the world of Skye had been attacked before and two House Lords would be a glorious prize were they killed or captured. But it remained frustrating.

Aldo led Frederick out onto a balcony. “Wyatt was raided in your absence. Badly. Bowie Industries took serious damage and your base was particularly targeted.”

“My base?” Why would anyone waste time on a base that was essentially empty during the Seventh Lyran Regulars’ deployment? He was more worried about Bowie Industries’ nascent ability to manufacture ‘Mechs again.

“It was the Twenty-Fifth Marik Militia.” Looking out over the metropolis, Aldo looked grim. “I believe they were hoping to take revenge for their defeat on New Dallas.”

“What happened to the garrison?” A battalion of mercenaries had been hired on a short-term contract to replace Frederick’s command.

“Scattered to the wind.”

Given they’d been outnumbered three to one, the best Frederick would have really hoped for was that the mercs held the factories long enough for relief. “I see. That is… unfortunate.”

“Katrina posting you and your regiment there was supposed to be an assurance of the defense of the region. But when you were needed, Frederick, she’d sent you away on a mission that could have seen you lost deep inside the Combine. It’s a relief that you succeeded, but do you realize that that might not have been her goal?”

He said nothing for a moment. It seemed unlikely to him that Katrina would be actively trying to get rid of him. Even without Max’s assurances, he doubted she lacked confidence in her ability to defeat him if he did oppose her openly. However reckless she might be as a tactician, she had many successes to her name. “I would say that Tharkad is a long way from Skye, but she still came here today.”

“Yes, to meet a foreign ruler. Who knows what she’s planning there?”

“We have a common enemy in the Draconis Combine. That could mean good things for Skye.”

Aldo looked unconvinced, which Frederick took to mean that he saw little good in it for Aldo Lestrade. “I hope that you’re right, my friend. But with everything going on, I have had to consider who might be willing to restrain the Archon if her enthusiasm leads her into further recklessness.”

“She isn’t without advisors… but I don’t like that Wyatt has been kept from me,” he admitted. “Do you know how bad the damage was at Bowie Industries?”

“Not your base?”

“We can build a new military base, Aldo. But Bowie’s repair yards are a strategic asset along that part of the border. Keeping ‘Mechs operational will be harder without it.”

“It’s classified,” the duke said, with distaste in his voice. “Not for mere civilians. However, I gather Bowie has contracted not only salvage workers but also freighters to carry a considerable tonnage. I cannot help but suspect they feel they should rebuild elsewhere.”

Frederick hissed. Modern heavy manufacturing required enormous facilities and infrastructure. It said much that even after two hundred years on the frontlines between House Marik and House Steiner, Bowie had still not tried to relocate the repair facilities. If they were doing so now, that suggested that critical infrastructure for the site was gone. “They may be consolidating onto their facilities on Alarion.” Although those were also being rebuilt after the FWLM raided them in 3006.

“And so Skye loses more industry. It’s as if no one understands that our exposed position requires a commensurate level of resources.”

“I’m sure that that’s not forgotten.” One of the major points of Operation Commonplace had been to reduce pressure on Skye from the DCMS regiments in Dieron. It was unfortunate that the Free Worlds League had taken advantage.

Or was it just misfortune?

The trouble was, Frederick could think of more than one person who might see it as beneficial to their plans for the victory against the Combine to be balanced out by a defeat elsewhere. And with the failure of the invasion of Rochelle, the Commonwealth appeared to be weak against the League at the moment.

“There are those who are less certain of that,” Aldo told him. “It would be a great service to those who have some concerns about the direction of the Commonwealth. I don’t doubt that Katrina Steiner intends to make good the suffering faced under your uncle, but there is a real risk that she may fall into the same trap that he did.”

Frederick rubbed at his scar. “How do you mean?”

“Listening only to those advisors who agree with the Archon. Dissenting voices are silenced before they can point out flaws in a plan - not necessarily to oppose the plan but to correct the flaws. I have heard that even the Archon’s sister is not always heeded when she offers her advice - and Nondi Steiner is one of our finest military minds.” Aldo smiled winningly. “Even though we rarely see eye to eye, I have great respect for her.”

“Nondi is very able.”

“And if you and she cannot be heard in the Triad then the Archon lacks a key form of advice. Lacks a loyal opposition who will tread the delicate line of encouraging the Archon and her staff to fully consider their decisions, without being thought to be undermining them. Members of House Steiner should surely have the closeness to her for that.”

Frederick snorted. “You’re asking me to be delicate? Aldo, I thought you knew me!”

“In this case, your directness is the delicacy required. It allows you to say that which others dare not - and if anyone thinks too much then those who know you are an honest man who speaks his mind clearly.”

“I…” Frederick shook his head. Did Aldo think he was so foolish as not to realize he was being told he was too direct to be a politician?

The younger man patted him on the shoulder. “Think about it. There are many forms of service to the Commonwealth. And isn’t it true that more is expected of House Steiner than the rest of us?”

Very true. But in this case, my responsibility does not necessarily accord with your interests… whatever they are. If you don’t secure me as your pawn then who will you choose? Nondi despises your politics, Hermann and Donna are uninterested - I think.

And then his mind went to the younger generation and a shiver went down his spine. A child-Archon might need a regent…

“I will consider your words,” he conceded. Perhaps if you do decide to use me, I will have enough insight into your plans to keep you from causing havoc in pursuit of your ambitions.

It occurred to Frederick that he no longer even second-guessed the idea that Aldo was self-interested to the point of endangering the Commonwealth. If I hadn’t met Max, would I already be a puppet on your strings?

The Triad, Tharkad
Protectorate of Donegal, Lyran Commonwealth
25 February 3009

It was snowing over the Triad. No surprise, thought Katrina Steiner, it’s the time of year for it.

Then again, that didn’t narrow it down much. Tharkad was a glacial world, winter lasted half a Terran year. Low temperatures and heavy gravity made it an uncomfortable world in comparison to the world of her birth. Save for its central location, she sometimes wondered why her ancestors chose it as a capital all those centuries ago. Surely there must have been other options when Arcturus became too vulnerable to House Kurita.

“It’s quite a view.” She had invited the First Prince to dine with herself and her husband and now he joined her at the window. “I love looking out from Castle Davion, but the view here is… amazing.”

“What calls to you first?” asked Arthur Luvon from where he was warming himself at the fire. “The cold wind, the cold snow or the frozen hearts of the courtiers?”

Ian paused. “I’m tempted to say the snow - my home is far more temperate. But honestly that was my second impression.”

“And your first?” enquired Katrina, drawing back the long blue curtains so she would have a better view.

“The defensibility of the Triad. In the unlikely event of an attack, Avalon City has only the mountain and the river - but here there are a dozen places where a single lance could hold off a battalion.” The Davion smiled slightly. “Don’t take this as a national propensity for war, Archon. Only a personal one.”

“We’re all soldiers here.” Arthur changed the subject by lifting one of the wine glasses from the table. “What would you like to drink, your highness?”

“Please, call me Ian. You’ve been kind enough to share some of your limited time together with me.”

“I am Katrina then - and my husband is Arthur.” Katrina walked to the table and found a bottle of her preferred vintages was already waiting, the cork loosened just enough to let the contents breathe.

The young prince - he’d come to the throne while still in his teens and ruled more than thrice as long as Katrina - gave her a half-bow. “I’ll be guided by you.”

Arthur gave him a measuring look and then selected a bottle from those waiting on the table, as yet uncorked. “Try this then. Medicine for a warrior returned from the battlefield.”

“A Palosian wine?”

“One of the Capellan Confederation’s exports, if it does not offend.”

The prince shrugged. “No harm in trying it. Perhaps one day my brother-in-law will liberate the world from House Liao.”

Katrina and Arthur exchanged looks but said nothing. Arthur took a corkscrew and began to open the bottle. “I hope the young ladies aren’t bothering you in court. An unmarried prince is somewhat of interest to them when the only unmarried Steiner of suitable age is rarely here.”

“Duke Frederick?” Ian shrugged. “Perhaps we can exchange war stories of being besieged in that fashion next time we meet. It could be more entertaining than the usual sort.”

“If Frederick does marry it might settle him down.”

Katrina snorted. “And add to my worries, unfortunately. Gaining an heir might stir him to be more ambitious.”

“If he truly still holds to those ambitions,” her husband pointed out, pouring wine into their guest’s glass.

She sighed. It was a topic they’d disagreed on before. “I hope he does not.”

“I fear I’ve stepped into an awkward topic.” Ian offered, pulling back Katrina’s seat rather than taking his own. “For what it’s worth, the Colonel seemed more interested in military and commercial affairs than in politics.”

Katrina sat down and started to fill her own glass. “The latter is a new interest for him. Before my accession to the throne, he was focused almost entirely on his military career.”

“It wasn’t immediate in that regard,” Arthur told her. “Harrison tells me that he first became involved after the raid on New Dallas.”

“Like most things about my cousin, it could be good or bad - it’s hard to tell.”

Ian took his own seat and raised his glass. “I know that expression you wear, Katrina.”

“How so?”

“It’s the same I wear when Hanse does something reckless and imprudent.”

“I doubt your brother covets the throne of the Federated Suns, Ian.” Katrina sipped from her glass. A Gallery wine, a taste of home. “Or if he does, the assessments I’ve received are at odds with it.”

“That doesn’t mean no one would rather he ruled,” Ian told her. “Even before our father died there was talk that he might be a better ruler than I. If he really wanted it, I’d take my chances on him.”

“I can’t say the same about Frederick,” Arthur observed. He sipped from his own wine. “I will admit there are those who would like to promote him as a rival but so far, the closest he’s come to them is Aldo Lestrade. And he’s been a friend of the Lestrades for years. It would be a surprise if they didn’t stay in touch.”

Katrina nodded in agreement. “Unfortunately, he’s the last Lestrade I want him to be close to. Duke Grethar is a fine ruler, but Aldo has… a lean and hungry look, if you take my meaning. And Frederick took my uncle’s grooming as heir quite seriously. I would like to think that his investments mark a new direction for his thoughts, but I can’t help but think that he might be more interested in networking as a prelude to building support.”

“I’d agree that he’s ambitious,” Ian conceded. “If a little unsubtle. His presentation of the Swordsman deal was a bit too polished for him to have found the data on Halstead Station. And he very carefully didn’t actually say that that was what he found there - just allowed listeners to make that connection.”

“If you knew he had something else of value, why didn’t you inquire further?” Katrina began to eat.

“Whatever he had, he was offering a good deal.” Ian also applied cutlery to the contents of his plate. “If I’d tried to seize what he found, it could have failed and would surely have cut short the possibilities of our working together - possibilities that could include sharing in the benefits anyway, if I play my cards right.”

Arthur nodded. “And besides the Swordsman, you’re also looking to benefit from his acting as a middleman between Coventry Metal Works and Corean Enterprises.”

“I wouldn’t have considered the possibilities he saw there,” Ian admitted. “But it looks promising - and Corean’s interests are increasingly focused on New Avalon rather than their traditional center within the Free Worlds League.”

“So long as it doesn’t lead to the benefits coming back to the Free Worlds League,” Katrina mused. “But yes - it benefits us as well if the plan goes as Frederick hopes.” By drawing parallels between components used in the Commando and the Valkyrie, the Duke of Duran had suggested that the two companies could exchange data with each gaining the ability to produce the other’s trademark light ‘Mech. If the deal was fulfilled, it would aid both nations - but it required considerable trust.

Ian lifted his glass again. “There is another benefit I see: even if we cannot completely duplicate each other’s production, Corean would likely be able to manufacture parts for Commandos in service with the AFFS and such Valkyries as have come into LCAF hands will similarly be easier for you to maintain.”

“Cutting into the trade in such parts between our states would discourage interdependence. I’d have thought you’d rely on the alliance you want.” Arthur steepled his fingers, eyeing Ian thoughtfully.

The redheaded prince shook his head. “An alliance between us is a good thing, but our nations’ interests may not always line up. It could endure until the next Archon, or the next First Prince, but sooner or later one of our Houses will find reason to break it off. Better to seek ways that strengthen each of us without becoming weaknesses when the time comes.”

“Nothing lasts forever,” Katrina agreed reluctantly. “We can hope that that also applies to the Succession Wars.”

“I doubt I’ll see the end of them,” Ian confided. He refilled his glass and raised it. “But there is always hope, isn’t there?”

Arthur and Katrina extended their own wine glasses, tapping them together and then against Ian’s. “To hope,” the Archon offered.

“To hope,” the First Prince agreed quietly.

They all drank.

“It occurs to me,” Ian continued, “That if we sometimes struggle to maintain ‘Mechs that require parts from the Lyran Commonwealth then the same may be the case with the Lyran Commonwealth Armed Forces and ‘Mechs from the Suns. Perhaps we could arrange some basis to exchange ‘Mechs that are otherwise unserviceable. It would be on a small scale, but…”

“Small steps may lead one on a longer journey,” Katrina agreed. “It’s something we can add to the discussions tomorrow. My realm has unmatched industrial output among the Successor States but that’s not to say we can build everything.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 7

The Triad, Tharkad
Protectorate of Donegal, Lyran Commonwealth
18 September 3010

Two royal funerals within the first three years weren’t the ideal omen for Katrina Steiner’s reign, at least among those who weren’t aware that Alessandro’s death had removed a threat to that reign.

For her to have lost a husband within six months of their child being born though…

“It’s rough on Katrina,” Morgan Kell said softly as he and Frederick stood together outside the Steiner family apartments. The Hauptmann-Kommandant had removed his uniform after the formal ceremony and wore a plain black suit, as did his brother.

“His death diminishes us all.” Frederick found himself speaking more sincerely than he expected.

“I actually think you mean that,” Morgan muttered.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Patrick Kell rubbed his jaw. “Other than the fact you didn’t make any secret that you begrudge always coming out second-best when you’re compared to Katrina?”

Frederick came close to slamming his fist into the younger Kell’s face. “Just because you sabotaged your own grades at the Nagelring to avoid beating your brother’s results doesn’t obligate me to do the same.”

“Peace.” Morgan stepped between. “We’ve just come from a funeral. And no one should be judged for their feelings.”

“Unless they act on them,” Frederick agreed, taking a deep breath to settle his control of his temper. “If you want a brawl, Hauptmann, we can book a sports court and work off your grief there. Not where we’ll disturb my cousin or her daughter.”

Patrick Kell wasn’t a small man, and he’d have known without Max’s advice that the young officer was no coward. But nonetheless, he backed down. “I could have been more diplomatic there.”

“Just a bit.” The elder brother shook his head. “Patrick did basically hit on my reasons. Arthur supported Katrina as the Archon while you considered yourself Alessandro’s rightful heir - or did. So I have to ask: what changed?”

Frederick folded his arms. “You don’t get to question that, Kell. Any more than I do your decision to… leave the LCAF.” He’d almost said ‘desert’ but changed the word before it was spoken.

“I’ll trade you then.” Morgan checked that no one was listening. “It’s a little awkward to be a serving officer when you’ve been outed as Heimdall to the Archon.”

“Do you think she didn’t know?”

“Not until you told her, or rather, you told her about Arthur. From there… well, your cousin is anything but stupid.”

Frederick blinked. He’d rather assumed that Heimdall had supported Katrina’s rise - that a deal had been struck. Apparently, it was not so. “No, she isn’t.” And now he felt obligated to answer. Damn Kell.

“The Archon serves the Commonwealth,” he told them after a moment’s thought. “It’s a responsibility, not a privilege.”

“I don’t disagree. But that’s not an answer.”

“For me to try to overthrow Katrina, I would need to be sure that I would not only be a better Archon but also sufficiently better to offset the damage I’d be doing.” It was a coldly rational argument; one he’d heard from Max first but had not thus far found a good answer to. “Otherwise, I would be serving ambition, not the Commonwealth.” His lips curled. “If anything, I’d be proving myself the lesser to Katrina.”

Patrick folded his arms. “Maybe Arthur was right about you. I hope so.”

“Right about what?”

“He said your patriotism was more important to you than your rivalry with Katrina.” Morgan’s look was inscrutable.

That was an interesting statement from someone deserting his nation’s military to become a mercenary and if he hadn’t had ample warning of the Kell’s intentions, Frederick might have said so. Nothing he was going to say was going to change their mind though so it would be wasted breath. “You have the makings of an excellent colonel, Kell. I’m sure your regiment will do well. Hopefully fighting for the Commonwealth.”

“We won’t take contracts against the Lyran Commonwealth,” the younger brother promised.

“I’ll take what I can get.”

“Frederick!” his sister called out as she climbed the stairs.

“Oh god, what did I do now?”

Morgan laughed at Frederick’s face. “I think is where I should show that command potential by withdrawing from an untenable position.”

“Get out of here while I cover your retreat,” he sighed and leant over the rail as the two Kells headed off to find one of the other stairwells out of this part of the Triad. “Hello, Donna.”

Wearing black for the occasion rather than her uniform, Donna Steiner gave him a skeptical look. “What were you loitering around here for?”

Seeing the Kells were out of sight, Frederick indicated the door leading into the nursery suite. “Wondering if I dare go take a firsthand look at little Melissa. I don’t want to set her off screaming - Katrina doesn’t need that as well today.”

“Blithering idiot,” Donna accused him. “Babies will cry over basically anything. She has plenty of staff here to deal with any tantrum the little brat throws. Come on. I’ll defend you from the six-month old.”

Entrapped by his own deception, Frederick followed her into the familiar confines of the nursery. He’d been here a couple of times as a child and made further visits as the next generation of House Steiner arrived and he was required by social obligation to confirm that they had the proper number of eyes, fingers and whatnot.

“Having ejected more than twenty times from various prototypes,” his sister told him, “I am looking forward to doing something safe - like going back to frontline forces.”

He nodded. “How many of the prototypes crashed?”

“Four,” she told him promptly. “Although, to be fair, two of them were intentional crashes. At some point you have to try ejecting in atmosphere to test it and at that point the fighter is basically expected to crash. Lack of a pilot does that.”

“I suppose that would follow.”

An attendant ushered them into the appropriate room, where the Archon’s first child - now very likely to be her only child - lay on her back. There were a few hints of blonde-hair on the baby’s head but there wasn’t really much family resemblance yet. Frederick remembered commenting on this to Nondi Steiner about her daughter Lisa at a similar age and getting dragged outside for a pointed lecture on how babies grew into their eventual looks.

Seeing that the little girl was busy sucking toes on one of her bare feet, he shook his head. “Enjoy your last chance to get your foot in your mouth, Melissa,” he confided in a low voice. “At least without being called on it forever.”

“She’s allowed to experiment at this age,” Donna told him, reaching down to pat the baby on the head.

Melissa let go of her toes and began to clutch at this new arrival, finally securing a two-handed grip on the hand and giggling triumphantly.

Frederick’s sister smiled down at her niece for a moment and then looked over at him. “Are we going to have problems with my taking an active post again?”

He sighed. “I’m aware it’s not my decision, Donna. I’d prefer that you didn’t - if only so that there was less risk of little Ryan growing up without both his parents if something goes badly wrong. But it’s your life and your career.”

“So there won’t be any little suggestions about assignments from you?”

Frederick reached down and tickled Melissa’s cheek. “Only in the sense that I’ve tentatively explored options to get you into the Winfield Guards if that’s still what you want. I’m not going to try anything unless you’re alright with it.”

She gave him a curious look. “Go on.”

“When are you expecting that your current assignment will wrap up?”

“Next year, probably. After that Lockheed will still be working out how to retool production and possibly a refitting program, so don’t expect the new Lucifers that soon, but they won’t need a test pilot so much,” she warned him, drawing her hand back from Melissa.

Frederick felt little fingers clutch onto his own much larger ones. “I see. I do happen to know that the current senior aerowing commander with the Winfield Guards is looking at transferring to an instructor position so he can spend more time with his family. Not immediately, but when there’s a suitable opening. And Sanglamore’s chief instructor-pilot is up for retirement after the Class of ‘12 graduate. It’s almost two years away, but as a Sanglamore graduate I can put my name to nominating him. He must be good, or he wouldn’t be in the Winfield Guards. That should mean that there’s an opening for an officer of your rank. If, that is, you’d like me to do that.”

His sister looked up from the baby and studied him. “You’ve actually put some thought into this.”

“I do try to learn from my mistakes.” And then, to avoid her eyes, he lowered his face and solemnly advised Melissa. “Although it’s less painful to learn from other’s mistakes, remember your Uncle Frederick’s advice.” The baby’s eyes scrunched up and he pulled back quickly. “Oops.”

Donna sighed. “What did I just tell you?” She picked the baby up and rocked her reassuringly. “Wet,” she concluded after a moment and one of the attendants stepped in quickly and took charge of the littlest Steiner.

Frederick exhaled slightly in relief and his sister snorted. “You would be the most useless father in the galaxy,” she told him. “Although I suppose the chances of you ever having children of your own is pretty low.”

“I’m married to my job,” he responded defensively.

“You’re married to your secretary, is what you are. I wouldn’t have thought older men would be your thing…?”

It took him a moment to realize what she meant and his expression had Donna covering her mouth and trying to hide giggling. “What…?! It’s not like that!”

“You have him stashed away in your chalet up in the mountains…”

“That’s…” he spluttered, red-faced. LIC had declined to admit Max to the Triad due to his still suspect security status. Even playing such a huge role in recovering the New Dallas data core didn’t help because there was no good explanation for how Max had known about it. Simon Johnson, the head of LIC, was apparently still suspicious that the data provided was genuine and not some sort of subtle sabotage to take factory lines out of use.

“You do know the regulation for bringing along a civilian secretary is mostly used to bring a mistress onto military bases?”

“Donna!”

She gave up hiding her hilarity. “Alright, alright. I know you’re not screwing him.”

“Thank you!”

“But I’d genuinely never guessed that you find it better to receive.”

If she wasn’t his little sister, he’d have been really tempted to strangle her.

Sigfried Glacier Reserve Environs, Tharkad
Protectorate of Donegal, Lyran Commonwealth
19 September 3010

Max had gone to bed early the night of the funeral. He wasn’t attending any of the court gatherings and he didn’t know all that many people on Tharkad anyway. He’d actually been invited to go to one of the other chalets up on the mountains but it had fairly clearly been a pro forma request in the hope that it could lead to a future connection with Frederick – and not by anyone he or Frederick cared about - so he’d turned it down.

Thirty minutes going through the holovid channels had convinced him that even in the future there wasn’t anything on the idiot box that he cared about. Or at least, not at prime time.

When he found himself nodding off over a fantasy novel, he’d finally given up on waiting up in case Frederick wanted anything when he got back and retreated to the guest bedroom he’d been assigned.

The next morning was bright and clear, making him glad for the thick shutters over them otherwise he’d have woken far too early. When he went downstairs, Frederick had opened the floor to ceiling windows out onto the balcony, letting in cold air that finished waking him up.

“Max!” The Steiner raised a mug that contained such strong coffee that it could be smelt even across the room. “Have you had breakfast yet?”

“Not yet.”

“Well help yourself.” The command was accompanied with a wave towards the hotplates that were fighting determinedly to keep the breakfast foods warm.

Waste not, want not, Max thought and filled his plate before walking over to sit facing Frederick. He was glad he’d dressed fully before leaving his bedroom.

“I’d like an update on where we stand on the industrial front before I follow up any of the conversations I had last night,” Frederick began, savoring the coffee. “But something else came up that I’d better bring up.”

“Oh?”

The younger man looked out at the distant towers of Tharkad City, visible far down the mountain slope. You could just ski all the way down to the edges of the city from the chalet - Max had seen some people actually doing just that. It looked terrifyingly steep to him. “My sister made an off-color joke yesterday,” Frederick said carefully, an unusual tone for him. “And when I asked a couple of people, she isn’t the only one who’s raised that line of thought.”

“What line of thought?” Max watched Frederick fidget. “Are they speculating about how you found Halstead Station’s library?”

“No, Donna thought we were screwing.”

Max almost choked on a mouthful of sausage. He coughed violently, ending up spitting the half-chewed meat out onto a plate. “You could have timed that better.”

Frederick wasn’t laughing though. “I’m not really sure what to do about this.”

The older man sighed and put down his cutlery so he could rub his forehead. “I would suggest laughing. Or you could get a girlfriend. I mean, I’m flattered they think I’m that charming but taking this seriously will just add credibility to the idea.”

“It doesn’t bother you?”

“For my own sake? No, not really. I can see it bothers you, but…” It was distantly amusing to see Frederick so discomfited. He was usually pretty damn confident, but this had evidently gotten under his skin.

“I’m not exactly in a career that makes it easy to settle down.” The lord of this particular manor slumped back in his chair and rubbed the scar on his brow. “Why don’t you get a girlfriend?”

“Because I don’t want to share my life with anyone. Relationships mean compromising and I’m a selfish ass who wants to keep that to a minimum.” Also, I’ve got all the social courage of a mollusk, he added privately. “Anyway, I’m too old.”

“You’re not even fifty. That’s barely middle-aged.”

“That’s double christmas cake.” The comment got him a blank look. “Look, your sister was probably winding you up - at least at first. If you overreacted, that’s probably what led her to take it more seriously. Ignore it if you can, laugh it off if you can’t. Getting mad just makes people think there’s something to be upset about.”

Frederick folded his arms defensively. “It… caught me off guard.”

“If someone caught you like that on the battlefield, would you panic? Or would you roll with it and hit back?”

“The latter, of course!” Frederick shook his head irritably. “Alright. I’ll cope with it.”

“I take it there weren’t any other problems at the funeral?” Frederick had been relatively non-toxic towards Katrina of late, which had Max hoping that he was getting past his resentment of the Archon.

“Patrick Kell being a smart-ass. Hopefully being a merc will shake that out of him - LCAF service doesn’t seem to have managed that.”

Max rubbed his eyes. “Spectacular. I hope you didn’t try to deck him.”

“I behaved, ‘dad’.” The younger man drained his coffee. “I feel bad for Katrina.”

Oh?

Seeing the look, Frederick grimaced and refilled his mug. “She and Arthur had something special. Even I noticed that. No one lives forever, but I’d hoped we’d changed something that would have given them longer together. It feels like we haven’t really changed much.”

“I’m a little surprised that Melissa was born so closely to the original schedule,” Max conceded. “I’d have thought a few butterflies could have changed more over the last five years - three, really. But she was born only a day later than my recollection. Her even being a girl this time was probably a coin-flip.”

“At least Donna seems to have accepted the idea of waiting until 3012.” The younger man sipped his coffee. “If the Winfield Guards do get into trouble next year, she probably won’t be with them.”

“That’s something. No problems with Aldo?”

Frederick shook his head. “Not since we met on Skye. I wish we had something solid on him though. He’s picking up resources and supporters. If Grethar does plan to make his adopted daughter his heir, then Aldo might have a chance at challenging that decision.”

“Well, it wouldn’t be the first contested succession.”

“Dammit, Max. Aldo’s as likely to try to take Skye with the Seventeenth Skye Rangers as I am to tell the Seventh Lyran Regulars we’re coming here to Tharkad. And for about the same reason. He’s going to go appeal to the law, to the court of popular opinion and to every noble he can. That’s not something I can easily counter.”

Max nodded in agreement. “Do you know anyone who can?”

He saw Frederick’s knuckles whiten. “Of course, I do,” the other man all but whispered. “Of course, I know.”

Time to change the subject, he thought. “Moving onto the industrial side of things, Bowie are getting set up on Carlisle. Losing half their tooling on Wyatt has set them back in some ways but in other ways it’s actually helped: since they need replacements anyway, getting new machinery to suit a different location and full production is an easier decision. Funding isn’t quite there yet but I put some of the investment fund you authorized for me into them, and they’ve received a government-backed loan from Tharkad, as well as Duke Gilenni so they’re close enough I don’t think they’ll have any real trouble getting the rest together.”

“That’s good. Are they looking at building the Archer and the Swordsman?”

Max nodded. “It’s not as if they have to worry about the market for either of them. Wyatt’s government invested funds just for first refusal on the first six of each - they want to rebuild their militia and maybe even lure Bowie back someday.”

“Maybe if we push the border back from Wyatt,” Frederick noted. “I don’t think that’s all that likely right now though. The Mariks raiding them just goes to prove that they’re too exposed.”

“I don’t disagree.”

“How about the bigger companies? Did Defiance bite?”

“No.” Max took some bread and started piling what was left of his eggs, sausage and bacon into a sandwich. “They seem to be taking a wait and see stance. Coventry Metal Works is playing ball for the deal with Corean, but the Bradfords are blocking any attempt to get involved financially.” Harrison Bradford, the Duke of Coventry, was one of Katrina’s closest allies - now that Arthur Luvon was no longer duke of Donegal, the Bradfords might actually be the closest of the major noble families.

“It’s something. So what else have you put money in?”

“Rastaban are still building up, so the other company that’s bitten so far is Blue Shot Weaponry.”

“Who?”

“On Loxley - currently they mostly build spare parts, but they used to build ‘Mechs until the Mariks hit them back in the early Second Succession War.”

Frederick nodded. “What are they looking to build?”

“The Starslayer,” Max told him and waited.

“I don’t…” The mechwarrior frowned in irritation. “I think I’ve heard of it, but I can’t place it.”

“It’s pretty much extinct, but the SLDF was considering it for mass purchase as its new medium ‘mech until the Amaris Civil War and the Succession Wars ended that as an idea. Most of them wound up serving with the LCAF.”

“I see. Well, more medium ‘mechs should be popular with Katrina, even if there’s whining about them not being heavy or assault weight.”

Max gave him a wry smile. “Popular with Katrina?”

“Fine, fine. I wouldn’t mind having some more flexibility at times. How does it stack up against a Griffin, for the sake of argument?”

“A little lighter, mostly trading off armor, but it has a pair of large lasers, medium lasers and a SRM launcher. Probably it’ll run a little warm unless we can get someone building freezers again.”

“That’s true of everything. Was there data on that in the New Dallas database? I thought the core there predated the Star League.”

“They kept dumping data in it as long as there was a Hegemony intelligence agency,” Max told him. “We don’t have the later Starslayer data, but there’s information on the earlier model, which is what’s in reach now.”

Frederick looked interested. “I’ll have to look it up, but it sounds like a good investment. I’d like more but I guess that once the big players see that the data is good, they’ll jump aboard. Waiting is always the worst part.”

Max nodded in agreement.

“How about the Halstead data? If we can start training up engineers and scientists with the contents of the library, that’ll let us start rebuilding on a much grander scale!”

“...not so well,” he confessed. “Duran A&M has been very cooperative about going through and sorting the data but they’re struggling to make the contents of the more technical volumes fit in with what they know. We’ve got thousands of volumes on other topics - literature and soft sciences, for example - where copies already exist. But the technical aspect is going to take years - maybe decades - to understand.”

“That’s not what I want to hear, Max.”

“I’m not ecstatic myself.”

“Could Snord have tampered with them?”

“Thousands of books? I doubt it. We did check and Snord agreed we can come back to him and cross-reference if any of the copies were unclear - always a risk when scanning books or copying databases in a hurry. I’m not saying he couldn’t have, but he’d run a risk of us catching on and then…”

“I’d drop the Seventh on his head. Snord’s slippery, but at the least he’d have to run from the Commonwealth. That base of his is well fortified but it’s not armed anymore, and we have it mapped.”

“Legally difficult,” Max warned. “His contract is authorized by the Mercenary Review Board and we’d have to prove that he broke it. Hard to do without showing ComStar what we found.”

“I’d pay the damn fine!”

“And if the Commonwealth gets down-rated as an employer? How many first rate units have signed up with Janos Marik since he tried to absorb the units mauled on Rochelle?”

Frederick slammed his mug down on the table. “You’re saying we have to trust him?”

“More likely than not, we can. Snord’s not stupid and in the long run he gains more from working with us.” Max steepled his hands. “The trouble is that what I know about the contents of these caches is short on detail. I think what we’re dealing with is that the Halstead collection is books aimed at a high level. It’s as if a middle schooler is trying to go directly from what they know to a university course without first going through high school. Everything builds on classes they haven’t taken - without that context only a genius is going to make the jumps to understand the more advanced classes. And even then, probably not consistently.”

“So we need the equivalent of a high school.” The younger man cupped his hands around the mug. “I don’t suppose you know of anywhere we can find one?”

Max frowned. “I’m not entirely sure.” There was one possibility, one he’d been keeping in reserve. “Give me a moment to think.”

“Sure.” Frederick stood and walked out to look out over the city below. And the spires of the Triad, only a little further away.

Slowly, as he ate his sandwich, Max considered the man leaning on the rail. “Can I ask a question?”

“You just did.”

“Got me there.” He rubbed his eyes. It was too cold for this. “Back in the life I remember, if Duran’s population was on Earth, you’d have been ruler of the third most populous nation there. Effectively, head of a great power - the equivalent of a Successor State.”

Frederick turned around and looked at him. “What was the population back then? Five billion?”

“Seven or eight. The thing is, you barely go there. I can’t imagine the Premier of China or Prime Minister of India taking up a long term commitment to command troops outside their homelands. Or at all, really, but that would be a cultural difference.”

“It’s not the same. I’m not a sovereign ruler. As the duke I’m a vassal of the Archon.” The duke shook his head. “I’m not sure how your world functioned without those connections up and down. And I’m head of the planetary state, not its government.”

“So why do you want to head the entire Lyran government? Governing clearly isn’t your passion the way military command is?”

Frederick glared at him angrily. “Where are you going with this?”

“The one possibility I can think of that might bridge all the gaps we need was found with quite a bit of war material. I don’t have a good estimate on what exactly. A few ‘Mechs at the least, but most sources suggest much more, probably weighted towards consumable. Possibly including a very large store of weapons of mass destruction.”

“I take it there’s a reason you haven’t mentioned this before?”

“It’s not particularly easy to get to, and there’s a self-destruct that is overkill. Make a mistake and you could bury everyone within a hundred miles of it.”

“Ah. Never easy,” complained Frederick. “Your questions still don’t make sense though.”

“The man who wound up triggering that self-destruct wanted to use the contents and overthrow his cousin.”

The Lyran officer folded his arms behind him and his brow furrowed in thought. “From what you said, not me. Not Ryan either…”

“It wasn’t a Steiner.”

“So you don’t want to put temptation in my way?”

“Something like that,” Max admitted. “You’ve had an ax to grind when it comes to Katrina ever since I met you.”

“I’m every bit the general she is!”

Max covered his eyes. “And you’re the oldest. Right, that makes sense.”

“...what are you talking about?”

“You’re Giovanni Steiner’s first grandchild. You had all the expectations on you. Katrina was your sickly cousin, until she was in her teens, you were the apple of everyone’s eye until she outshone you.”

“Do you really think I’m that petty?”

Max shrugged. “When did she first outrank you?”

“‘Ninety-six,” Frederick said grudgingly. “She was a First Leutnant when she joined the Tenth Lyran Guards. I was a Hauptmann. By the end of the year she was a Kommandant.”

“Five promotions in two years.” Katrina had gone from commanding one of the Tenth’s lances to the entire regiment faster than anyone except maybe her instructors at the Nagelring had expected. Rumor had it they’d recommended she be given a battalion on graduation. Instead, she’d spent two years with infantry, armor and artillery units before joining a ‘Mech regiment. She’d been a Colonel by the age of twenty-three. “I don’t recall exactly what I was doing at that age…” Max frowned. “No, actually I do. And it was nothing like that.”

“You think that if I find the material to mount a campaign that I’ll try to overthrow her?”

“I think that temptation is a deadly wrestler.”

Frederick stared at him. “If I tell you that I won’t, will you believe me? Because if that datacore is what you say…”

Max steepled his fingers and took a deep breath. “Yes.”

“If Katrina becomes the sort of danger that our uncle was as Archon, I will remove her. For the good of the Commonwealth. I will not do so out of wounded pride!”

Gray eyes and blue eyes stared at each other for a long moment.

“Helm,” Max admitted, hoping that he wasn’t making a dreadful mistake.

Chapter Text

Chapter 8

The Triad, Tharkad
Protectorate of Donegal, Lyran Commonwealth
21 September 3010

“Let me guess,” Katrina asked as Frederick sat down facing her. “You’ve found a Star League battleship in full working order.”

“Yes, it’s in orbit around Odessa,” he shot back and then cracked a smile as Katrina glared at him, trying to work out if he was serious or not.

“Very funny,” the Archon conceded at last.

He shrugged. “Sorry, I’m working on being more approachable.” The joke was on her - Max was about 90% sure that there was a Farragut-class battleship mothballed around a gas giant in the Odessa system. Not that trying to retrieve it would be a good idea at the moment. Hopefully she wouldn’t hold it against him. “Dad-jokes are apparently appreciated from a Colonel.”

“As long as you don’t plan on being a full time comedian.”

Frederick studied his cousin as she adjusted her seat. She was hiding it well - both by deportment and make-up, but she was exhausted. “If you need a nap more than this meeting, I can come back later.”

“I’m fine, Frederick.”

“You’re grieving. It’s not a weakness.”

“Leave it.” There was steel in her voice.

He shook his head slightly - in defeat, not in refusal. “Alright.”

Katrina took a deep breath. “I understand that the offer was well meant,” she offered in a more compromising tone.

“Thank you.” He folded his hands on his lap and adopted a formal tone. “I am at your service, Archon.”

“That’s good to know.” She rested her hands on the desk. “Now that the borders are relatively secure after the last few years, I’m going to be redeploying several units. Higher priority transport needs mean that some units have been getting too set in their deployments and a little too embedded into local interests.”

Frederick nodded in understanding. It wasn’t just moving the units, there would be thousands of dependents and support staff to move.

“And in the usual somewhat contradictory fashion, other units will be returning to their traditional operating areas now that there’s less short-term need for them to cover weak-spots along our borders.”

“The periphery border has been looking a little weak,” he admitted. “Unavoidable with the circumstances that you inherited, but if that’s what you’re planning to address then I’m glad to hear it. I don’t know what the raid statistics are, but they’re never good and I’d not be surprised if they’d risen over the last five or six years.”

Katrina didn’t smile, but she did seem to relax. “You’re correct. So I want you to understand that pulling you off Wyatt isn’t a punishment for you or for the Seventh Lyran Regulars. You’ve done well with them.”

Frederick’s first thought was concern - being moved away from the border with the Mariks would make it hard to justify raiding them, much less going deep enough to hit Helm. His second thought was: she wants me out of Skye - is she worried about Aldo’s appeals to me?

“Given I just agreed redeployments are needed, I’d be making a fool of myself if I argued now.” He settled a little further back in his seat. “Where are we going?”

“Back to Loric,” the Archon told him. “Frank Gregory wants some more coverage and it’s where the Seventh have usually operated. It also cuts the chances of the Combine going after you the way the Marik Militia did. You seem to have a talent for drawing ire.”

“So long as it’s the enemies of the Commonwealth, I have no problem with that.” Loric, he thought. Right at the far end of the border with the Free Worlds League from Wyatt. It doesn’t make Helm any more accessible - but not much less either. “I trust that we will be replaced on Wyatt?”

“Yes, it isn’t an immediate transfer. One of the Arcturan Guards regiments will be taking over the garrison slot there. Which one hasn’t been decided yet - the move won’t take place until early next year.”

Frederick rubbed his chin. “I take it that it’ll be the usual shell game, to keep the DCMS and FWLM guessing - rather than letting them hammer us while a tenth of our regiments are on jumpships moving between bases.”

“That’s the general idea,” Katrina agreed. “Why?”

“How would you feel about the Seventh taking a little detour between Wyatt and Loric?”

Katrina’s eyes were calculating. “What do you have in mind?”

“Repeating Operation Commonplace would take too much in the way of resources, but SAFE isn’t necessarily going to realize that. What I’m suggesting is that I take the Regulars across the border and hit a couple of minor worlds, to convince them that they can expect a chain of such raids. That should have them spending at least some of their time and energy looking for those rather than looking across the border at our own worlds.”

“Hmm. You always want to do something aggressive,” she told him.

“It’s about holding the initiative.”

Katrina drummed her fingers on the table for a moment. “I’ll talk it over with Ed Regis and Arth…” She broke off, looking lost for a moment and then shook her head, continuing as if she’d never broken off. “I’ll consider it. However, if I do authorize this, you’re only to hit minor worlds - no going after the Twenty-Fifth Marik Militia for payback.”

“I’m not playing tit-for-tat,” Frederick replied irritably. “They may be petty enough to try that, but I don’t see any need to sink to their level. Ideally, I’d hit soft targets that don’t have any ‘mech regiments stationed there - hit, run and move on while they try to figure out where we’ll go next. And at most, after two raids I’ll head back across the border and leave them wondering.”

“I should have known you’d want to put your own spin on any plan.” The Archon made a note. “Alright, draw up a plan for Strategy and Tactics and we’ll see if we can assign you the jumpships required.”

“I’ll have it ready for them before I leave for Wyatt,” Frederick promised. “Along with some possible targets.”

Katrina sat back in the chair. “Do you have any other concerns you want to raise?”

“Not about that. However, if you have time for a couple more issues.”

She checked the clock. “I shouldn’t be surprised, Frederick. Go ahead.”

“Firstly, Donna’s looking to go back to frontline service. Is there any chance of her getting one of the prototypes she’s been working on as her personal bird? I can pay Lockheed for it, but since it’s an LCAF contract job, they can’t sell it without government consent.”

“I’ll need to make sure they don’t still need it. I suppose you want to give it to her for Christmas.”

“Ideally, or maybe for her birthday next year. But getting it for her at all is the point. I don’t like her being out there without the ability to eject.”

Katrina glanced up at his forehead and he realized that she was looking at the scar. “Has it been on your mind?”

“If I hadn’t had an ejection seat, I’d have died,” he pointed out. “If something happened to her, someone would need to take care of Ryan. I’m not sure I’d be a great father figure, but it’d be my responsibility.”

“Parenthood changes a lot,” she admitted. “I’m still wrestling with it myself.”

“The other thing I’m less sure about, but I picked up something in the grapevine and thought you should know.” By grapevine, he meant Max, but soldiers gossiped all the time.

Katrina gave him a thoughtful look. “Anonymous rumors?”

“Not usually reliable,” Frederick admitted. “But if there is something to it then you’ll want to get on top of it.”

“I’m listening.”

“Allegedly some of the numbers for the Twelfth Star Guards’ pay may not add up,” he told her. “I’d suggest turning the forensic accountants loose - if there’s anything to it then a good faith effort to correct it may mitigate the damage.”

“God damn it!” Katrina hissed, her cool veneer obliterated. “If that’s true then I will nail their liaison to the wall!”

The Twelfth Star Guards were one of the oldest and largest mercenary units in the Inner Sphere, with history dating back to Kerensky’s Exodus. Their four regiments had been on contract to the Lyran Commonwealth since before either of the two Steiners in the room had been born and alienating them would be a serious blow to Lyran military strength.

“If it is, I’ll hold the nails for you,” Frederick agreed. “Looking on the bright side, if there is anything to this then it’ll be an excuse to do a full audit of the Mercenary Troops Liaison office. There’s almost got to be some deadwood you can cut away there and put fear into the hearts of the chairwarmers under Mount Asgard.”

“As a silver lining, that comes with a very large cloud.” Katrina leant back into her chair. “Their contract is up for renewal in just two years. At best we’ll need to sweeten our offer there quite a lot.”

“One of those cases of hoping I’m wrong,” Frederick agreed. “But we have to check.”

“I have to check. It isn’t your problem.” The Archon pinched the bridge of her nose. “I should have taken your offer to cancel this for a nap.”

Frederick pulled himself to his feet. “Go and spend some time with Melissa,” he recommended kindly. “If I can delegate work as a colonel, surely the Archon can do the same.”

Helmsdown, Helm
Stewart Commonality, Free Worlds League
12 February 3011

There was something jarring about piloting his Orion through a town with weapons live, Max found. As was the concept of a raid like this - he’d never been a soldier, but he didn’t think that such operations were commonplace in the professional militaries of the twenty-first century.

But this was the thirty-first century and hitting an enemy world with the intent to seize some local resources was a fairly typical military action.

The Seventh Lyran Regulars had arrived over Helm after almost a month ‘off the grid’. The soldiers, most of them young and active, had been pent up as the jumpship brought them here via Pardeau, Gniezno and Lolobrzeg - all dead systems, left unpopulated after the early Succession Wars. Their enthusiasm in hunting down what garrison there was could hardly be called lacking… but Jolly’s Jaguars, the current landholders, had two-thirds of their strength posted on the border, leaving a single combined arms battalion outnumbered almost eight-to-one in ‘mechs, even with one of the Seventh’s three BattleMech battalions posted to protect their dropships.

At the least, that left no real threats except possibly snipers and other guerilla action as Max played the role of one of the escorts to one of the infantry companies moving in on the fortified buildings that served as the landholder’s seat of government.

Such government as was actually needed resided in the town, so the fort was mostly a headquarters for the mercenaries. Capturing it would hopefully yield some supplies and perhaps tools - valuable to a degree but not really worth this raid.

A single turret spat LRMs at Max as he came in view of it and a chill went down his spine. Someone was trying to kill him!

Reflexes from his training on Duran cut in before he could really think about that - centering his crosshairs on the turret, he waited for them to pulse and confirm that he had a lock. The moment he did so, he squeezed one trigger and then a second.

The Orion barely broke stride as his own LRM launcher hurled ten missiles back at the turret, but there was a palpable vibration as the autocannon fired.

The turret didn’t fire again. Max wasn’t sure if the turret was destroyed or if the crew had simply thought better of continuing to fight as four ‘mechs bore down on them. Leutnant Boreman’s Orion was of the same configuration as Max’s, recovered from New Dallas and reconditioned by Bowie. The soldier moved his with far more fluidity than the secretary did, but that was hardly surprising. The other two ‘Mechs were out on the flanks but now they swept in and any intelligent member of the Jaguars would be leaving or surrendering. Tom Wright’s Commando was a serviceable machine, but Kristina Schmidt piloted a Firestarter - a design feared and hated by infantry.

“This is the Seventh Lyran Regulars.” Boreman’s voice boomed out through his loudspeakers. “We are taking temporary possession of this facility and ownership of some of its contents. As long as you keep your heads down and don’t resist further, we won’t take your lives.”

“How do we know we can trust you?”

The leutnant’s voice was wry: “You don’t - but unless you have at least a lance of heavy armor stashed away here, you don’t really have any better options either.”

As unsatisfying as that sounded to Max, it did appear convincing since no one fired at him again - or at the infantry as they exited the large Hover APCs that were carrying them.

Each squad had a distinct target to find - sometimes to bring them back if they were portable, sometimes to mark locations and secure heavier goods until the much slower heavy trucks arrived - Wright would be able to do much of the loading since his Commando had two hands, unlike the rest of the improvised lance.

Max waited, studying his sensors. The stronghold looked small from the cockpit of his Orion, but the simple fact that it was scaled for ‘Mechs to be able to walk into the lower levels made it much larger from a human perspective. He had to force himself to wait for the soldiers to reach their destinations and for some of them to return.

After what seemed like an eternity, one of the squads emerged from the main building with six of them carrying a desk between them. Max could only guess that they’d taken to bring the full contents of the office very literally, because the squad leader was carrying a chair.

Locking his ‘Mech into position, Max shut it down before he unstrapped himself. There was no way they were getting that up to his cockpit, so he’d have to go down. Cracking the cockpit hatch, he lowered the rope ladder and then slowly climbed down. His arms ached just doing this and he’d have to climb back up again later.

Still, at least he managed it in a practical time. His earlier attempts when he first acquired the Orion had been slower… and not always successful.

The squad set down the desk and the chair was placed behind it.

“Ah, back in my comfort zone,” Max quipped, sitting down on the chair. He opened up the drawers and started going through the contents. “You’re sure that this is Jolly’s desk?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You don’t have to call me sir, I’m not an officer,” he said absently, and pulled a small stack of magazines out of the top drawer. “Not what I’m looking for.” He tossed them to the nearest member of the squad. “Share them around.”

“Sir!” the squad leader protested, the young woman a little red-faced at the obvious nature of the magazines.

“I’m sorry if they’re not your taste, corporal. But I didn’t put them in there.”

The next drawer contained pens, pencils and a stack of notebooks. Max thumbed through them and set the notebooks aside to hand them over for LIC to check if there was anything useful to learn. It wasn’t very likely but there was no harm in trying.

He started closing the drawer but stopped when he heard something moving. Checking again, he found a case at the back. Unclasping it, he found that the box contained a miscellany of badges, a sash and a memory clip. Max’s heart began to beat harder, and he closed the case before checking the other drawers. Other than some more notebooks, a couple of tactical manuals and a mostly-empty bottle of tequila, nothing looked likely.

“I’ll trust you not to open this until we’re offworld,” he told the squad leader, passing the bottle over. “You can put the furniture back.”

“Is this really worthwhile, sir?” the young woman asked Max as he stacked the books and the little case to take with him.

He gave her a look and then shrugged. “It could be. It’s one of those things that we won’t know immediately.”

A pair of trucks pulled up and the Commando moved into the hanger, emerging with a heavy crate in its hands. Max wasn’t sure what was be in it but depriving the Jaguars would presumably affect their readiness and therefore help the LCAF slightly.

Looking up at the Orion, Max reached for the ladder and then realized he now only had one free hand. “...dammit.” He turned back to the squad. “Did any of you happen to see a knapsack I can use?”

Fortunately, they had and Max was able to climb up into his Orion again, grunting and breathing heavily as he did so. He really should look at putting more time in at the gym on upper body work. Or give up on this entire mechwarrior business, but that would seem pretty ungrateful towards Frederick.

Besides, once he did retire then the Orion was worth a very substantial amount of money. Selling it would be something to fall back on if he needed to.

Closing the cockpit, he brought the reactor back up from standby and put the knapsack on his lap while he strapped in again. By the time all the screens and lights were lit up, he was secure and opened the knapsack. Taking the memory clip out of the case, he studied its interface socket and opened up one of the cabinets built into the cockpit, producing an adaptor. Once this was done, he plugged it into one of the tactical computers.

The screen assigned to that device went to a hold pattern and then brought up a map that was recognizably Helm - though not the Helm of the modern day. What he knew from the initial briefing was called the ‘Dead Flats’ was here replaced by sea several hundred kilometers long and a large modern city sprawled along one shore.

The city was called Freeport and the map was showing its image from before Minoru Kurita or whoever he’d sent (Max wasn’t entirely convinced that the Coordinator of the entire Draconis Combine would have commanded what amounted to a raid into a rival who was at best a secondary concern) had deployed nuclear weapons and killed about eighty percent of Helm’s population, rendering much of the surface irradiated deserts.

Max had grown up in the Cold War. He remembered seeing warnings in the media that the world could end within thirty minutes and realizing that there was nothing he could do about it. That era had managed to avoid this sort of devastation. Worlds like Helm were a terrible reminder that Frederick’s history had not.

“You maniacs,” he murmured. “You blew it up.”

Then he shook his head and activated his radio. “Torrent-Actual, this is Chieftain.”

“Chieftain, this is Torrent-Actual.” Frederick sounded calm and at ease. “What’s your situation?”

“We are state four, I repeat state four.”

“Good work, Chieftain. Keep it up. We are moving to Stage Xenophon. I repeat. Stage Xenophon.”

“Roger. Moving to stage Xenophon.” Max cut the channel. He took a deep breath. They had what appeared to be the key to opening the Nagayan Mountain Castle Brian. Now all he had to do was play it cool, while the looting of the base concluded and return to their dropships. Stage Xenophon meant that Frederick was breaking off a detachment to take out the spaceport facilities - hopefully without too many losses to the staff there.

Without the radars of the spaceport, no one on Helm should be able to tell the difference between the Seventh Lyran Regulars taking off and heading for their jumpship, and them taking off only to land near the Dead Flats to complete their actual mission here.

Nagayan Mountains, Helm
Stewart Commonality, Free Worlds League
13 February 3011

It had been well over two hundred years since the small, pyramidal building near what had once been the Vermilion River had been visited, but the computer still worked. Max seemed to find that impressive, which was one more reason Frederick didn’t think the twenty-first century was as good as the man seemed to believe. Presumably quality control had been developed at some point after his era.

The two of them were the only ones inside. Almost everyone else was still in the dropships, with the drives warm and ready to take off if something went wrong.

“So, the moment of truth,” Max told him, taking the memory clip out of his pocket. “If this winds up killing us, Frederick, it’s been an experience.”

“Could you be any more lukewarm about it?” Frederick asked him dourly.

“On balance, working for you will go on my resume as ‘things I have done’ when I apply to be reincarnated.” The man’s voice was dry as he said that.

One day he’d learn not to give Max openings like that. But not today, evidently. “Just put it in the slot, Max.”

“I did.” The older man stepped back and showed him empty hands. He paused and cocked his head. “I don’t hear anything, so I think we’re going to… live!”

“Fantastic. But did it open the door?”

Max shrugged and retrieved the memory clip. He headed for the exit from the building. “Only one way to find out.”

Outside, the river-bed had led to a vertical slab of rock about half the size of a Union-class dropship. Now that slab had an opening in it. Twice the height of a ‘Mech and half that wide, a section of the rock had been pulled back into the mountain by hidden machinery, and then - as the two men watched - the panel slid aside and left a dark, cavernous space inside.

“Do you think we’ll find wonderful things inside?”

“As you just said, there’s only one way to find out.” Frederick led the way over to the opening and pulled a flashlight off his belt before entering.

The light inside was utterly inadequate compared to the cavernous space, the ceiling no lower than the doorway and the walls to either side at least that far away from the two. In depth it was hard to say, for the light revealed no end to the passageway delving deep into the mountain.

“You could march a regiment through this in minutes,” he declared, voice echoing off the stone walls. “And defend it with a lance.”

“The material rewards may be deeper within,” Max replied softly, reverently. He indicated the one other feature of the chamber - a truncated pyramid the same size as that outside. “But this could be the real prize.”

They exchanged looks and walked towards it. Words were carved into the ferrocrete, next to the closed door. STAR LEAGUE FIELD LIBRARY FACILITY, HELM, DE90-2699.

“It’s real.” Frederick wasn’t sure which of them had spoken for an instant, but a moment later he realized that it was him.

“Ja.” Max grinned weakly. He touched the door with his hand and it slid open as easily as the entrance to the Castle Brian.

Frederick stepped inside and the lights went on, showing a computer console rising from the carpeted floor. He tried the controls.

Nothing.

God. Was it dead? Had this, of everything in the place, suffered some irreparable failure?

“Same key as before.” Max passed him the memory clip.

With a surge of relief, Frederick accepted the small electronic device and found the proper socket. Once it slid into lace, the entire wall facing them lit up with what was recognizably a directory.

“Congratulations.” Max rested one hand on the console. “Now you need to digest it.”

“Not until we have it home.” Frederick took his radio out and all but ran out, heading back for the outside door. Checking he had set the signal to minimum, just barely enough to be detected by the dropships a kilometer away, he opened the channel. “Tim.”

“Sir.” Hickson’s voice came through clearly. “Do you need evacuation?”

“No. Not at all.” Frederick paused, looking out the valley. “We’ve found an entrance and a command center. Get the first technical crew down here and unload the hovercraft. We’ll need to survey the place and see what’s stored deeper inside - there may also be other entrances to secure.”

“Can the crews cool their drives?” the Kommandant asked.

“Yes, we’re probably safe enough for now.”

Within moments, the Retribution’s ramps were lowered and vehicles began to pour out of the dropship. The initial surge of hovertanks fanned out, working to establish a perimeter, but after that a little column of scout-cars and APCS rolled towards Frederick.

“Sir.” Warrant Officer Jenna Sheppard was older than Frederick, and the best computer specialist the Regulars had in their technical section. That didn’t make her as good as the best in the Commonwealth, but hopefully she’d be good enough. “Where do you want us?”

“Scout teams can go right in,” he ordered and then indicated the pyramid with his flashlight. He was amused to see Max was pinning a sign up next to the door, reading ‘Field HQ’, and then realized that the secretary was covering the actual designation. No one going past it would know what was inside now. The other man had thought ahead. “We’ll need some lights out here, and I want you looking at the computer. There should be some sort of map and maybe even an inventory.”

“Got it, sir. We’ll probably be best getting a back-up of the drives first though - if we trigger some SLDF security then it might dump.”

“We don’t want that.” Is Max’s habit of understatement rubbing off on me?

Frederick ushered Sheppard into the chamber ahead of her comrades. It only took a moment for her to take a look at the directories. “Sir, this is…”

“Classified.”

The woman pushed her helmet back and scratched at her graying blonde hair. “Yes, but… Colonel.” Sheppard looked at Max, then back at Frederick. “You do know what you’ve found?”

“Something that a lot of people would kill to get their hands on, and only a slightly shorter list would kill to deny us.” Frederick folded his arms. “Which means the absolute minimum number of people finding out that what’s in here is infinitely more precious than whatever else we find.”

“...there’s a lot of data here, sir. Can we get the computer core out?”

“It might trigger a self-destruct,” Max warned. “We don’t want to risk anything like that until we’ve got a core off Helm entirely. If at all.”

“Now I’m doubly nervous” The warrant officer examined the listings. “I don’t even recognise some of these file formats.”

Frederick had talked priorities with Max. There was no use coming into this without a plan. “We have twenty data storage units with us on the Retribution. Hopefully they’ll be large enough for multiple full downloads. I’d prefer we have copies as is aboard the dropships before we try altering anything. I’d like a map and inventory if you can get that, but the data download is the priority. Once we have a copy for each of the dropships, you can try getting some of the files converted to something more…”

“User-friendly?” Max suggested.

“Yes, that.”

Sheppard didn’t quite push Max aside to take the controls, but it was close. “Anything about this place should be stored separately if there’s any sort of order to it…”

Frederick stepped back a little. “Who and what do you need?”

Sheppard frowned. “The data storage, and… well, MacCulloch knows how to keep his mouth shut. Him, Sergeants Silf and Fleeson. Four of us is about as many as we can get in here at one time, they’re fairly steady.”

Frederick nodded in agreement. “Consider it done.” He went out the door. “Fleeson and Silf, you’re in here. McCulloch, there should be some data storage modules back on the Retribution, get them back here and then report to Warrant Officer Sheppard.” He paused and looked at the other techs. “If you’re not getting lights set up here - or for those doing that, once it’s done - this is a two hundred and thirty year old SLDF base. Go find me some lostech!”

There was a cheer at that. He imagined that many of them were casting themselves as the infamous Doctor Jones from the holovids, lostech hunter extraordinaire. And who knows, some of this really might end up in a museum someday.

Nagayan Mountains, Helm
Stewart Commonality, Free Worlds League
28 February 3011

“There’s no way in hell that this is a coincidence,” Max told him quietly as he watched the icons creeping across the map in the command center set up around the field library.

Frederick folded his arms. “Get it off your chest,” the duke huffed.

Max wasn’t smiling, the situation was far too dire, but he did say the sweetest words in the human language: “I told you so.”

The Nagayan Mountains Castle Brian didn’t just contain more than could be carried aboard the Seventh Lyran Regulars three dropships, it had much more. By Max’s estimation, there was enough equipment to set up an SLDF infantry division and have gear left over - close to four hundred battlemechs, easily as many armored fighting vehicles, a near uncountable number of infantry fighting vehicles… not to mention artillery, helicopters, support vehicles… and then there were supplies. Ammunition, armor, spare parts, uniforms, small arms - anything and everything that could have been needed by the SLDF during the Amaris Civil War.

That included a terrifying quantity of military rations that would probably qualify as a biohazard if the containers were even opened, never mind eaten - or maybe not. The SLDF had been very good at storing things for future use.

Faced with the cornucopia of the cache, Frederick had decided that taking only what they could carry and re-sealing the cache for a later visit was too great a risk. The FWLM might find it and even if the computer core was removed, they’d gain far too much. Instead, he’d sent the three dropships back to the jumpship, fully loaded and with complete copies of the database on each dropship - the raw and copies with as many files as possible converted into what would hopefully be a compatible format with LCAF computers.

The rest of the unit had hunkered down in the Castle Brian, with months of food and other supplies. Margrave Stephen Neil should at a minimum send the jumpship back to recover them. Losing an entire regiment of the LCAF would be a bit much for him to have to explain when they were only supposed to be passing through his theater. More probably he’d send a larger convoy, with an escort. Frederick had requested the latter by HPG (the signal sent to ComStar from the jumpship, encoded in the latest and highest priority military cipher) and being the Archon’s cousin should carry some weight. He’d added the importance that any escort should be chosen for their loyalty to Katrina as much as anything.

It said something about the Seventh Lyran Regulars that Max was the only one who had objected to remaining on Helm and calling for an extraction. Then again, the secretary had also suggested that the mechwarriors were too busy drooling over the Star League-grade ‘mechs and making voom-voom noises to notice that they’d been marooned behind enemy lines.

“There are at least two ‘Mech regiments up there, with a lot of support,” Kommandant Hickson concluded, counting the dropships they were picking up. Passive sensors could pick up a lot, particularly when the dropships had their IFF signals turned up to avoid collisions. “And I’m seeing some familiar dropships.”

“Familiar in what way?” asked Frederick, bringing up the list of names.

“Unless they’ve changed hands, six of those Unions are assigned to the Twenty-Fifty Marik Militia.”

“...last report had them stationed at Dieudonne as a reaction force,” he mused.

“Well, they’re reacting.”

He grimaced and rubbed his brow. There was no reason at all for two entire regiments to arrive in response to the raid on its own, that would be closing the door when the horse had already bolted. The only possible explanation was that someone had cracked the code on the message he’d sent. And just getting hold of the message would require that someone in ComStar had leaked it - whether they were the ones who had broken the code or not was almost secondary.

“Fortunately, a planet is a large place,” he said out loud. “And with our dropships away, we can hide everything away inside the Castle Brian until our relief force arrives.” Getting dropships inside would have been impossible - none of the entrances were large enough. Some complexes like this one had possessed internal dropship storage and launch facilities but Nagayan Mountain apparently wasn’t one of them.

Max nodded in agreement. “It’s the only real option we have. Fortunately, the message didn’t include our location and they might even need to worry that we’re somewhere else in the star system. The SLDF had an orbital base so for all they know the cache might be on another planet in the system.”

Hickson folded his arms. “I think we should look at getting those lostech ‘mechs ready as well. If it does come to a fight we’ll be outnumbered, using that technology could make all the difference.”

“I don’t like the idea of potentially expending that equipment,” he grumbled. “But you’re right.”

“If you can’t afford to lose it, then you can’t afford to use it,” Max pointed out. “The really valuable samples have been sent back already to see if it can be reverse engineered. It would be nice to take the rest back to the Commonwealth but ultimately, it’s going to be mostly used up in action somewhere, so it might as well be here.”

“It’ll also give the techs something to do,” Hickson added. “Good for morale.”

“I already agreed,” Frederick told them. “You win, if this turns into a stand-up fight, we’re going to deploy some this equipment against the Twenty-Fifth and… Any idea who the other unit is?”

“Best guess is that it’s the Stewart Dragoons’ Home Guard.”

The Free Worlds League’s military was divided into the main federal forces and the private armies of the provinces, which for a major province sometimes included a number of ‘mech regiments. The Stewart Commonality wasn’t a particularly large province but they were among the oldest and their Stewart Dragoons had once fielded five full regiments. The Home Guards were one of only two that remained, and Helm was part of the Stewart Commonality.

Hopefully there would be some useful conflicts within the enemy command structure, what with one of their regiments being federal and the other being provincial.

Frederick scratched his scar again. “Right. Hopefully we won’t need to use any of them, but once our relief force gets here that’ll reveal our location since I don’t imagine they’ll be allowed to land unmolested. However, this is just if we really need them. Most of them are to be prioritized for loading if that’s possible. Just because we can afford to lose them, doesn’t mean that I want to.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 9

Nagayan Mountains, Helm
Stewart Commonality, Free Worlds League
22 March 3011

“It’s time.”

Frederick was not known for lengthy or complicated orders - much less for inspiring speeches. Everyone knew - or should know - what to do. Thus Max only heard two words from the colonel before the Seventh Lyran Regulars leapt into action.

Max was amongst them. Every ‘Mech was needed.

There were a dozen more ‘mechs alongside his Orion as he emerged from cover and opened fire on the Marik scout force, focusing his fire on a Rifleman in the colors of the Twenty-Fifth Marik Militia. The LRMs spiraled through the air and obliterated patches of armor, but the enemy mechwarrior managed to sidestep in time to avoid Max’s autocannon.

He wasn’t the only one firing at the Rifleman - it was a heavy ‘Mech with impressive firepower but lacking armor or mobility, a sensible priority among the enemy force. However, Max’s Orion drew its fire in return. As if realizing that the odds were against surviving long, the Marik Militia mechwarrior held nothing back.

Lasers and autocannon bit into the Orion, though its thick armor soaked up the impacts. Even so, he struggled to keep up, particularly as a pair of hovertanks supporting the Marik ‘Mechs opened up on him, salvos of SRMs tearing into the shins and thighs of the heavy ‘mech.

He wasn’t confident of hitting the Rifleman at this range with his shorter-range weapons, even if its own comparable weapons were scoring hits. Instead, Max shifted targets to the nearer hovertank - a Pegasus. The lasers scored two glowing lines across the sleek vehicle’s hull and it side-slipped, escaping his return salvo of SRMs.

However, in so doing, the crew had opened the range enough that Max managed to lock on and his LRM racks cycled, seven of the ten missiles scoring hits that ripped holes in the skirts of the Pegasus. It lost height and speed, struggling to stay ahead.

Max centered his crosshairs on it, intending to finish the tank off with his autocannon. However, the Rifleman wasn’t done with him. More shots hammered into his ‘mech and Max’s fire went wild as he tried to compensate for the impacts.

There was no third salvo from the purple Rifleman. Frederick had finished off the Wolverine that was his own initial target and now he turned and caught the Marik heavy ‘mech from the flank, exactly far enough around it to pour autocannon shells and LRMs into the paper-thin rear armor.

The autocannon ammunition inside the Rifleman detonated, ripping the core out of the reactor and gyro. An instant before the explosion, the cockpit blew open and rockets threw the mechwarrior inside up and into the air.

They should have survived, but pure bad luck put the deploying parachute into the path of a stream of tracers from a Marik Hermes II.

Max imagined he could hear a despairing scream from the Militia mechwarrior but he had no time to deal with it because the shells were aimed for his Orion and they tore into the knee, breaking through armor plating already damaged by the earlier missile and shredding the knee actuator.

That was beyond Max’s ability to overcome and the ‘Mech fell face first onto the ground. All he could do was throw out the arms of the heavy ‘Mech to absorb some of the impact. Even so, it was tooth-rattling.

He rolled the Orion, to protect its own rear armor, and fought the controls to make it stand once more. However, he failed to gain traction and all that he managed was to cause more damage to his armor as the Orion fell for the second time.

Another short salvo of autocannon fire hit home against the Orion, causing minor damage to one of the LRM launchers. Only an amber light on the diagram… but that might be enough to cause the weapon to fail.

Fortunately, the short battle was over by the time he managed to get the Orion’s feet under it. The Wolverine and the Rifleman were the only enemy ‘mech casualties, but a full lance of Scorpion light tanks and a pair of LRM carriers had been destroyed. About half the Marik Militia and their support had escaped - two Hermes II medium ‘mechs and the faster ground vehicles such as the two Pegasus.

“Who’s down?” demanded Frederick.

“Just Mustermann, and he’s up again,” one of the Lyran Regulars reported.

“Anyone else?”

With no one else speaking up, Max checked his Orion’s condition. Almost a third of its armor was compromised, mostly across the legs, but the arms and back were flagged, and the knee actuator’s condition would slow the ‘mech down more than he liked. “I’m about conditional seven,” he reported.

“I’d have said six,” Frederick grunted. “You were a comparatively easy target, almost all of them were firing at you.”

Max took a deep breath. “Aha, my lame duck technique saved you all,” he declared with patently false bravado.

“Some people will do anything to get drinks,” another mechwarrior joked, and the command company’s tension drained.

“Max is cheap to buy for,” declared Frederick dismissively. “Mission complete, we’re going back to the tunnels. Can you make it, Max?”

“I’m mobile,” he confirmed. “Just don’t expect me to sprint.”

The attack hadn’t been strictly necessary, but the relief force had arrived in system and would be landing in just over twenty-four hours. By what was probably bad luck, three search groups were combing parts of the Nagayan mountains so there was no possible way that they could miss the dropships landing even if somehow the FWLM aerospace elements proved blind and radar coverage failed.

As such, Frederick decided that there was no point maintaining secrecy. Attacking now would give the Home Guards and the Marik Militia a little more time to gather their forces, but also allowed the possibility of reducing their numbers before they could do so. And in addition, they weren’t striking anywhere particularly close to the main entrance or to the landing zone that had been communicated to the dropships. Hopefully, that would at least direct the enemy forces to focus on the wrong part of the mountains.

Hopefully.

“You were lucky,” Frederick observed privately to Max. “You need more practice.”

“Lots more.” Or not getting into fights, but in the 31st century that could be hard to assure.

“Still, for your first battle, it wasn’t too bad. It was sensible of you to protect your rear armor. A bit more damage and you might have had to punch out.”

“I got a good view of how that can go wrong.” Max shook his head, thinking back to the mechwarrior in the Rifleman. “I’d be happier if this thing had a full-head ejection system.”

“A what?”

“It’s exactly what it sounds like. Rather than just ejecting the mechwarrior, the entire head takes off - it means you’re still inside the armored canopy the whole time.”

Frederick sounded bemused. “That can’t be as easy as it sounds, but I wish I had one too. Is there any data on it in the data core we recovered? What ‘mechs used it?”

“It hasn’t been invented yet. I believe it was Doctor Banzai of Team Banzai that came up with it in the 3020s for the Hatchetman, and later some other designs.”

“Something that even the Star League didn’t have? That’s hard to believe.”

“They were only men and women,” Max told him. “If they were infallible, the Star League would not have fallen. There are plenty of technologies that didn’t exist back then which will be developed in future decades. This was one of the sooner ones.”

“Perhaps we can develop some others. It would be something no one would expect,” Frederick mused. “Not even ComStar.”

“Finally prepared to believe me?”

Max could almost see Frederick’s face twisted in irritation. “I’d like to think there must be some merit to the organization, since I apparently chose to serve in it. Even if the joining wasn’t entirely my own idea from what you said.”

“And you had been hit in the head,” Max agreed. “Shot, in fact.”

“I definitely want one of those full-head ejection systems. One head injury was enough.”

Nagayan Mountains, Helm
Stewart Commonality, Free Worlds League
23 March 3011

The sky above the Nagayan mountains was alight with moving stars as dropships dove through the upper atmosphere, surrounded by squadrons of aerospace fighters trying to protect or destroy them. Almost seventy of those fighters were marked in purple on the holotable Frederick was looking at, a modest numerical advantage over the blue icons - which made this the largest clash of aerospace fighters he'd ever seen.

Fortunately, the edge in numbers didn’t appear to be decisive. Flight-pairs danced and feinted towards each other’s dropships but none seemed to be getting close enough to threaten the intensely valuable core force.

Up above, a trio of dropships were in geostationary above the mountains. Max was frowning at the icons. “They’re not landing?” he asked.

Frederick shook his head, realizing the older man didn’t recognise the codes. “One of our Vengeance-class dropships,” he explained - indicating the largest of the trio. “It can’t land, and it needs an escort.” That was a pair of much smaller Achilles-class dropships. Fast, fleet craft that were taking up three precious collars on the jumpships… but without them, the freighters and the ground forces likely wouldn’t have made it to the surface against the Marik fighters.

Max hissed. “Well, Katrina’s taking you seriously.”

Frederick nodded. Very few of the dedicated aerospace carriers had survived the Succession Wars. It was irreplaceable… at least, unless the Helm data core contained information on how to construct them. “We’d be utterly doomed if she hadn’t,” he admitted. “I’ve never seen this many fighters in the air at one time.”

“There’s not going to be as many if this keeps up,” the ground control officer of the Seventh Lyran Regulars muttered. “They’re getting desperate.”

A squadron of Cheetahs expended themselves (in the sense that the five survivors fled, with damage markers made it clear that continuing to fight would mean joining their comrade in being shot down) in the process of drawing a similar number of heavier and slower Lyran fighters out of the way so that a handful of Eagles and Stingrays could break through the perimeter.

Frederick felt his teeth grinding as he watched the aerospace fighters dive in. They wouldn’t make it back, that was assured, but thin-skinned and essentially unarmed freighters wouldn’t stand a -

Six new icons flashed into being amid the dropships where they’d apparently been lurking. They were a striking crimson on the display, subtly different from the scarlet of the Draconis Combine.

Four Shilones and a pair of Slayers, heavier than the Marik strike fighters, faced them head on and both sides opened up with everything they had.

“Kell Hounds!” Max exclaimed, connecting the dots.

Frederick nodded. For a moment it seemed that the twelve fighters would wipe each other in head-to-head collisions, none willing to break away and carry the brunt of the firepower of their enemies. But at the last moment the formations interpenetrated, and the combined air turbulence sent all twelve tumbling wildly, fighting to stabilize themselves and regroup before more fighters could arrive.

Only one Lyran fighter made it in time, a lone Lucifer that dropped in on the tail of a Stingray and stuck to it through wild evasive patterns. Then they were lost in the furball as Marik and Kell Hound fighters closed in.

Frederick took a deep breath and looked at the dropships. They were turning to bring their drives beneath them to cushion their landings. Trajectory predictions flashed across the display - his reinforcements would be coming down right outside the lower entrances to the caves, the Marik redeployment was split with their spheroid dropships converging out on the flats and a mix of aerodynes heading for Freeport where the old highways would probably provide a landing.

When he looked back, the six Kell Hounds were folding back into a defensive position, along with dozens of Lyran fighters. Their opponents were slipping away to cover the landings.

“We made it.”

Max nodded. “So far.”

“The aerowings from the Vengeance need to break off to regroup aboard her,” the air controller reported. “And we have seven ejected pilots.”

Frederick felt a chill. “Good job none of the Lucifers were lost,” he muttered. Then he saw Max reach into the holodisplay and indicate a glowing azure point that was the estimated landing point for one of the fallen pilots. “What?”

“It said LCF,” the secretary murmured. He glanced at their air-controller. “A Lucifer, ja?”

“Yes sir.”

“No, goddammit!” Frederick slammed his fist into the console. His knuckles split and bled. “Get me the name of that pilot!”

The air-controller was white-faced, he pressed one hand against his earpiece and muttered frantically into his microphone.

Forcing himself away, Frederick turned to Hickson. “Get the loading going. No change to the existing priorities. Every ‘Mech that can carry a load doing that, the rest out on the perimeter. We’re going to be seeing an attack across the flats.”

No cover for either side, but with the two battalions of the Kell Hounds added to what the Regulars could spare from the loading should be enough to keep the Mariks clear. Could. Should.

“Sir.” The air controller’s voice was admirably steady. “The Lucifer pilot w… she is Hauptmann-Kommandant Donna Steiner.”

For a moment Frederick wanted to scream out loud. He’d done everything he could to keep Donna away from Sevren, but now she’d been shot down here?! What good was Max’s help if he couldn’t even change that?! 

Duty re-asserted itself, and some hope. At least she had an ejection seat now. “What do we have for recovery?” he demanded.

“Three helicopters are heading out for the ones in the mountains,” the man informed him. “But the Hauptmann-Kommandant went down nearer to Freeport, inside their likely air defense perimeter. We’ll have to see what the scouts can manage.”

Staring at the holotable, he looked for any justification to take ‘mechs out that way. But the simple fact was, between loading the dropships and keeping them safe from the Marik forces already on the flats… he didn’t have anything much to spare. A lot of his ‘techs were already in cockpits to help the loading but everything he could spare would be needed for skirmishing in the mountain passes.

Max slapped his shoulder. “Get out and defend the dropships,” he advised. “I’ll let everyone in the skirmish force know to keep an eye out for your sister while they slow the Mariks down.”

Frederick glared at him.

The older man gave a little shrug, the sort that meant he knew he was right. “My ‘mech’s on a flatbed waiting to be loaded. I’ve got literally nothing better to do than look for her for you.”

With a curt nod, the large blond turned away and headed for his Zeus. At least Donna had ejected. There was a good chance she was alive… and she could be ransomed.

Then he thought about the self-destruct mechanisms, which Sheppard was still convinced could be triggered by someone breaching the main doors of the Castle Brian, and a chill went down his spine.

Nagayan Mountains, Helm
Stewart Commonality, Free Worlds League
24 March 3011

“My dear family, I am doing something damned stupid,” Max acknowledged out loud as he drove up the Vermilion River valley. “All I can say is, it’s in a good cause.” Now all he needed was a family to tell that to.

The boxy Packrat scout-car he was driving was very much like that he’d learned to drive in - the eight rugged tires making easy progress over the rough terrain. It was disquietingly silent though, perhaps why he was talking to himself. Unlike those already in use by the Seventh Lyran Regulars, this one had been cached away here on Helm and used by the techs to check that they could get the reactors of the stored equipment active. Given the Packrat’s reactor had the same rating as that of a Stinger or a Wasp, it wasn’t surprising that the Regulars’ Packrats had long since had their reactors replaced by louder, larger and less efficient diesel engines.

The lack of engine noise was a real bonus for a scout vehicle though, and Max checked the map on his dashboard. It wasn’t all that great, but he’d applied a marker to indicate the best guess of where Donna Steiner might have landed. If he had the landmarks right, then he should be near that marker. And maybe even near Frederick’s sister.

If he didn’t then he might be a long way from the dropships when the time came for them to take off.

“If I get left behind, Frederick will kill me,” Max continued. “And if I get spotted by the Mariks, they’ll kill me. But if Frederick’s sister goes missing, he might do something really stupid.” The Packrat bumped over a ditch and he gripped the steering wheel. “I hate this century.”

Reaching a side-valley that had perhaps once contained a minor tributary of the no longer mighty Vermilion, Max slowed to a halt and then checked his map again. Probably this was right. So… According to one of the consoles, the prevailing wind was… up into the valley? Maybe.

The balding man had only learned to drive in a Packrat, the sensor systems were still somewhat outside of his understanding. Still, parachutes were blown by the wind, he figured she might have wound up further that way than initially estimated.

Checking the clock, he decided that he would check all the way up this side-valley and then he’d better make his way back down towards the cache again. He didn’t fancy being anywhere in this part of Helm if someone did trigger the self-destruct. The Packrat was a pretty sturdy piece of equipment, but it probably wasn’t tough enough to survive that.

Opening the driver’s window, he put the scout-car back into gear and it rolled obediently into the valley. Max could hear the wheels on the ground now that the window was open, but hopefully that wouldn’t prevent him from hearing someone calling out for him. Donna Steiner, for example.

He’d never met the woman, but she was already complicating his life. This is why relationships were hard!

It was, oddly enough, a fairly nice morning. Max could have seen the mountains being a decent tourist destination for tours if there was any sort of local population. Then again, the area had been irradiated for a couple of generations - nothing like as badly as New Dallas, but enough that the people of Helm had gotten into the habit of avoiding this half of the planet. Vegetation had recovered a little but there wasn’t enough water for the agriculture that had once been the major industry of Helm to recover.

And without a much larger number of jumpships, bulk shipping of things like food was also unlikely to be economically viable, he thought.

At the end of the valley, he’d still seen no sign of Donna. Hopefully someone else had found her - he knew there were six or seven small units out here, looking for signs of the advance of the Marik forces that had landed in Freeport. On the lengthy list of things that Frederick didn’t want, it was the unit on the flat acting as an anvil, holding the Seventh Lyran Regulars in place while the second force came around like a hammer.

Turning the wheel, Max drove the Packrat through a half-loop and aimed the nose back down the valley. He was about to open up the throttle - the scout-car was supposedly good for upwards of a hundred and ten kilometers an hour - when something banged off the roof.

“What was that?” he asked, as if anyone was likely to answer, and hit the brakes. Whatever it was skittered audibly off the flat roof and fell to the ground. A stone, about the size of a small plate.

“...the hell?” he wondered, and looked out the window into…

The muzzle of the pistol facing him was only about ten millimeters wide but it looked chasm-like when it was within inches of his face. He could see the rifling inside.

“Hands on your head,” the gray-eyed blonde holding it demanded. “Get out of the car.”

Max swallowed. “I can’t do both,” he pointed out. “I need at least one hand to open the door.” The lines of the face were familiar, he realized.

“Fine. One hand only. Try anything funny and I’ll ventilate your skull.”

“Are you Donna Steiner?” he asked, slowly lowering one hand towards the door hatch.

“No questions,” she barked, holding the pistol steady with both hands.

Max gently pushed the driver’s door open. “I’d really rather not be left on the side of the road,” he observed. “Can I give you a ride? I’d say anywhere but I’d really suggest to your brother…” He was speaking faster and faster, almost babbling.

“I said no questions.” But she frowned. “Wait, you know my brother.”

“If you’re Duchess Steiner, I work for him.”

Now, at last, the muzzle lowered slightly, and the woman looked at him. “Wait, you look like…” she stepped back slightly, raising the gun. “If you really work for him, why weren’t you at the Triad with him last time we met?”

“I don’t have the security clearance. LIC think there’s an outside chance I’m an ISF plant.”

“Oh god, you are him.” Donna lowered the gun. “What are you doing driving around with your window open?”

“I was listening for any sign of you.”

“You almost got shot!”

“Ja, that would have been a bit embarrassing.” He’d also come closer than he liked to wetting himself. Max pushed the door the rest of the way open. “Look, can you get in? We’re kind of on the clock.”

Donna gave him an old-fashioned look. “I’m not climbing over you, even if you are dicking my brother.”

“Are you aware,” Max asked her heavily as he climbed down and gestured for her to climb past him and into the passenger seat - probably intended to be for a commander - next to the driver. “Of the ancient wisdom of not sticking your dick into crazy?”

“I don’t have one of those, but I’m acquainted with the principle.”

“Your brother is crazy.” He raised his chin slightly. “And I have standards.”

She laughed and climbed past him. Now that he wasn’t focused heavily on the gun, he saw she was wearing a flight suit and had a small survival pack on her back. She peeled the straps off that as she scrambled past the driver’s seat and opened it to fit the gun inside.

Hopping back into the driver’s seat, Max closed the door - and the window - before strapping in, but with that done he opened the throttle.

“So when you said on the clock…?” she asked.

“If the Mariks try to breach the entrance to the cache we found, it’s probably still wired to do something unpleasant to everything within miles.”

“Miles? What did you do, find a strategic stockpile of nukes?”

“Yes,” he admitted. “Although I don’t believe that would be the problem in this case.”

“Aha, Frederick is making a habit of this. I figured when he sent word he needed freighters on Helm that he’d found the legendary SLDF storehouses. He’s got a nose like a bloodhound for that sort of thing these days.” Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw her looking at him thoughtfully. “No, that’s wrong. You’re the one with the nose.”

“Ja,” Max admitted. “Although not the nose exactly.”

“No wonder he’s so fond of you.”

“I would prefer to think it’s my no-nonsense personality.”

Donna smirked. “Yes, that would also appeal. Poor Frederick. I really wish Alessandro hadn’t put the thought of being Archon into his head. He’d be eaten alive.”

Max considered calling in that he’d picked up Donna, but he wasn’t entirely sure he could get a tight-beam signal going up to the dropships in orbit. A wide beam transmission would be too risky. “Did you ever consider making a claim to it?”

She laughed. “No, not I. I’m a damn fine pilot, but I don’t have the sort of military mind that he has. Or Nondi or Katrina. But it also takes more than just that.”

He nodded and then realized he was being a fool again. “Can you get a tight-beam radio link up with the dropships? Frederick’s just about killing himself with worry over you.”

“Brothers,” she said in disgust and started working on the radio.

Max kept the Packrat rolling. They weren’t far from the end of the valley, and he didn’t want to risk wrecking the twenty ton vehicle. Granted, it would probably take a lot more to manage that than the civilian cars he’d had accidents with back in… when… before…

His mind was still stumbling over that familiar discontinuity when he saw the glint of metal up ahead and glanced at the sensors. Then he turned the Packrat sharply and pulled behind one of the boulders that had probably been dislodged two hundred odd years ago when the nukes hit Freeport. It was big enough that even something the size of the armored fighting vehicle could hide.

“What the hell?” Donna demanded. “Aren’t we in a hurry?”

“Not that much of a hurry,” Max told her. He pointed at the sensors. “What does that look like to you?”

She reached over and flipped through three screens in rapid succession. “Lots of metal, heavy seismics… look at that IR bloom,” she muttered. “If I was in the air I’d be thinking of a strafing run.”

“Looks like we found the Marik’s advance,” he agreed. “Or part of it.” And they’re between us and our exit, he didn’t add. No need to be obvious. “How about the radio?”

“Just about done,” Donna assured him. She went back to it, a little more urgently this time and he watched the corner of the rocks, wondering if a ‘Mech might come along and take a look at the rock - or at least pick up the metal behind it. Then again, twenty tons was considerably less noticeable than several hundreds.

Connecting a headset to the radio, Donna pressed the push-to-talk switch. “Skana, this is Tybalt-Actual. I am Oscar-India-Zulu. Say again, Oscar-India-Zulu. Over.”

Max raised an eyebrow.

Donna rolled her eyes. “Standard code for ‘recovered by friendly forces but not out of danger’. Don’t you know this?”

“I’m not a soldier,” he defended himself. “I just get dragged into danger by your brother every now and then.” Twice, so far, unless you counted politics.

“Tybalt-Actual,” the loudspeaker crackled out. “This is Skana. Good to hear, do you require assistance? Over.”

“Confirmed, we have hostile forces approximately eight hundred meters south of our position. Estimating one ‘mech battalion with support. Over.”

There was a pause. “Tybalt-Actual, can you disengage? Over.”

Donna glanced at Max who tapped the map and indicated the route back to the entrance of the cache. He hadn’t marked that, just for security. “Skana, if they keep this route, they’ll be between us and our exit path. Over.”

“Understood, Tybalt-Actual. Sit tight and we’ll give them something else to think about. Skana out.”

Max looked at the map and checked the scale. “I hope they don’t duck in here for cover.”

“There’s not much cover from aerospace fighters,” Donna told him. “And if so, they’ll have other things on their minds.”

They sat, watching the sensors. Time seemed to stretch out interminably. Max forced himself to let go of the wheel and folded his arms.

“What’s keeping the -” Donna began… and then a thunderous noise washed over them.

“Tybalt-Actual,” the radio crackled. “Use the smoke.”

The voice was familiar to both of them and Max grinned. “How do you feel about that over-protectiveness now?” he asked, backing the Packrat up before taking it around the boulder.

Frederick’s sister grabbed the straps holding her in her seat. “What the hell is he doing?”

Max steered out into the valley, seeing the marks of artillery fire. More shells were falling but rather than high explosive, they were spraying smoke across the valley’s confines. “Seventh Lyran Regulars’ artillery battalion has over thirty guns,” he told her. “At a rough guess, Frederick’s using all of them to give them something else to worry about.”

Gray and red ‘mechs were scattering, several of them damaged and a column of tanks was trying to back into the valley that the two of them had just entered. The tiny Packrat was lost in the confusion and the boiling clouds of smoke. Shells hit the ground like firecrackers and Max almost had a heart-attack when one landed next to them but it was literally like a firework - sound and fury, no damage. He jammed the throttle wide open. Most ‘Mechs couldn’t move as fast as a Packrat, and he’d just have to take the chance of being spotted by one of the exceptions.

Also, the chance of hitting something.

Donna whooped as the Packrat went over a low rise and went airborne for half a second.

Freaking adrenaline junkie, Max thought. But then they were past the leading edge of the ‘mechs - Home Guards from the colors - and racing down the valley to get to the next turn.

His shoulders itched with anticipation of autocannon fire, LRMs or worse a PPC slamming into them. It was almost an anti-climax when they rounded the corner without any shots fired in their direction.

Max kept the throttle open though. The entrance wasn’t that far ahead. The Home Guards might be close enough to try forcing it within an hour if they knew where to go - and even if they didn’t, they were too close for comfort. He couldn’t risk going for it now, so that meant trying to make it down to the flats and the waiting dropships through the mountains.

“Tell Frederick we’re running very low on time,” he urged.

Donna reached for the push-to-talk and then paused. “Don’t tell him, but right now his overprotective streak feels pretty damn good.” Then she pushed the button. “Tiger-Actual, this is Tybalt-Actual. Your boyfriend says we’re running low on time, over.”

“He’s not my boyfriend, Tybalt-Actual,” Frederick growled.

“You knew who I meant though!” she shot back instantly.

Chapter Text

Chapter 10

Nagayan Mountains, Helm
Stewart Commonality, Free Worlds League
24 March 3011

Those members of Frederick’s command company not helping with the loading of the newly arrived dropships were carrying out the almost-as-important task of keeping unpleasant strangers from bothering him. Given that he’d expended all his LRMs and autocannon ammunition already, that was rather necessary. For that matter, the armor of his Zeus bore the marks of long-range fire exchanged with the Twenty-Fifth Marik Militia.

The Twenty-Fifth didn’t feel like the same unit he’d faced on New Dallas. They’d been raw then - brave, but poorly led and lacking the coordination of mechwarriors who’d trained as a unit. Just as the Seven Lyran Regulars had been polished up into a far more capable unit over that time, the Militia had obviously worked hard as well.

Breaking off ‘mechs to help load the dropships had been the right decision, he thought again. But it’s costing us.

The ranks of the Seventh Lyran Regulars were ragged, lances understrength and sometimes missing officers from their chain of command. It gave them the feel of having fought a hard campaign already, comrades missing and units consolidated temporarily with the teamwork not quite where it needed to be. In a handful of places, they were stiffened by reactivated SLDF ‘Mechs but most of those were being loaded or used by techs to help loading everything that wasn’t palleted conveniently for forklifts - they were too valuable to risk for the most part. The exceptions he’d authorized were a dozen durable assault ‘Mechs with standard armor plating, those likely to survive in repairable condition.

The reduced numbers and cohesion would have been a critical failure, if it wasn’t for the Kell Hounds. The red-and-black ‘mechs moved as a smooth unit even with their short career so far. The Kells’ ability to turn their recruits into a formed unit so quickly underlined how much of a loss they were to the LCAF.

“They’re where I need them right now,” Frederick muttered to himself. Some Kell Hound ‘mechs helped move supplies from the flatbed trucks into dropships, but the rest of their number fought like demons and there was no disorder to indicate that they were operating as fragments of their usual ordering.

The next flatbed to be unloaded was the one carrying Max’s damaged Orion. Comparatively small crates of spare parts were stacked around it and ‘Mechs scurried to shift them away before the crane of the Overlord lifted the Orion itself off the truck.

It wasn’t the only damaged ‘mech - at least a company’s worth of the Lyran Regulars had their ‘Mechs moved back aboard, too damaged to continue fighting or simply loaded first while their owners used SLDF ‘Mechs that boasted hands to work on the loading. Objectively the modern ‘Mechs were worth less than the SLDF equivalents, but Frederick couldn’t just hand those over so the mechwarriors would have been less than motivated if their ‘mechs - often passed down through the generations - were left behind. But Max’s Orion had been the last of the ‘mechs to be loaded. The older man had agreed it could be left behind in favor of more valuable prizes. It was a humbling degree of trust.

“Sir, Snord’s trying to reach you,” warned one of the dropship comm officers helping him to coordinate the defense.

Snord’s company was a small addition to the fighting strength on the planet, but they were also doing most of the skirmishing to keep the other Marik regiment away. “Patch him through.”

“General Steiner, is that you?” the mercenary demanded. At least he’d kept his word about not calling him Freddie.

“It’s me,” Frederick confirmed. “I’m guessing this isn’t good news.”

“It’s not. The Home Guard finally got fed up and used their LAMs.”

He snarled at the reminder. The Home Guard’s position well behind the border had let them maintain a sizable number of Land-Air ‘Mechs - rare creations of the Star League that could transform between ‘mech and aerospace fighter. Earlier they had played a part in the battle for the skies, and he’d hoped that the enemy commander would be hesitant to risk them again. After all, the only factory that could still build them was hundreds of light years away, deep in the interior of the Draconis Combine.

“I take it that you can’t stall them long,” Frederick concluded.

“Hardly at all.” The fact seemed to gripe Snord. “We have drawn them off to an extent, but we can only go so far from our dropship or we will be marooned here. And Janos Marik would not have a warm welcome for me.”

“Rather too warm I think.” The Captain-General had a price on Snord’s head, after the way the merc had left his employ on Rochelle. Frederick wanted to shake his head, but the heavy neurohelmet made that uncomfortable. “Time and distance, everything comes down to that. Alright, can you buy me one more hour?”

The mercenary didn’t hesitate. “Give me first call on your artillery and I can. After that though, we will need to take to our dropship.”

“Agreed. Once you’ve done that, take off as fast as you can.”

“Oh?” Snord laughed. “It will be unhealthy then?”

“Very much so,” Frederick agreed and cut him off without further courtesy. Time was too expensive. Switching channels, he contacted Sheppard. “Warrant officer, make these loads your last.”

“Sir, the dropships aren’t much more than half-loaded.”

“Better half a load than none, Sheppard. Evacuate the facility. Don’t leave anyone behind.”

“That bad?”

He looked at the map where the purple of the Marik Militia was encroaching slowly upon the blue defensive perimeter. If it was just them, he could have held the landing zone all through the night. But not with the Home Guard moving around into his rear. “We can’t take it all anyway.”

“Sir, can I at least move the core? We can’t leave it for the Mariks!”

“We won’t. But are you sure you can remove it without triggering anything?”

The warrant officer hesitated. “Maybe fifty-fifty.”

“That doesn’t cut it,” he snapped. A mistake could destroy their dropships on the ground. “Don’t even try to touch it. We’re leaving with what we can take in this load.”

“Yes, sir,” she agreed reluctantly.

Frederick switched channels and warned his battalion commanders of the change of plans. An organized retreat was always the most difficult thing - as soon as it was noticed, the Mariks would start pressuring harder.

And where was Max? There wasn’t much time left for him to return with Donna.

As if on cue, Patrick Kell cut into the tactical conversation. “Tiger-Actual, do you know anything about a Packrat trying to sneak into our perimeter from the mountains?”

Frederick felt something unclench inside him. “It should be Typhoon-Actual rejoining us. Hold one, while I authenticate.”

Adjusting his radio, he transmitted on the frequency used before by Donna to report Max had found her. “Typhoon-Actual, this is Tiger-Actual. Respond.”

Donna’s voice, recognisable through static, “This is Typhoon-Actual. I’m a little short of air support for you, right at the moment.”

Frederick almost choked and then rasped out: “Yeah, you crashed the fighter I bought you and Max lost the knee of his Orion. I think you’re a bad influence on each other.”

Max cut in. “We’re in sight of the dropships. If I don’t wreck this heap, we’ll be there in thirty minutes.”

“I’ll get you some cover,” Frederick promised. “I want you aboard a dropship as fast as possible.” He said no more. Max would probably guess why. “Tiger-Actual, out.”

Nagayan Mountains, Helm
Stewart Commonality, Free Worlds League
24 March 3011

“Arcanist-Actual, please respond.”

Colonel Azi Ochambo would have paused his Hermes II behind cover if he could but out on the flats there was essentially no cover unless you made it. All he could do was pull back behind his command lance. “This is Arcanist-Actual. What do you have for me?”

He could see the enemy dropships in the distance. It wasn’t quite possible to identify them at this distance, but Ochambo knew for sure that one of the larger ones was the Retribution - the Excalibur-class dropship that had once been flagship of his own Twenty-Fifth Marik Militia.

Frederick Steiner had taken that dropship, along with a pair of Unions, during the skirmish on New Dallas that had opened up the route for Ochambo to rise to Colonel. Whatever lostech might be aboard it at the moment, Ochambo knew his regiment wanted the dropship itself more. Regaining it would recover their honor in ways that the strike at Wyatt had failed to.

Admittedly, killing or capturing Cranston Snord would also win Ochambo the favor of the Captain-General, but he had to be realistic. The man was on the far side of the battlefield and unlikely to come close to him. If Major General Lao Jarreau-Stewart’s Home Guard could bring the mercenary down, so much the better. Perhaps it was the general calling to boast of that now. It would be typical.

“Sir, General Steiner has opened communications and requests to speak to you. By name.”

Ochambo threw his Hermes II into a sudden reversal, something that threw his lance-mates off-stride but kept him from overbalancing after the way he twitched. His negotiations with Fredrick Steiner had not been a high-point in his career. Nothing left in the New Dallas cache had been worth the loss of equipment suffered - even discounting the dropships. Steiner had taken whatever there was of value and for the most part he'd left behind dross such as thousands of tons of obsolete armor plating.

If it wasn’t for the success on Wyatt, Ochambo knew that he’d still be a Major and someone else would have been promoted over him.

Bargaining with a Lyran was always a mistake! But he could hardly refuse to talk to the enemy commander. After all, he might be offering to surrender. Unlikely, but there was no reasonable way to find out without talking to him. Even if it was not, declining such a message was tantamount to shooting arrows at a medieval herald.

“Put him through,” Ochambo ordered, voice harsher than it usually was. As new background noises became audible, he continued: “General Steiner. You have my attention.”

“No doubt.” The Lyran’s voice had the usual clipped, germanic accent to his English. “I am offering you a warning. My forces will soon take off and we will leave nothing behind us except a wave of destruction. If you don’t wish to be lost in it, I suggest you pull off the flats.”

Ochambo’s eyes widened. He couldn’t be serious… if Steiner was about to take off then he’d have to pull his forces back. Pressure now was the best chance to get close and bring the dropships under fire. Then his eyes narrowed. Was this a bluff? “Why would you warn me?”

“Given the chance to destroy two of Marik’s regiments? By military logic I shouldn’t,” admitted Steiner. “And perhaps if I was fighting the DCMS, I’d consider it a job well done to see two regiments eradicated. But you were an honorable foe on New Dallas. And your raid on Wyatt was careful of our civilians’ wellbeing. At the end of the day, mass destruction is something to be handled with due respect.”

“Mass…” The colonel’s blood chilled. “...destruction?”

That was not a term to be used lightly, not among soldiers. Not after entire worlds had burned in the early Succession Wars. Like New Dallas. Like Helm.

Steiner’s voice was solemn. “You heard me.”

“You’re that intent on denying us the contents of the cache?” Ochambo demanded. If Steiner had emptied it entirely then there would be literally no reason to use nuclear weapons or whatever he had in mind. The message SAFE had decoded had suggested that the SLDF supplies there were enormous, enough to supply most of a military district for a year even if it was only comparable to modern equipment. If it was more sophisticated then the price was incalculable.

“Yes.”

That word alone.

“We made a deal on New Dallas. I may have gotten the worst of that bargain,” he offered, mind racing. “But rather than lose the salvage, we avoided conflict. Can we not find common ground once more?”

Steiner sighed audibly. “Honestly, I would be tempted. However, you misunderstand the contents of the cache. Beside the more conventional military equipment which I am taking, the Nagayan mountains contains a massive SLDF stockpile of nuclear weapons. Vastly more of them than were used by the Kuritas to devastate this world. I cannot in good conscience let anyone possess that arsenal.”

Ochambo froze. That many nuclear weapons?! “You’re going to set them off? Are you insane?”

“We’re a nice long way from the remaining population centers,” the Lyran told him. “The water courses down into the Equatorial Sea shouldn’t hurt anyone either if they’re contaminated - that area’s as deserted as Freeport. And with a mountain collapsed on them, I’m confident those warheads won’t be usable.”

He expects the entire mountain to be destroyed? Twenty years of military discipline was all that kept him from gibbering. He couldn’t even calculate how wide the collateral damage might be. Somewhat akin to a volcanic eruption?

“Steiner, there has to be another way.”

“You have somewhat less than an hour,” the other man told him. “I believe you can get back to your dropships - perhaps even to call them in to make a fast pick-up for your forces. This isn’t a negotiation, colonel. It is a warning, one I feel is morally obligated. If you choose not to heed it, then that is your problem.” There was a click.

“Steiner… Steiner? Steiner!” Ochambo shouted into the microphone.

“Sir, he cut his transmission.”

“Blake’s beard.” The colonel wished he could rub his eyes. Unfortunately, his neurohelmet made that impossible.

The comms officer had clearly been listening in. “What do we do?”

He might be bluffing, Ochambo thought. He might be. But can I risk that? He swallowed. “Send word to every one of our dropships to warm up their drives and give me an estimate for when they can take off.” A deep breath and then he signaled his battalion commanders. “All units. Regroup, and await orders.”

“Sir, their lines are wavering.” Andrew Merrick still had the second battalion. “I think if we push hard…”

“They’re preparing to take off,” he told them.

“We should push them!”

“I told you to await orders,” snarled Ochambo.

He’d liked his career and it had just gotten back on track. Five or ten years from now, it could have been General Ochambo - purple braid on his shoulders. Whether Steiner was lying or not, that wouldn’t happen now.

“Comms,” he forced himself to speak with some semblance of calm. “Put me through to Jarreau-Stewart.”

A few seconds later and the unfortunately familiar drawl was in his ears. “This is Major General Jarreau-Stewart. We’re almost in their rear Ochambo, so let’s make this quick. I don’t want them getting away.”

Idiot. Did he think Frederick ‘the Hammer’ Steiner was just going to wait in place? And ‘Major General’ wasn’t even a real rank in the FWLM. Jarreau-Stewart just got away with it because the Stewart Dragoons were a provincial brigade, and he was a distant cousin of Earl Stewart.

“General, we have received a message from General Steiner, advising that he will be taking off shortly. His current movements support this.”

“Then push him, man! Do I have to tell you everything? And call in our aerospace - I’ll have my LAMs pincer their dropships from below while our fighters hit him from above.”

Ochambo was fairly sure that wasn’t how a pilot would put it, but whatever. The aerowing would likely nod, smile and translate into something in line with their capabilities. He was fairly sure even LAM’s weren’t just ‘Mechs capable of moving in three dimensions.

“The enemy general has also warned that he intends to employ means of mass destruction to ensure we recover nothing from the cache.”

“He’d never dare!” Jarreau-Stewart exclaimed. “If he did, the Captain-General would authorize retaliation on a Lyran world.”

“That wouldn’t be much comfort to our troops,” Ochambo pointed out. “I’ve dealt with General Steiner before, and he’s…”

“He’s a Leutnant-General, not a real general.”

It takes one to know one, Ochambo thought. “He’ll favor the letter of an agreement over its spirit,” he said out loud. “But he’s not called ‘the Hammer’ because he’s prone to misdirection or deception.”

“Why would he even have brought a nuke?”

“He wouldn’t have to. Kurita came here looking for a SLDF supply base and back then, Helm was what was left of a naval base. They likely had nuclear warheads in stock for use by warships.” He didn’t bother explaining what Steiner had said about a ‘vast arsenal’. “Not that it matters. If we back off - at least on the ground - and there isn’t a nuke then we can still take the base after he’s gone. Even if we push for the dropships now, he’s judged the time well - we can’t really get our ‘mechs close to them for long enough to do serious damage.” That was a lie, but one that would be hard to prove wrong. They were near enough he could taste it!

“Then push them harder, he’s got to thin his defenses if he’s loading his troops!”

He’s not listening, Ochambo thought in despair. “No sir.”

“What.” Jarreau-Stewart seemed confused, “What do you mean, ‘no’?”

“I have accepted this warning as genuine. I am withdrawing my forces until I am reasonably sure we aren’t going to be in the area of effect of several nuclear weapons.”

“Like hell you will! I am ordering you to press the attack, or you will be court-martialed for cowardice in the face of the enemy!”

Ochambo could almost see the provincial officer’s face swelling up with outrage. He snorted. “I may well be, but better that than for recklessly killing my men.”

“You will -!”

“You are not in my chain of command,” Ochambo cut the major general off, his voice low, clear and threatening. “I am required to coordinate with you, and I have done so. If you choose to ignore that and lose your cousin half or more of his favorite regiment, then I won’t be the only one facing a court-martial.”

Then he cut that channel and started ordering the Twenty-Fifth Marik Militia towards rallying points where their Unions could hop in and collect them. He tried very hard to avoid using the words ‘run’ and ‘away’. At least the mechanized infantry and light armor he’d had dug in around the dropships had already begun loading - they actually took longer per unit since ‘Mech bays were set up to lock a ‘Mech in place within seconds of the ‘Mech entering them.

Nagayan Mountains, Helm
Stewart Commonality, Free Worlds League
24 March 3011

Frederick wasn’t quite the last man to board a dropship - that would have been reckless in the extreme - but his command company was the last of the heavy ‘mechs to do so. The Retribution’s hatches closed up as he marched his Zeus into its bay and mechanical arms reached out to pin the eighty-tons into place.

On his tactical display, the last light perimeter guards were rushing up the ramps of their dropships. Up in the air, the aerospace fighters docked on the Vengeance were diving into the atmosphere to provide cover.

Also in the air was Snord’s dropship. The mercenary had elected to get the Union-class ship up into the sky without waiting for anyone else, which meant he was getting quite a bit of attention from some of the Home Guard’s Land-Air ‘Mechs. Presumably he found that risk less threatening than the potential end of the Castle Brian. He might be right.

A rumbling under Frederick told him that the Retribution’s engines were igniting and only a few moments later the massive spacecraft lifted, the force pushing Frederick down into his seat. There was nothing he could do to control things now. As galling as it was, the large, lumbering, thin-skinned and lightly armed dropship was now entirely responsible for his wellbeing. Everything he could do had already been put into place.

Forcing his hand to move, he typed a sequence of instructions and his Zeus linked up with the dropship’s external cameras. It was a functionality every ‘mech had in theory but as a senior officer he had the authority to actually use it whereas anyone else would have needed specific consent from the crew.

It took him a few tries to find the camera he wanted, glancing back and forth between that display and the tactical one.

Marik dropships were moving as well. Some had taken small hops and were finishing up their own loading, but most were arcing up and away from his own formation. Ochambo had taken the warning seriously, which was…

Well, on one level destroying the Twenty-Fifth Marik Militia would have been satisfying, Frederick admitted to himself. They’d raided Wyatt and caused considerable damage to Bowie Industries. But at the same time, for them to be gutted by an event like this would have also had repercussions. There would undoubtedly be voices in the Free Worlds League’s parliament calling for retaliation. It was a thin reed to lean on, but the fact he’d warned them to get clear might count for something in averting massive loss of life on a Lyran world.

Even so, some of them were cutting it fine.

All the Lyran dropships were up now, and their aerospace cover was pulling out of their dives, squadrons moving to cover against any attack.

For a moment he thought the LAMs and the more conventional fighter wings wearing the Marik eagle on their wings would close in and try to bring down his dropships, but their numbers making an approach remained low - he wondered why and then realized that almost twenty of the Marik fighters were holding back, distinct pairs forming a perimeter around the dropships of the Twenty-Fifth and their accompanying units.

The rest, out-numbered, didn’t press the attacks. Divided command perhaps? It was a not uncommon problem for the Free Worlds League.

The screen looking down on the mountains below still showed no change, so he looked at Freeport for the other Marik dropships. Presumably their commander would want his own aircover when they started taking off.

A ping drew his attention to a timer. Old-fashioned, but simple.

Down below, he knew that the main computer system of the Castle Brian would be getting a very simple instruction. One that it had been waiting for over two hundred years.

There was still no immediate movement. Not at the mountain. Nor, he noted, in Freeport. Weren’t those dropships going to take off? There was nothing he could do.

Slowly he took a deep breath, forced calm. God, give me the tools to do what I can and forbearance to accept what I cannot.

And then, below, the mountains began to shift.

Originally, he knew from Max, the water would have begun to geyser out of Freeport. But it didn’t have to. And if they were triggering the destruction intentionally, then he had some way of controlling how.

Centuries before, a fault beneath the Yehudan Sea had opened under the bombardment of the area, draining incredible quantities of water down below the Nagayan mountains - and more and more water had seeped into it over the years since, the fault ensuring that the dead flats remained exactly that.

At some point the water would have reached a natural limit, but so far that hadn’t happened. It was possible though, through the use - to be honest the misuse - of Star League technology, to impose an unnatural limit.

The principal fusion reactor of the Castle Brian had already tapped into the original subterranean water for its cooling. That system now had access to a much larger amount of water and while hot water was being vented back into the faultline, it would quickly dissipate that temperature into the cold water there.

But the change of a few valves had altered that, and the reactor was running up to maximum power, using that to generate even more heat, venting the boiling water and steam directly into the Castle Brian at a rate that was downright unbelievable.

Billions of gallons of water were erupting into the interior of the military base, and there was vastly more water in the fault than even that vast complex could accommodate.

The air inside compacted, the steam condensed, and still more and more water rushed in.

Something had to give.

The SLDF had built the complex to impressive standards. The pressure inside the Castle Brian was high enough that military hardware was already functionally destroyed - the tens of thousands of nuclear warheads were now utterly ruined.

And what gave, in the end, wasn’t the doors. Faults in the mountainsides themselves began to rupture and water sprayed out at speeds that would have torn a ‘mech apart.

Jets of water hundreds of meters long, slicing through anything in their path.

Chunks of the mountainside the size of dropships were blasted ahead of the water, disintegrating into small sections that would have still destroyed the Lyran flotilla if they hadn’t taken off.

And then, as Frederick watched the face of the mountains bulge, the charges left behind by the long dead SLDF engineers to deal with any interlopers who merely blasted their way in went off.

Every major structural member holding the caverns up ruptured as one.

Billions of tons of rock sank visibly and the water, still coming in faster than it was escaping, was compressed further.

Frederick’s face went white as a section of the mountains kilometers across was almost completely vaporized, erupting in a cloud of water, steam and liquifying stone that hit the Dead Flats and spreading out almost faster than he could follow it. He’d promised a wave of destruction and now a literal tidal wave was flooding across what had once been a seabed.

The last dropships of the Marik Militia were taking off - no fools, they had taken the rumbling as the final warning. A few ‘Mechs disappeared beneath them, but no more than a handful were left to their now inevitable demise. The white clouds engulfed the ovoid hulls for a moment but then the fusion torches blew back the water, raising more steam, and the trio of dropships emerged once more, hurtling themselves away from the apocalyptic violence.

The Vermilion River tried to drain some of the flow of water away, but while this sapped away some of the force of this sudden tidal wave, it was a tiny fraction of the whole and the torrent flowing back into the long dead river engulfed elements of the Home Guard and their support trying to use the riverbed as a road.

The wave of water that hit Freeport was over forty meters tall.

Frederick watched a Leopard trying to take off, accelerating down the improvised runway to build enough speed. The water caught its rear, hammered down on one stubby wing and sent nineteen hundred tons of dropship tumbling. The fuel store ruptured – hydrogen mixing with the air outside - and the heat of the dropship’s thrusters did the rest: the aft half of the Leopard exploded, adding to the destruction.

Other dropships were driven sideways into buildings. One Condor was tossed upside down. Entire buildings collapsed, their concrete and mortar driven as the leading edge of the continuing devastation.

As destructive as the nuclear bombing had been all those years ago, Freeport had still recognizably been a city in its form.

But when the tide’s fury was finally spent, all but the most inland suburbs of it had been razed to the ground. Only the hulks of shattered dropships remained as markers.

“Jesus wept,” Frederick whispered.

Steam clouds were forming and as the dropships ascended, he lost sight of the surface. But he would not forget. No, he would never forget this. Nor would anyone else.

“Sir?”

“Yes?”

The comms officer hesitated. “Message from the enemy commander.”

“Ochambo? Tell me?”

“He says… he says he’d have rather it was just nukes.”

Slumping back in his seat, Frederick finally wrestled his neurohelmet off. “The man’s a moron,” he muttered. “Then again, he got most of his troops out. More than the other commander down there thought to do for his unit.” The LAMs might have made it out, but that was a mixed brigade of the Stewart Dragoons that would be good for nothing for years to come.

Chapter Text

Chapter 11

Fort Durenford, Loric
Protectorate of Donegal, Lyran Commonwealth
26 April 3011

For the first time since Max had spent time with the unit, the Seventh Lyran Regulars were back at their home base on Loric. Immediate dependents had been with them on Wyatt, but they’d shipped back here by commercial routes through the Commonwealth and the ‘unscheduled’ delay in the regiment’s return had obviously worn on some of them.

“What’s on your mind?” Frederick asked him as they watched the disembarking soldiers meet with their families. It made for quite a crowd but there was a festive air - after all, the Regulars were returning in triumph.

The party also diverted a lot of attention away from the cargo handling areas where some of the most valuable cargo was already being shifted to a pair of heavily secured cargo-variant Union-class dropships. Over three thousand tons of advanced weapons, heatsinks, armor plating and electronics had been crammed into the cargo holds and excess space within ‘Mechbays on board the Regulars’ transports. All of that would be heading for Tharkad and then to other, highly secretive, locations where some of the Lyran Commonwealth’s best scientists would study them. Both dropships also carried complete copies of the data downloaded from Helm - just in case someone managed to damage, destroy or steal the data storage cores being escorted separately by the Kell Hounds.

Max looked down at the families – he and Frederick were on the Retribution’s observation deck - and felt a twinge of regret for a select few people who existed only in his own memories. “Considering a few of the costs of war.”

The younger man gripped the rail under the viewing port. “Ah, you heard then.”

The secretary frowned in confusion. “I’ve heard a lot of things…”

Frederick took a deep breath and exhaled. “Sevren.”

“Sevren… the Winfield Guards?”

“Yes. We got news after we jumped in here.” Gray eyes fixed on Max for a moment. “I see the grapevine didn’t get hold of that then?”

He shook his head. “As bad as I… predicted?”

Frederick jerked his head down in a sharp nod. “Yes. Donna… she’s taking it badly.”

Max tilted his head and then made a guess: “Someone she knew?”

“The Archon regrets to inform her,” Donna Steiner’s elder brother recited grimly, “That Hauptmann David Steiner-Casval, Duke of Porrima, is among the confirmed casualties suffered. His company held a rear-guard position… Selwin Kelswa will be sending a medal back to Porrima in lieu of the body. It wasn’t recovered, you see.”

“Shit.” Max had never met Donna’s husband - he only knew his name because he'd looked it up and it hadn't occurred to him that Steiner-Casval might also be with the Winfield Guards. The fighting on Helm had given him some idea of what it must have been like, though. “Should I offer my condolences?” If they'd known more, they might have been able to avoid the entire debacle, rather than just getting Donna out of that line of fire.

“I’m not sure,” admitted Frederick in a frustrated tone. “She’s barely left her quarters since she got the news.”

“Who hasn’t?” The question came from the door into the observation room and the two men turned to see the object of their discussion standing there, wearing a dress uniform that was only slightly rumpled.

Max nodded politely. “Duchess Steiner. My condolences on your loss.”

“Dowager Duchess now,” she corrected him, sounding tired. “Ryan will be duke now. It’s a lot of weight for some very small shoulders.”

He wasn’t sure how to respond to that so he nodded in acceptance and stepped back to let her join Frederick in looking down from the top of the Retribution over the spaceport.

However, Donna shook her head. “There’s no need. I know I’ve joked about your relationship with Frederick, but I’m glad he has someone.” Then she looked over at her brother. “Mother would be so pleased you’re seeing someone at last.”

“It’s not like that!” the general snapped.

Max sighed. Donna probably wouldn’t persist at that idea if it didn’t get such an exaggerated reaction from her brother. “Will you be going home to Porrima? Or joining the Winfield Guards as they rebuild?”

Donna smiled a little thinly at the change of subject. “Porrima. I want to see Ryan, he’s all I have left of David now. And besides that… what you said last year isn’t entirely wrong, Frederick.” She clenched her teeth. “I don’t want him growing up without a mother, as well as a father.”

“Taking time away from your career?”

“It’ll end my career as a pilot,” Donna corrected her brother. “High performance flying is a young woman’s game. When I come back, if I go back, it’ll be a desk job. Maybe teaching at best.”

Max shrugged his shoulders. “It’s a truth going back to the Second World War that once soldiers have experience, the best of them are of more use teaching the next crop of soldiers than they are on the battlefield. And most of them protested that assignment.”

“Thanks for trying to try to make me feel better.”

Frederick shook his head. “I’m sure you can keep your hand in with Porrima’s militia if you want. But… hmm. Max, isn’t Porrima on the list?”

Which list… ah. “For industrial development? Yes, it’s got the mining and light manufacturing to step up.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Donna.

Her brother put his back against the bulkhead. “I’ve been dabbling in the military industrial field.”

“Yes, I noticed. If only because it was a surprise.”

“It was pretty clear that if I wanted enough ‘Mechs for the Regulars then I was going to have to get them myself. And there are only so many holes in the ground that they can be found in.”

Donna laughed. “You say that? After New Dallas? After Helm?!”

“A finite resource,” Frederick repeated. “While I served with the Royal Guards, I never had to consider that even the Commonwealth is limited in how many ‘mechs and other warmachines we build. Or that the quality isn’t quite what we might want. But the Seventh aren’t the Royal Guards. We’re almost the bottom of the priority list. So, I decided to do something about that.”

“Thus you pushing for the redesigned Lucifer.”

He nodded.

The younger of the two Steiners turned to Max. “So, what’s your part in this? Because you’re not just his lostech bloodhound, or his stress-relief.”

“He has a lot of stress to relieve,” Max said with a straight-face. “It’s… bruising.”

Donna doubled over, laughing. Frederick banged the back of his head against the bulkhead. “Dammit, Max!”

“What? I mean Skye basketball. It’s not my fault you nobles have dirty minds.” He gave his employer a questioning look. ‘How much do I tell her?’

The nod he got back looked like a ‘go for it’, to Max. “Bowie Industries is investing heavily in the new Battlemech factories on Carlisle, with significant amounts of investment from the Commonwealth. So money pouring into Bowie is an understood problem as far as foreign intel is concerned. Except that’s not the only project they have.”

The woman’s brow furrowed. “They also build the Chippewa, don’t they? It’s not that well armored, but it’s not the worst attack bird around.”

“That is debatable.” It was that or the Lucifer, Max thought but since Donna loved her Lucifers it wasn’t an argument to get into. “Anyway, among the prizes from New Dallas we found a lot of data on the one aerospace design either of us has ever heard of that was developed by the Canopians.”

“I didn’t even know they even had any aerospace industry.”

“After the Reunification War, they didn’t.” The idea of de-industrializing worlds other than Terra hadn’t begun with ComStar. For that matter, it hadn’t even begun with the Star League. “The Dragonfly was a light attack fighter - a cheap and practical way to get a lot of ground attack fighters.”

“Something like a Lightning?” Donna asked.

“A bit slower and it has a pair of large lasers instead of the autocannon, but basically yes. It’s not really competitive in air-to-air combat, but for ground attack work and anti-dropship attacks. It does most of what Lucifers do.”

She put her hands on her hips. “After all that time and effort turning the Lucifer into a superiority bird, you now need to fill the attack role again?”

“This one came with an ejection seat,” Frederick told her sharply.

“No one is denying that the role is needed,” Max interjected before the siblings could get into a squabble. “But the Commonwealth has the Thunderbird and Chippewa as heavy attack fighters, and the Lightning as a fighter-bomber. The Lucifer was useful as was; but rebuilding it into a superiority platform helps fill that slot where we’ve been relying mostly on Eagles - a Marik design. The idea is that we can put the Dragonfly into production and pair them with Seydlitz interceptors to cover them in militia units.”

Donna frowned. “Sounds like a swarm strategy. But to be fair, large lasers have a lot of bite. And Bowie are thinking we’d build these on Porrima?”

“It’s a candidate,” Max confirmed. “I’ve never even been there; all I know is the weather and that it’s got a fairly solid economy and infrastructure.”

“The weather’s only an issue every seventy years or so,” she told him. “So you want me to work with you, fronting efforts there?”

“If you still want to contribute,” Frederick told her, “It’s not as dramatic as flying - or as piloting a ‘mech. But the fact is, I may be doing more good by taking what we’ve found and pushing our industries forward than I am running the Seventh Regulars, and I like to think I’m doing a good job there.”

“The question,” Donna pointed out, “Is whether Katrina thinks you’re doing better. You could wind up promoted to Logistics. Would you like me to put a bug in her ear?”

Frederick grimaced and Max knew he was doing the same.

“What?”

“As soon as the take from Helm is all on the way, I’ve been called to Cavanaugh II,” Frederick admitted. “Katrina will meet me there, so she can debrief me. I’m guessing that the high command under Mount Asgard have been second-guessing me and knives are out.”

“After a victory like Helm?”

“Ja. Especially after a victory like Helm,” Max told her, voice flat with cynicism.

Caerleon, Cavanaugh II
Protectorate of Donegal, Lyran Commonwealth
19 May 3011

The administrative center for the dozen or so worlds of the Cavanaugh II Theater was as busy as you might expect. Even when there wasn’t any active fighting going on, the staff had to manage the various bureaucratic and logistical challenges to be ready for when that inevitably changed. Worlds further from Terra were slightly less likely to be attacked by neighboring Successor States but considerably more likely to be pirate targets so Francine ‘Frank’ Gregory’s duties as the theater’s Margrave weren’t light ones.

“Don’t keep looking around as if you’re going to buy the place,” the Margrave told Frederick as he waited for her to finish dealing with her current minor crisis in the main strategic operations room. “Her highness is waiting for you in the briefing room and I’ll be with you shortly.”

Glancing up at the briefing rooms that looked down on the chamber from its mezzanine level, Frederick couldn’t see any of the occupants but a pair of LIC agents in plain clothes made it clear which room he was to go to. Thus, he saluted his distant cousin and headed up the metal stairway to the upper level.

He was stopped at the door by the guardians who checked he wasn’t carrying his sidearm and didn’t have any obvious weapons inside his tunic before admitting him. He’d been through more thorough checks before he was allowed this far, but a little extra caution wasn’t unreasonable. He passed the inspection and inside he found Katrina reading from the chamber’s computers.

“Frederick,” she greeted him, looking up from the screen. “You look well.”

“Is there any reason I shouldn’t?”

“I half-expected to find you wearing a white-trimmed red uniform and sporting an extra few kilograms around your waist.”

He blinked, then realized what she meant. “Ho-ho-ho.”

“Quite. I’ve been looking at the list of data and equipment you’ve brought us back since I left Tharkad and I still don’t think I’ve grasped the scope of it. Would I be killing the golden goose if I asked how you found all of it?”

Frederick considered that for a moment. “I guess the old saw about a million-to-one chance coming up more often than it should may have something to it.”

She didn’t believe him, he could tell that. “Napoleon always looked for luck in his marshals. I’m not going to say that’s all you have going for you, but it’s clearly among your qualities.” Katrina gestured for him to sit. “Simon would prefer I press you further, but I think it more important to leave you your secrets - as long as those secrets serve the Lyran Commonwealth well.”

They locked eyes for a moment and Frederick chilled at the glimpse of steely resolve in the Archon’s. “My loyalty is to the Commonwealth,” he told her, hoping she would believe it.

Perhaps she did, for she did not press harder. Or perhaps she just preferred he should believe she was willing to trust him.

“Now, I’ve been besieged with proposals as to how you should be treated for your victory on Helm. Some of them even suggest that you be rewarded, although there are some dissenting opinions.”

“Complaining that I could have lost my own command?”

“You really could have,” she agreed frankly. “There is a reasonable case that if you hadn’t sent the HPG for help and instead simply extracted with your original dropships and what they could hold, we could have now launched a more substantial recovery mission without the League having been aware at all.” Katrina shrugged. “We’ll never know, of course.”

“Which won’t stop the complaining,” he told her. “They could be right, or it could have let the League take possession of a Castle Brian and most of its contents. Including those nuclear weapons.”

“Quite.” She steepled her fingers. “The League’s ambassador has had a lot to say on the topic of mass destruction, but I gather there remains no evidence at all that any of the nuclear weapons were used, which supports your account of how the base was destroyed. Whether or not Janos Marik will decide on a retaliatory strike I don’t yet know, but we’ll be on a higher alert for at least the rest of the year just in case. I'll also need to move you and the Seventh away from the border because you’d be the primary target for the FWLM if they do decide to retaliate.”

“Permission to speak frankly?”

Katrina blinked. “When have you ever not?”

“I’m not sorry. I’ll make a formal apology if you want me to, but I wouldn’t mean it. We have sufficient strategic reserves if we need them and either side having that arsenal would have been far more destabilizing than this.”

“I tend to agree… well, that you’ve nothing to be sorry about. I believe that the data from Helm will be extremely destabilizing in respect to the balance of power in the Inner Sphere, but since those changes will be to the benefit of the Lyran Commonwealth, that’s nothing that I’m going to complain about.”

Frederick nodded. “I take it the data will be handled with care?”

“I’ll be at least as careful with my copy as you’ve been with your own,” she told him. “The worst thing we could do right now is lose that data core - it should shave years or even decades off the time we need to understand the books you recovered on Halstead Station. One or two of the very few people it’s been discussed with are even suggesting that the technological decline of the last two hundred years will be essentially over by the end of the decade.”

“Probably optimistic.”

“Perhaps. But it does promise an end. Once it’s backed up, we’ll start releasing small packages to the right people to deal with some of our most pressing needs. After that…” The archon smiled. “A number of universities will have very well protected additions to their libraries. Not to mention some new research facilities on secure worlds. The budget for the next few years will be fun to get past the Estates General, but it’s money well spent.”

“Agreed. We can’t afford to lose it, but we can afford less not to use it.”

“I’m aware of your current industrial ventures,” Katrina continued. “I take it that you intend to continue to expand your interest in that military production.”

“It seems to pay dividends. Literal and otherwise,” he added on realizing he’d been less than clear. “I’m a soldier first, but I do have other tools available.”

“I’m glad you realize that,” she admitted. “I’ve had my doubts about your intentions for a while, but if you wanted to challenge me for the throne, you had all the tools you needed.”

He frowned. “I suppose I could have thrown warm bodies into everything from Helm but that’s not necessarily enough to taken on the First and Second Royal Guards, not to mention reinforcements…”

The Archon gave him a thoughtful look. “Frederick.”

“Yes?”

“If you took the core to the Estates General and told them that the throne was your price for it, they’d have probably have asked me to stand down.”

He stared at her in disbelief.

“Not because I’m unpopular,” she added. “And it would have been a tough decision. But it’s really that valuable.”

The older of the two folded his arms. “That would have meant making it public.” Could it have been that easy to do? Were the Estates General that venal? “I don’t think that that would have been in the best interests of the Commonwealth.”

“And that comes first for you.”

“Always.” Of that he could at least be sure.

There was a discreet tap on the door and a moment later it opened to admit Francine Gregory. Frederick half-rose before she waved him back to his seat. “Your highness. General.”

“Margrave.” Katarina gestured to one of the other chairs. “Let’s not stand on formality in private.”

“Very well. And may I say, I’m glad you’re not at each other’s throats.” The Margrave was hardly going to be intimidated by their social ranks - she’d taught both of them at the Nagelring.

“I believe we have enough points of agreement that we can avoid quarreling,” the Archon told her and looked back at Frederick. “And now that Frank is here, we can get to the fun part where I dig into my toybox and show everyone that I don’t share their criticisms of your conduct.”

Frederick frowned. “It might be best to downplay it.”

“You smashed most of a regiment and brought back a very large shipment of supplies and lostech,” Francine told him. “Not rewarding you would be suspicious.”

“The Seventh Lyran Regulars will be receiving the Eagle’s Feather and the Unit Citation of Merit,” Katrina began. “I can’t justify going to Loric myself but Frank will be presenting it to your command on my behalf.”

“It’s well deserved. They’ve come a long way.”

She nodded. “For your part, there will be the McKennsy Hammer. Not just for Helm, but also as a belated reward for your part in Operation Commonplace. Edward Regis was very impressed, and I considered giving you that at the time, but it would have drawn more attention to your finds on Halstead Station. This time though it’s easy to justify.”

“I hope those shoulders aren’t for show,” the Margrave warned him. “I almost ruptured myself the first time I lifted mine.”

The McKennsy Hammer was one of the LCAF’s most remarkable awards for strategic and tactical excellence. It wasn’t a medal, it was a nine kilogram block hammer made of solid silver. Carrying it on formal occasions was a significant physical strain for those not used to it.

“I think I can manage,” Frederick assured her.

“And then there’s your next assignment.”

He looked up sharply at Katrina and bit back his initial response. “Which would be…?” he managed after a moment.

Cool gray eyes looked at him. “I have two potential positions open for you to be transferred into: you could take over the Tenth Lyran Guards or the Second Royal Guards. Which would you like?”

Katrina had led each of those regiments at one time in her rapid rise, Frederick thought. The Tenth was customarily the assignment of the heir so taking that would at least implicitly mean he was seen as a successor. The Second Royal Guards would position him on Tharkad, where they generally guarded the capital’s major industrial centers. That would be give him a lot of access to encourage companies to make use of the recovered data…

But the other side of that would be leaving the Seventh Lyran Regulars behind. After more than three years of building them up, he didn’t think they’d collapse back to their former selves overnight, but even so, they were his soldiers now…

No, they were the Archon’s soldiers, he reminded himself.

“A difficult decision?” asked Iris, as if she didn’t know.

“I’m somewhat loath to take a different regiment,” he admitted. “But I’ll serve where I’m sent.”

Katrina raised an eyebrow at him and then looked over at Francine, who reached into her pocket and pulled out a half-kroner and slid the coin across the table to the Archon. “Someone’s knocked some sense into you,” the Margrave observed. “It’s worth losing a little bet to learn that.”

Frederick harumphed, uncomfortable at the praise.

“Very well.” Katrina put the coin into her jacket pocket and produced a set of shoulder pins. “That being the case, these are yours.”

He accepted them and saw they were like those he already wore except that they added a fourth diamond to the three of a Leutnant-General to form a cross. These pins represented a Hauptmann-General’s rank. “I see…?” He’d be a bit high in rank to lead either of the two named regiments though. Was she going to give him a desk job since he hadn’t picked a regiment to command?

“I am hereby appointing you to command the Lyran Regulars,” Katrina informed him, realizing his last words weren’t all that accurate. “All of the Lyran Regulars. You’ve brought the Seventh up to an excellent level of service and while not all of their sister-regiments are in the state that they were, they’re also not as well regarded as other units. In addition to their training, I want you to expand the combat support element you’ve formed around the Seventh and apply it to the full brigade. Combined arms pays off very well for the Federated Suns and I don’t see any reason why we can’t do just as well.”

“I see,” he said again, this time more honestly. Finishing the change to his uniform badges, Frederick rose to his feet and saluted Katrina formally. “I accept this duty, Archon. Thank you for your trust.”

“Thank you for being worthy of it.” Katrina looked away for a moment. “There are times when I feel the need for it more than at others and the past year…”

He nodded, thinking of Arthur Luvon.

“I was serious about offering you the Tenth Lyran Guards though,” the Archon told him, all business again. “If anything were to happen to me, I want Nondi to raise Melissa. She’s got three children already and I think she’s doing well by them.”

“That makes sense.” But why tell him?

“Nondi, however, wouldn’t make for a very good Archon. She makes you look like a courtier by comparison.”

“I have noticed that,” he admitted. “She would serve though.”

“She’d be clawing at the walls,” Katrina said, voice fond as she spoke of her sister. “Which is why I want her to look after Melissa but you to look after the Commonwealth.”

Frederick stared at her. She’d swept back in not even five years ago, dethroned Alessandro and pushed him out of the position of heir presumptive… and now she was talking about him as taking over from her if needed? Had he really misread the situation that much.

But he had to say something.

“I wasn’t expecting that,” he admitted at last. “Do you mean as Melissa’s regent or…?”

“That would likely depend on how she shapes up,” Katrina told him frankly. “We’d all have been far better off if Kerensky had seized power rather than passing it back to Richard Cameron when his regency ended. But at the same time, I’d like to think that Arthur’s daughter could be raised to rule well.”

“Whatever happens, I will try to protect her,” he promised at last. “She’s family.”

Francine shook her head. “You’d be a bloody awful Archon,” she warned. “I doubt you’d even be happy with the politics of being a Margrave, which would be your likely next career step.”

“It may never be a consideration,” pointed out Frederick. “By the time succession is an issue, Melissa may be a proven leader in her own right. Or she might not want it, which would mean looking at Nondi’s children or at Ryan.”

Or at other branches of the family, but the idea that the Somerset branch of House Steiner might somehow inherit was far-fetched. Likely by the 3070s the situation would look very different from Max's predicitons. Or at least, it would if he had anything to say about it.

“But moving along, are there any other duties you want to pass off as rewards, Katrina?”

She laughed. “Do you want more?”

“Well, if you’re planning to let me assign some of the lostech ‘Mechs to the Regulars…”

Francine snorted. “You’d have to knife-fight half the LCAF.”

“Once we’ve given it sufficient examination, I’ll filter some of it into the Royal Guards,” Katrina told him. “Some if it as replacements and some to add another battalion to each of the three regiments. Tharkad’s security may need to be bolstered if anyone learns what we have now, and that would still leave enough of a surplus to keep the Third Guards equipped after combat losses.”

Frederick nodded. “Long enough to hopefully start producing replacement equipment ourselves.” Particularly double heatsinks. Duran A&M was already quietly looking into those systems and the data from Helm would get there as fast as Max could courier it there.

Hilton Head, North America
Terra, Solar System
19 May 3011

“The Free Worlds League side of the Helm crisis appears to be settling down,” Precentor Atreus reported.

Julian Tiepolo nodded and gestured for the man to keep talking. He’d been Pedrigor Aliz’ predecessor in that post so he knew that issues inside the government of the League were never that simple - although over the last five years he’d realized that that was true even in the less democratic governments of the other five Successor States.

Aliz smiled slightly. “The Captain-General and his father-in-law both favored retaliation against the Lyrans for the incident, but even House Halas weren’t prepared to back Marik on that. Ultimately, Duke Anton talked his brother down, which has raised his profile a little more.”

“I’m sure that that pleases you, Kristofur.” The Primus looked over at the third man in the discreet office not far from the First Circuit’s meeting chambers. Not the official office where Tiepolo met with newly appointed Precentors and such individuals of importance as rose up through Terra’s many local governments, as well as the occasional Joe Public whose time with the head of ComStar gave the organization and its Primus a more benevolent image. This office was one of those from which real power wielded, and that was a function of the people in it, not the comparatively modest luxuries it boasted.

Precentor ROM was sitting in the other chair facing Tiepolo’s desk. “It certainly doesn’t hurt, but we’re a few years from being able to pull the trigger on that gambit.”

“Overall though, we’re seeing an upswing in anti-Lyran sentiment within the League and discontent with the Captain-General,” Aliz continued. “His wife’s health is declining, which seems likely to sap his attention and energy for the next year or two.”

Tiepolo nodded. Janos Marik had been a very dangerous Captain-General when he came to the throne, popular and energetic with a willingness to further de-escalate the Third Succession War. Wrecking that had been a major focus of his efforts as Precentor Atreus - he hoped Aliz appreciated how much easier his job was now that Marik was worn down. “The last thing we want is softening on that front. The League and the Commonwealth economies are still much stronger than I’m comfortable with. Letting them expand their trade with each other would just make that worse.”

“There’s always going to be some trade - and smuggling if the official routes were cut off.” The precentor spread his hands. “But the Earl of Stewart will probably have sufficient support to oppose any attempt at improving relations in the near future. It’s always easier for Parliament to be spurred to block action than to encourage them to commit to anything new.”

“Good enough.” The Primus rested his chin on his hands. “The situation on the Lyran side however… Precentor Tharkad is less certain. I trust that you have some idea, Kristofur?”

Kristofur Vesar met his gaze evenly. “Some idea, Primus. Not yet a satisfactory one.”

“How unfortunate.”

“We have a reasonable estimate of the physical contents of the cache,” the younger man continued calmly. “Approximately the equivalent of an SLDF brigade of battlemechs and the same of armored fighting vehicles. The types appear to be predominantly those built in the Rim Worlds Republic during the later periods of the Amaris Civil War. It seems likely that there was infantry equipment there, but such material tends to be little different from that currently available. It’s unlikely much of that was taken, given that all indications are that General Steiner withdrew before fully loading his dropships.”

Tiepolo frowned. “Based on…?”

“Thrust profiles of the dropships as they took off from Helm indicate they were, on average, operating at between sixty and seventy percent of full load.”

The Primus hmmed, and then nodded.

“The quantity of supplies taken along with combat units is unclear but is only really relevant in determining how long the advanced equipment can be kept operational. It’s likely that one or two Lyran elite regiments will be making operational use of the hardware for several years at a minimum.”

“And what if they reverse-engineer the equipment?” asked Aliz in concern. “You’re talking about the same kind of equipment our own ComGuards possess!”

Vesar nodded in agreement. “I have no doubt that House Steiner will pour considerable resources into attempts to accomplish this. Preventing this will be one of ROM’s highest priorities in the years going forward.”

“How is Steiner finding all of this?! Three major finds in as many years!”

“Calmly, Pedrigor.” Tiepolo adjusted his glasses. “But the question is apt, Kristofur.”

“Currently we can only speculate - by comparing the original message we sent to the deciphered copy SAFE’s Stewart office forwarded to Dieudonne, we know the intercepted message was very vague.” He paused. “As a side note, we also have the key to everything sent under that cipher now. Unfortunately, it’s been dropped since the Lyrans know someone broke it, but we do have access to a backlog of LCAF traffic that we can read.”

Pedrigor jabbed his finger at Vesar. “Don't change the subject. Is Steiner a houdon to be finding so much?”

“Setting aside accusations of hoodoo,” Vesar replied, obviously barely resisting the urge to make air-quotes around that word, “there appear to be two major possibilities. Firstly, it is possible that Katrina Steiner discovered data during her time in the Periphery that led to the three sites. In this scenario, the rift between herself and Frederick Steiner was exaggerated for disinformation purposes and his semi-exile to a third-tier regiment covered for moving him into position to investigate the finds.”

Tiepolo nodded. That sounded unfortunately plausible. “And the other option?”

“In that scenario, New Dallas was essentially luck and that the other two are the result of Cranston Snord forming an alliance with Frederick Steiner after his initial plan to access Helm as a hireling of House Marik fell apart. Halstead Station would have proven his credibility as a source.”

“Why Snord?” asked Aliz curiously.

“He’s a former member of the Wolf Dragoons. Given the strong suspicions of their having a connection to the SLDF, they might have already known exactly where the Helm cache was and how to access it.”

“How did we not know?”

Tiepolo shook his head. “We were aware that there had been an equipment stockpile there for the naval base, but our understanding was that it had been emptied by Kerensky for the Exodus and that it had been in the SLDF warehousing complex in Freeport - which may have been accurate. The existence of an entire Castle Brian under the mountains was likely highly classified, especially if it was being used as a storehouse for nuclear weapons. The exact details may have been lost in the Amaris Civil War and the Exodus.”

“We know too little,” Aliz observed grimly. “And some individuals know too much.”

“Quite.”

Vesar cleared his throat. “Frederick Steiner has also been involving himself in making use of data gathered previously to expand Lyran military production. It seems very probable that if Katrina Steiner’s reforms bear fruit, then the rest of the Inner Sphere will be facing a much larger and more capable LCAF.”

“That would be a disaster. Let us not forget that the Lyrans were the subject of ComStar’s very first interdiction. They have never understood our mission, seeing us as a mere corporation.” The Primus shook his head. “I don’t suppose there is any sign that he’s building an army to turn against his cousin?”

“Unfortunately, whatever rift there was between them seems to have been somewhat healed. Our estimation is that with the death of her husband, the Archon will be seeking new political supporters and her cousin is emerging as a pillar of military support. Unless Aldo Lestrade proves much more persuasive than he has been so far, it is unlikely that Frederick Steiner will be following Anton Marik’s path.”

“Consider all options, Vesar. If our plans for the Free Worlds League weren’t so advanced, I would consider suspending them for this.”

“Of course, sir. We have infiltrated agents into Mountain Wolf BattleMechs - our estimation is that it is likely that either General Steiner or someone trying to emulate them will look to recruit their expertise now that they are near to putting their Merlin into production.”

The first new ‘mech design in centuries being built in the Outworlds Alliance had come as a nasty surprise. Fortunately, it was unlikely to be manufactured in great numbers, given the Alliance’s pacifist bent.

“And you believe that they would yield to Steiner’s influence?”

“Mountain Wolf was originally a Lyran corporation,” Vesar informed Aliz coolly. “An offer to help them rebuild one of their lost factories to construct Merlins for the LCAF would be entirely in line with Frederick Steiner’s approach so far. And if he does not, it remains a company we need eyes and ears inside of. Preferably before they surprise us again.”

“True, but don’t take your eye off the Lyran situation,” Tiepolo warned the head of ComStar’s covert intelligence. “In fact, I want you to look at appointing someone to cultivate potential dissent within the Lyran Commonwealth. With SAFE distracted by internal affairs, we’ll have fewer catspaws to direct against Lyran research efforts than usual.”

Vesar nodded. “Adept Emilio Rachan has been showing promise, I’ll put him on to this. How far would you like him to go?”

“If you can find a suitable candidate, just as far as we’ve planned for the Free Worlds League,” Tiepolo said seriously. “Blake’s word predicts schism and fragmentation within the Successor States, so we have nothing to fear from that. An open civil war within the Commonwealth would cover for a considerable amount of latitude in curbing their ambitions.”

“Of course, sir. With your permission, I’ll tell him to assign teams to explore both Tamar and Skye dissent. The latter in particular would require some degree of assurance that House Kurita would not take the initiative.”

“Fortunately, the First Prince is keeping Kurita’s attention primarily focused on the Suns but we will act if need be. And should lesser measures present themselves.”

The youngest of the trio stood and bowed. “Of course, sir. Would you like me to step back from my involvement with Anton Marik to handle this personally?”

Tiepolo frowned in consideration, then glanced at Pedrigor. “What is your opinion, my friend?”

The Precentor for the Free Worlds’ capital also grimaced. “I don’t think it’s wise to compromise your influence at this point - but this is why I objected to Precentor ROM taking such a personal hand in the first place.”

“A fair point and if you weren’t involved so directly, I’d still prefer you oversee operations from here on Terra,” Tiepolo concluded, looking at Vesar. “Once the Marik brothers are at each other’s throats, expect to be recalled but you must learn to delegate.”

“As you command, Primus.”

Gesturing dismissively, the head of ComStar watched the spymaster leave and then looked over at Pedrigor once more. “Once all your colleagues are together, we may need to discuss other potential measures. This goes deeper than just House Steiner. The Inner Sphere’s technological and economic slide has slowed almost entirely. There are even signs of recovery.”

“Fortunately,” the other man noted with a smile. “Their propensity for attacking each other hasn’t waned.”

Tiepolo snorted. “Yes, that would be all we need. For peace to break out…”

The two men traded amused looks at that laughable notion and began discussing what measures to put before the First Circuit. Blake’s will must be done…

Chapter Text

Book 2

“An educated people can be easily governed.”

- Frederick the Great

Chapter 1

St Cameron, Denebola V
Federation of Skye, Lyran Commonwealth
25 February 3015

Frederick backed his Zeus into the ‘mech bay and saw an amazonian blonde leaning on the gantry, waiting for him. Unfortunately, she was his cousin, not a girlfriend he could introduce to Donna.

With a sigh, the general unstrapped. He was forty-three now, almost as old as Max had been when they met. He figured he was still in better shape than his secretary had been, but he had more appreciation now than he had had at the time of what ten years meant in terms of aging. Climbing up onto the seat, the man opened the hatch above him and climbed up out of the cockpit.

“What the hell have you done to your Zeus?!” Nondi Steiner called with her usual directness.

He caught hold of the gantry and pulled himself onto it. “Isn’t it great?”

“It’s the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen!”

“Philistine!” Frederick turned and admired the somewhat vulpine head mounted where normally the large canopy would have covered his cockpit. “This is Doctor Banzai’s brainchild and it works brilliantly.”

Nondi shook her head. “I know you got shot out of your ‘mech on Uhuru, but I think this is over-reacting. They call you ‘Fred-eject’ back at Mount Asgard.”

He glowered at her and rubbed the scar above his right eye. “You’d be laughing out of the other side of your face if your canopy didn’t break up properly when you needed it to. Or if you ejected and some Kuritan maniac decided your parachute was a target worth shooting at.”

Uhuru had been a victory, but not a clean one. The FWLM had apparently not forgiven Helm and at least seven Mechwarriors had made spirited attempts to kill him even if it cost them their lives. Five of them had paid that price for nothing, the other two lost their ‘mechs (which was about as bad in some eyes) and would be spending time in a prison camp until a ransom was agreed. One of the last two had managed to hit the almost empty autocannon magazine of the Zeus, and Frederick had erred on the side of caution.

At least this time it hadn’t gone wrong; but with repairs to the Zeus needed anyway, it was a good chance to test installing the full-head ejection system.

Nondi shook her head. “I’ve never had to eject. Some of us are competent, you see.”

“There’s a first time for everything.” Frederick patted the head of his ‘mech reassuringly.

“Can you even see out of that?”

“It has all the usual sensors and some viewing ports. It works just fine as a cockpit and it could save a lot of lives.”

“Worth doing,” his cousin allowed, grudgingly. “I still think ‘Fred-eject’ is going to stick though. ‘The Hammer’ is just a bit too generic, even if your love affair with artillery has clearly not run its course.”

The two of them descended from the gantries and Frederick ran through the basic hand-off to the technical crew. It had just been a practice run so there was no need for any repairs, but the dread gods of paperwork still had to be appeased.

“So what brings you here?” he asked as they left the hangars. “Is Katrina still using you as her strong right hand?”

“I’m here to choke you out,” Nondi deadpanned. “But that can wait until we’re in your office. I take it your boy-toy is still haunting it, but you don’t have to run him off for this.”

Frederick glowered at her. “You and Donna gossip far too much.”

“I don’t have any idea what you mean. I’m just glad you’re in a stable relationship. The two widows in our generation can be too damn depressing.”

He shook his head in annoyance. “Anyway, Max isn’t even on Denebola right now. There was some business stacking up on Duran and I was finishing things off here, so I sent him to take care of things. They know he speaks with my voice on that sort of thing.”

“More of your business ventures?”

“Something like that.” He opened the door to his office and ushered Nondi inside. The office had belonged to the commander of the Marik forces on the planet and the shape of an eagle was still visible on one wall - a large Marik-eagle plaque had been removed but a new coat of paint could wait. The Lyran flag covered most of it, and was statement enough in Frederick’s opinion.

Max was actually going to be dealing with some issues at Duran A&M. The school was expanding both the agricultural and mechanical classes - the latter had more immediately applicable military applications but the former would be getting some more data from the Helm cache to push it to the front of terraforming technology. There were a lot of marginal worlds in the Commonwealth, particularly along the old Rim Worlds Republic border, that had once been thriving and if that could be brought back then the economic might of the Lyrans would be boosted further. Given it was the depth of their strength, Frederick approved of the idea but Max was definitely going to be better at sweet-talking people on the topic than he was.

Rather than go to his desk, Frederick pointed his cousin to one of the rather battered armchairs that had come with the office and set the coffee machine to prepare them both a cup. A moment later he had a full mug for himself and a slightly less full one for her. Opening a cabinet, Frederick finished hers with a finger of whiskey, just the way she liked it.

“Hospitable,” Nondi noted, accepting the mug.

“I try. Buttering up important relatives is a Lyran tradition.”

She snorted. “So did you find a hidden cache while you were here?”

“I don’t actually find one every time I turn around,” he said and sipped on his own mug of black blood of the earth.

Nondi snapped her fingers. “Damn, I guess I owe Hermann three hundred kroner.”

“You realize that was a win-win situation for him? If you won, he was out three hundred kroner and the Commonwealth gets some lostech.”

“Yes, but I’m not as selfless as Hermann. We all know this.”

“We really do.”

Nondi glared at him. “Anyway, the reason I’m here is to warn you off from committing to any new campaigns. Katrina is happy with how you’re taking advantage of  the Marik Civil War to clear up hotspots along the border but it looks like Anton is on the backfoot now, so Janos will have the resources to respond in more force.”

He nodded. “That’s about my take. I’m more concerned at the moment that if Anton’s forces collapse, Janos may have them ‘redeem themselves’ by going after us in revenge for his recent defeats.”

His cousin wasn’t as hypocritical as some of the Estates General who were complaining that Frederick’s activities would provoke exactly that. If history showed anything, then it was that neither House Marik nor House Kurita required any provocation in order to attack the Lyran Commonwealth. But studying history wasn’t high in the priorities of most members of that illustrious body.

“As long as we’re on the same page,” she agreed. “We’ve done well out of this, but now we need to consolidate those gains so we don’t lose them. The Dracs are smarting too after the way Davion pushed them off Mallory’s World, so they might hit us just to make themselves feel like winners again.”

“Whiners, more like.” He sipped more coffee. “It’s also possible Marik might attack the Capellans. Taking revenge for them backing Anton would be a useful rallying cry. But unfortunately, that would make Duchess Humphreys happy and Janos has a bad track record for pleasing her.”

“He hasn’t dropped dead.” Nondi took a large gulp from her mug. “For about thirty percent of the Free Worlds League that’s about the only thing that a Captain-General can do to please them.”

“If he had, we might be dealing with Anton on the Captain-General’s throne and a Capellan-League detente,” he pointed out. “Another reason I’ve been focusing on just clearing up existing conflicts rather than starting new ones.”

“Well, with Anton’s push on New Olympia crushed and the Dragoons failing to knock out the loyalist forces on Calloway VI, LIC is pretty sure that we’ve got at best another year before the Mariks are back on balance.”

Frederick considered what Max had told him. “So, how many kroner would you put up against Anton doing something stupid that cuts that to less than four months?”

Nondi frowned at him. “If you were just saying a Marik doing something stupid, then not many kroner. But four months? That’s a bit optimistic. He’s still got a strong force on Tiber and then there’s his strongholds in the Protectorate…”

“Three hundred kroner says that Anton’s forces collapse completely by the end of June.”

She scowled. “No poking at him to make it happen, Frederick.”

“I’m not going to start hitting them that deep,” he promised. “Maybe a couple of little raids to finish shaking out the issues I have with the Tenth and Eleventh Regulars, but that’ll be on Janos’ loyalists.”

“Okay, it’s a deal.” She shook his hand. “And you might want to think about getting married soon - word is that another eligible bachelor is hooking up, so your pool of prospects is drying up.”

“There are something like a trillion people in the Inner Sphere,” he retorted. “I don’t think the First Prince’s little brother hooking up with a Colonel measurably affects my chances of getting married. Although he could do worse.”

Colonel Dana Stephenson of the Thirty-Fourth Avalon Hussars was at least in the same age bracket as Hanse Davion. Much better than him marrying a girl young enough to be his daughter, in Frederick’s not-so-humble opinion.

Sweethaven, Second Chance
Oriente Military District, Free Worlds League
1 May 3015

Jaime Wolf cracked the seal on a bottle, then poured the contents more or less evenly into five glasses. With the bottle empty he handed the glasses out to the other four around the table. “A toast,” he offered. “Anton Marik.”

Jeremy Ellman, Wilhelmina Korsht and Sarah Weisz looked at him incredulously. Harold Jones stopped lifting the glass and seemed more inclined to spit.

The commander of the Wolf Dragoons smiled wryly. “May he rot in hell.”

“Founder, I thought you’d gone insane for a moment.” Jones sipped the contents of his glass and the others followed suit. The liquor burned at Jaime’s throat - it wasn’t smooth, but it was the last of several bottles brought from the homeworlds long ago. A taste of home. A taste of the past.

Lowering his empty glass, he folded his hands in front of him. “I didn’t just call you here so that I wasn’t drinking alone.” Taking refuge in a bottle had been tempting over the last few weeks but Joshua would have been disappointed in him… and Ellen would have kicked his ass as well. “We’ve had a message.”

“Janos Marik demanding our surrender?” asked Korsht.

He shook his head. “Frederick Steiner is making us an offer.”

Ellman frowned. “Frederick Steiner? Not Katrina?”

Jaime shook his head again.

“Dammit,” Jones muttered. “Another civil war? We know how this one went.”

“Not a civil war.” He had probably strung them along far enough. “It’s not a contract, formally. Just an offer. But he does specify that we’re very specifically not to fight against the LCAF except in self-defense.”

“He could be wanting us to watch a border while he uses his own troops to try for his cousin’s throne,” speculated Ellman thoughtfully. “Although it’s not as likely.”

“Why do you think it’s a civil war?” Weisz looked at her colleagues questioningly.

“Hello? A House Lord’s cousin wants to hire us rather than one of the House Lords? Do you remember what we’ve been doing for the last year or so?”

“I do,” she said stiffly to Jones. “But I don’t remember what Frederick Steiner is offering us, because we keep interrupting Colonel Wolf before he can tell us.”

“A fair point,” Ellman agreed. “Jaime?”

“The proposed contract is essentially what Ian Davion offered us ten years ago,” the colonel of Alpha Regiment informed them. “Given the casualties we’ve suffered, that’s fairly generous. Five years, which is the only thing in the offer besides not fighting the LCAF that isn’t open to negotiation. If we want to fight Marik again, he’s fine with that. If we insist on not fighting them, as per our usual practise, he’s more than happy to send us against the Kuritans.”

“Win-win for him. Isn’t he mostly focused on fighting the League though?” asked Korsht. “New Dallas, Helm, Uhuru, most recently Denebola…”

“He also led a raiding campaign against Dieron District,” Jaime pointed out. “He’s an aggressive and competent commander… but he’s also not part of the Lyran mercenary liaison department. So it’s odd for him to be making an offer.”

“Commander of the Lyran Regulars,” mused Jones. “Not exactly the best the Lyrans have.”

“Not historically.” Weisz frowned. “But they did include a number of former SLDF soldiers during the First Succession War. And Steiner… this Steiner… has been building them up as combined arms operators. They may not be the best supplied Lyran units, but they’re right on the cutting edge of their modern doctrine.”

“A doctrine that’s been giving the LCAF a much needed kick to the rear,” agreed Jaime quietly. “Katrina Steiner seems intent on reforms after two generations of poor leadership, and while there are rumors of Frederick having ambitions for the Archon’s throne, his actions have broadly supported her in that.” He took a deep breath. “And then there’s the other part of the offer. One we may need.”

Ellman tilted his head quizzically. “What’s he offering?”

“Three of the Lyran’s second- and third-string manufacturers are offering to give us priority for new ‘Mechs and other equipment if we help them the way we did Blackwell.”

The other four all looked at him dubiously.

“Do we really want to do that?” asked Jones. “It’s building them up when…” He shrugged and said no more.

“What’s our alternative?” Korsht picked up her glass and drained what was left in it. “Another supply run? Or we rely on salvage - which is chancy.”

Ellman nodded. “Who would we be dealing with?”

“Bowie Industries. Blue Shot Weaponry and Olivetti. As I said, not exactly the major suppliers. But for that reason, probably easier to work with than Defiance would be.”

“We can get parts from Blackwell,” Korsht mused. “Enough to repair our damaged ‘mechs, once we consider Hephastus’ production. But new ‘Mechs are another matter.”

“It is a tempting offer,” Weisz agreed. “And we were always planning to take service with the Lyrans eventually.”

“That was supposed to be after we fought them on behalf of the Mariks. And look how that went.”

There was a grim silence after Jones’ words. Jaime took the time to refill their glasses, finishing off the bottle. There were only a few drops left by the time he got to his own, but that was fine.

“Let’s face it,” Ellman said at last. “Fighting for one Marik against another wasn’t exactly the original plan either. We have to adapt and working for the Steiners against the Kuritas means we’ll have some experience with both of them. And a five year schedule would take us up to the next expected supply run so we can kick the decision of what to do after that up to the Khan.”

Jaime nodded in agreement. “I don’t think we can expect Janos Marik to offer us a contract against the Lyrans. Snord’s told us already what he’s like with grudges so this is our next best bet.”

Korsht made a face. “We already have his data on fighting for the Steiners. We could see if Davion or Kurita want us.”

“Davion would be backtracking,” pointed out Jones. “And the Dracs have a reputation for taking advantage. We’re going to have to work with them sooner or later, but signing up with them right after we take heavy losses is asking for trouble.”

“That is rumors,” she disagreed.

“Consistent rumors, from just about every unit we have talked to,” Jaime pointed out. “Harold is right. We will have to deal with the Dragon sooner or later, but I would prefer it was from a position of strength.”

“And the Steiners are better? There was that scandal with the pay for the Twelfth Star Guards recently…”

Weisz nodded but what she said was: “And the Steiners were the ones to admit it and offer surkai. Their leaders acted with honor. I can think of Clans that would have hidden the crime.”

“Whatever else happens, standing and fighting here was only a plan until we found a way out.” Jaime drained the drops of alcohol in his glass and set it down sharply on the table. “We cannot hold off the entire Free Worlds League. And now that we have somewhere we can go…”

“I don’t think anyone will be sad to leave the Mariks behind us,” Ellman said deliberately. “And while the Captain-General may be angry at us for serving Anton Marik, we also killed him. Both sides will be glad to see the back of us.”

“Does anyone else dissent?”

“It’s an offer, not a contract,” Korsht pointed out. “If negotiations fall through, we’ll be in Lyran space.”

“In that case we make for Galatea and set up shop,” Jaime told her. “The Lyrans benefit far too much from the hiring hub there to violate the neutrality of an uncontracted mercenary unit. For now, I propose to accept the invitation to meet Duke Frederick and talk over his offer. If it’s a good deal, one that doesn’t drag us into another civil war, we’ll take it and see what Kerlin Ward or his successor have to say in five years. Do I hear any dissent?”

He glanced around the room, meeting the eyes of each of the other four colonels in turn. They all met his eyes and one at a time they yielded, even Korsht.

“Then we have a plan,” the leader of the Dragoons concluded. “Get your people to start loading - but keep the combat troops for last. We’re several jumps away from Lyran space and just because Marik wants shot of us doesn’t mean he’ll be glad to see us taking up a contract with one of his enemies.”

Nadir Jump Point, Wasat
Oriente Military District, Free Worlds League
7 June 3015

Right on the border with the Capellan Confederation, Wasat was a well fortified border world. Once part of the Terran Hegemony it still had a respectable industrial base when it fell into the Free Worlds League’s hands as the Star League fell and even the fighting since then hadn’t destroyed that.

But even so it was unusual for one of its major jump points to see dozens of jumpships and scores of military dropships arrive. Alarms were probably sounding in command centers down on the planet, Frederick thought.

They didn’t really need to worry, he thought as he crossed through the cramped airlock linking the barely more spacious shuttle to his destination, the Overlord-class dropship Chieftain. Almost a hundred meters tall and massing close to ten thousand tons, the command dropship was only one of several similar dropships in the Wolf Dragoons fleet.

In contrast, Frederick had arrived with only three smaller dropships - a Fortress-class to carry the actual raiding force, a converted Union-class dropship for the aerospace force and a Condor-class ship to serve as a command post for him as the detachment of the the Eleventh Lyran Regulars hit Wasat’s spaceport. The shipment of industrial-grade electronics would be valuable, but the real prize would be giving the combined-arms battalion a chance to show that they could work together.

A tall officer in the dress uniform of the Wolf Dragoons was waiting for Frederick inside. “General Steiner.” He saluted. “I’m Captain Cameron. Colonel Wolf is waiting for you.”

He returned the salute. “I hope you’ve not been waiting long.” He’d hoped to arrive before the Dragoons, but as it happened the flotilla had arrived before him.

“No sir, we’d barely finished unfurling the jumpsails when your jumpship was picked up.” Cameron guided him into the ship, the non-standard layout reflecting the replacement of several ‘mech bays with additional crew quarters and a sizable command center. “You gave our aerospace crews a chance to show off how fast they could scramble.”

“Just don’t bill me for the fuel.”

The reply was a polite laugh, before Cameron opened the door to what was clearly the main tactical operations center for the Dragoons - perhaps even a strategic operations center. An impressive holotank in the center displayed Wasat, the jump point and what was probably all the space traffic between. Frederick could see markers for his own force, with a very good estimate of what was aboard the Fortress as it burned towards Wasat.

There were five people around the table, two women and three men. All wore the uniform and rank tabs of Wolf Dragoons Colonels and rather than directing Frederick further, Captain Cameron - William Cameron, Wolf’s communications specialist - discreetly stepped away towards a side-console.

This game then. Jaime Wolf’s face was not known widely, he made no public appearances and avoided cameras. Only those who had already met him were likely to be able to identify him on sight. As he’d never visited the Lyran Commonwealth, LCAF had no records to help identify him and if LIC had any images then they hadn’t shared them. Even his gender was officially listed as unconfirmed.

Max had cleared that up, and also warned Frederick that he would likely be tested: left to identify which of the five led the Dragoons’ and their Alpha regiment. Games of status seemed to be universal among humankind, this differed somewhat from those he was used to.

Stepping up to the holotable after as much polite delay to look around the room as he could get away with, Frederick looked at the shortest of the three men - the beard made it hard to guess but if he wasn’t also the youngest of the five there couldn’t be much in it. “Colonel Wolf, I presume.”

Jaime Wolf’s lips curled slightly. “You presume correctly. Was that a guess, general? Or did LIC manage to penetrate our security?”

Rather than directly reply, Frederick simply extended his hand. “You are in command here.” I’m not entirely a blunt instrument.

Wolf nodded in concession of the point. “Thank you. I don’t lead the Dragoons alone, of course. You’ve met Captain Cameron, but let me introduce you to my fellow regimental commanders. This is Colonel Jeremy Ellman of Beta Regiment.” The oldest of the five, most likely. Although fatigue might be aging him unfairly.

“Colonel Wilhelmina Korsht of Gamma Regiment.” The younger of the two women and she gave Frederick a challenging look as they shook hands.

“Colonel Sarah Weisz of Delta Regiment.” A clever one, Frederick thought. Snap judgements could be flawed, but that was what he took from the way she looked at him.

“And last but not least, Colonel Harold Jones of Epsilon Regiment.” The man looked like a charmer, but he had an edge to him that suggested he was aggressive as well.

Jones proved the latter by asking immediately: “You understand we’re concerned about being hired by a Duke rather than hearing directly from the Archon, given how Anton Marik treated us.”

“I haven’t heard directly how he behaved,” Frederick replied. “But you may rest assured I’m not hiring you for any insurrection.”

“Then why are we hearing from you and not from the Archon?” asked Korsht bluntly.

He could deal with bluntness. It was a relief, really. “It’s a matter of distance. News of Anton’s death reached me across the border and I wanted to get the offer in right away, not wait for the news to get to Tharkad and wait for orders to come back.”

She frowned. “Wait, you mean she hasn’t authorized this?”

“I have a lot of discretion.”

Ellman folded his arms. “And if she decides not to hire us?”

“Well, first I’ll ask her sister to make sure she’s not been replaced, because my cousin is not stupid.” He shrugged. “And if so then I’ll hire you on my own pfennig.”

“That’s not cheap.”

He gave Korsht an amused look. “I’m not just any duke, Colonel. I’d prefer you were hired through LCAF, because that reduces the perfectly understandable questions about who you answer to. But if I need to find the cash then I will do so. The Wolf Dragoons are worth it.”

The compliment carried weight and she backed down, but Colonel Wolf was less impressed. “I would also prefer that any contract be agreed through your Mercenary Troops Liaison.” He paused until Frederick nodded in agreement, before continuing: “Although there’s no harm in carrying out some negotiations while we travel to the Commonwealth.”

“Of course not.” Frederick reached over and indicated the icon in the holotank that represented his Condor. “By the way, I understand you’re coming off a combat campaign, so I brought a hospital dropship with me. I’m not slighting your medical capabilities, but in my experience there’s no such thing as having too many doctors and medical supplies. Their services are at your disposal, starting now, whatever you ultimately decide.”

There were looks exchanged among the five colonels and then Wolf turned to Cameron. “William, get our doctors in touch with General Steiner’s. You know what to do.”

The junior officer saluted sharply. He touched an earpiece he’d already been wearing discreetly and began speaking quietly, giving efficient instructions.

Frederick watched for a moment and then nodded in approval.

When he looked back at the colonels, Jaime Wolf smiled thinly. “The Dragoons have a lot of strengths, but our people are the most important. No poaching, General.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it. Which isn’t to say I might not have some people taking notes. That is one of the things I’d like to do.” He paused, “I should ask: your response suggested that you are requesting that you not be deployed against the Free Worlds League?”

“That is a condition of our contracting,” Wolf confirmed.

“That’s fine. In that case, as I understand you’ll need some time to work up to full strength operations, what I’m proposing is that we deploy your regiments in a training role for the first year or so. There are a fair number of regiments that I think would benefit from some competition to shake them up. We’d have to work out the details, but Katrina wants to reform some LCAF practises, so I think she’d go for that.”

“That might be alright in the short term,” Jones observed, “But we’ve already had issues with House Liao keeping us on garrison duties. Using five of the best regiments in the Inner Sphere for training cadre duty is going to leave us a lot of idle hands.”

Frederick smiled. “I’m talking about the first year. Time to get your people and equipment back in shape, and for us to get used to working together. There’s a reason I told you that I wanted the contract to be at least five years long. I may need that first year to talk the high command around on what I have in mind…”

The Dragoons’ smiles were appropriately wolfish at the hint of something grand and challenging. Hooked them, Frederick thought.

Chapter Text

Chapter 2

The Triad, Tharkad
Protectorate of Donegal, Lyran Commonwealth
19 July 3015

“Frederick, what am I going to do with you?”

He eyed his cousin warily. “Hopefully not a pat on the head and a promise of cocoa.” That was how Katrina had sent her daughter off to bed a few minutes ago. There had been a frisson of tension when Frederick reported to the Archon formally but once they’d withdrawn to the family apartments for dinner he’d thought that he’d avoided any official displeasure.

“That’s for good little boys and girls.” Katrina Steiner steepled her hands in front of her. “And you’ve been… less than good. At least to the point that some people think that you might be bad.”

“Like Simon Johnson?”

She shook her head. “No. He knew the terms you offered the Dragoons. But to most of the court, you hiring the same regiments Anton Marik did is signaling that you share his ambitions.”

Frederick snorted. “Most of the court are idiots.”

“Some of them, but they’re influential idiots and that makes them problems I need to keep track of.”

“I’d like to think that having the Dragoons working for us and not for Marik or Kurita is worthwhile.”

His cousin sighed. “Yes, and your intervention getting them to join us before Janos Marik’s offer reached the Dragoons is one of the things I’ve been able to use to allay concerns, but the fact is that you had no way of knowing he’d make that offer.”

“It was a fairly safe bet. He treasures his grudges like his own children, but Janos never had anything personal against the Dragoons. And by killing Anton they spared him from killing his own brother.”

“The smart money,” she told him quietly, “Is that he will permit the execution of his son Gerald, who sided with Anton.”

“And he would have killed Anton. But because of Jaime Wolf and Natasha Kerensky, he didn’t have to. And the fact that both he and the Dragoons were betrayed would give him common ground with them,” Frederick pointed out.

Katrina thought for a moment. “Alright. That does make some degree of sense. But you were still guessing, and it looks suspicious. Particularly with you presenting ideas about how Wolf’s regiments will be employed. If your contract with him had some secret clauses, perhaps even verbal clauses… who would know?”

“Hopefully, Simon Johnson. That’s his job.”

The younger of the two Steiner cousins picked up her glass and toyed with it. “The point is less what you did and how you did it. I’m happy to hire mercenaries left high and dry by Anton’s failure - for that matter, there’s a good sized portion of the Atrean Dragoons that have defected and the Mercenary Troops Liaison are helping Colonel Hansen get them organized and registered as a mercenary unit. But the optics on how the Dragoons were hired are bad.”

“Alright. Mea culpa. What do you want to do about it?”

Katrina put down her glass and pushed her chair back. “I have to be seen to be taking steps to curb you,” she told him as she rose. Crossing to the sideboard she retrieved a folder and returned to the table, setting it down in front of her. “And you’ll need to be hands off in how we use the Dragoons. So I can’t credit you for this.”

That stung a little, however he looked at the document she’d extracted. “But you’re going ahead with it?”

“It’s got too much potential for me to ignore,” she admitted. “Ed Regis gave it his wholehearted approval as well. It’s unorthodox, but we need new ideas to break up the… inertia of the LCAF’s thinking.”

“How much can you invest in it?”

“We’re going all in. Five battalions, one attached to each of the Wolf'sDragoons regiments and we’ll use them as a cadre to expand up from there. It’ll make a hole in the replacement equipment and personnel budget, but since our numbers are up for both of them it’s affordable. I’m sure you remember how short-changed you felt when you took over the Seventh Regulars. Now I’ll be putting up with at least a dozen grumpy regimental commanders.”

“I was not grumpy. I was proactive.”

“Well, hopefully not all of them will decide to be proactive and start launching unauthorized raids at once. One advantage of having the Dragoons deployed is that I have an excuse to uproot a few more regiments and I rather need to know where they are for that.” Katrina pulled out a second piece of paper. “But yes, we’ll go with your brainchild. If you have someone in mind you’d rather got the credit…”

And naming someone, Frederick thought darkly, would suggest that they were in his circle and he would be promoting someone’s career. “Do as you like. Claim credit yourself if necessary.” To be fair, Max had come up with the original idea - or rather, he had remembered the DCMS would have done something similar ten years from now.

“That far I will not go,” his cousin assured him. “We’ll put the blame on Ed then.”

“Maybe give Arthur partial credit,” he suggested. “Something that was being considered back before…”

Katrina’s eyes grew distant for a moment and then she gave him a sharp look. “Alright. And we’ll go with your name. Commonwealth Jaegers.”

“It’s a good name,” Frederick told her defensively.

“Yes, it is.” She steepled her fingers again. “And as for you, I’m going to eject you.”

“Pardon?”

“Yes.” The Archon smiled slightly. “I have the need to send a high level representative on a diplomatic mission that will take weeks at best, so I’m going to stretch it out to months and give you the job.”

“You’re expecting me to be diplomatic?”

To her credit, she did look rueful. “I know. But you can take your ever-present shadow along with you. And the Federated Suns respect soldiers, so you’ll have more leeway than you might elsewhere.”

“The Suns?” Was this it? No, it was far too early. Ian Davion was definitely an ally, but the ties were far from at the level for anything like the Federated Commonwealth to be formed…

“I see you’re not aware yet?”

“Of what?” he asked suspiciously.

“It seems that Hanse Davion and Dana Stephenson’s time together on Mallory’s World has brought them closer than even the gutter press had realized,” she told him with some smugness. “He apparently proposed the minute the campaign was over and the announcement waited only on his brother giving formal consent. So there will be a royal wedding on New Avalon before the end of the year and I want you to be there, representing my best wishes to the happy couple and bolstering our ties with House Davion.”

“That’s the most important alliance we have.”

“I know,” Katrina sighed. “But Ian has met you so he’ll make allowances for your lack of social graces.”

After a moment, he concluded the Archon was being sarcastic. At times her sense of humor was too like Max’s - or perhaps it was the reverse. “It’s a long way, but stretching it out to months…”

“You’ll arrive early, and depart late - as well as stopping on a few worlds along the way. The exact destinations will need to be worked out, but there’s more to swaying the Federated Suns than just making a few appearances on the capital. You’ll be the face of House Steiner and the Lyran Commonwealth, so…” She smiled. “Please try to make it a face they don’t want to punch.”

Sigfried Glacier Reserve Environs, Tharkad
Protectorate of Donegal, Lyran Commonwealth
20 July 3015

Frederick was usually an early riser, but today Max Mustermann was halfway through his breakfast by the time the duke left his bedroom. Looking up, the secretary was startled to see that the younger man was sporting a black eye - which didn’t mask the bags under both eyes. “What happened to you?”

“Pick-up game of rugby,” the general told him gruffly, pouring coffee into the largest mug available.

“Is that even a thing?”

“If not, how did I wind up with a black eye?”

“Well, if you took a swing at Katrina I guess you’d have been shot, so I yield your point. The family dinner didn’t go well?” Max guessed that Frederick had gone looking for something aggressive and athletic to work off frustrations and from the way the duke’s shoulders stiffened, he thought he was on target.

Frederick yanked the chair facing Max away from the table and sat down on it. “I’m being banished.”

“...what?” That seemed extreme.

“Not officially, and not forever.” The general lifted his mug and gulped down some of the pitch-black coffee. “But she’s sending me to be a diplomat!”

“Ah.” Max considered that. “Damn, she must be furious.”

“I gave her five regiments of elite mechwarriors! How does this deserve that?!”

“I meant with whoever she’s sending you to as a diplomat.”

Frederick’s eyes snapped up and then he realized Max was joking. “That wasn’t funny.”

“Fortunately, the Commonwealth is a free country and we’re allowed to disagree on that.”

“Is this the time for jokes?”

“I don’t know,” Max admitted. “But there’s usually room for a joke or two in life. Why don’t you explain in a little more detail.” He considerately went over to the side where a breakfast buffet had been laid out, preparing a plate for the duke and returning to place it on the table before Frederick.

“Hanse Davion is getting married. I’m to attend as her representative, to get me out of the Commonwealth until people stop thinking I recruited the Dragoons as a ploy to overthrow Katrina.”

“When is he getting married? 3028? Because some people will believe that regardless of any evidence to the contrary.”

“No, towards the end of this year. I guess I’ll have to take the scenic route.”

Max nodded. “Hanse getting married… well, that puts paid to any thoughts that we’ve not made a difference. It changes almost everything.”

Frederick started cutting one of his sausages up. “It invalidates much of your foreknowledge. No Steiner-Davions now.”

“Well, not the same ones at any rate,” Max noted. “It remains possible that Ryan or Melissa might decide to marry a Davion. But even if - god forbid - Hanse’s marriage fails to produce heirs, it largely rules out the five that I predicted.”

“Does that bother you?”

He shook his head, loose hair brushing his shoulders. “I knew that things would change. Even if I’d stayed on Summer, there would have been small changes.”

“We’ve effectively killed the children Melissa would have had.”

Max paused, considering Frederick’s words. “Millions of lives have already been changed. Uncountable children who would have existed in the future I saw will be different in at least minor ways. But there will be others, and perhaps if we get this right they’ll have better lives - not have to face the conflicts I saw.”

“There will still be wars. That’s human nature,” Frederick said heavily. Then he brightened. “But at least Hanse won’t be preying on little Melissa.”

“She might just have a thing for older men,” Max observed. “And you’ll have to respect her wishes if she decides she wants to marry one someday. If Ian Davion’s still alive and single when she’s old enough…”

The Duke of Duran made several suggestions about what Ian Davion could do, straying into german vocabulary that Max had yet to learn. He made a mental note to find out what the words meant.

“Have you got that out of your system?” he asked Frederick after the man had wound down. “I’m fairly sure most of the people on New Avalon will be a little offended if you say that to the First Prince’s face.”

Frederick grunted and stuffed some sausage into his mouth, chewing vigorously. “At least,” he said when he’d swallowed the meat, “I can be sincere when I wish the Fox a long and happy marriage.”

“You’re getting the hang of diplomacy already.”

“You know, some dukes have secretaries who are quiet, efficient and obedient,” the general muttered. “I’ve been semi-ordered to take you along, will that have any impact on our other projects?”

“It shouldn’t,” Max admitted. “We’re in a waiting phase at the moment, particularly given how much of your finances are committed. I’m really glad Katrina agreed to hire the Dragoons because if you went ahead with paying for them yourself, you’d have had to borrow a fortune and securing that would have pretty much killed any new investments for years to come.”

Frederick nodded. “It would have been worth it.”

“Probably, but even so. Anyway, enough of the Bowie shareholders came around that their board agreed to the W10 refit of their production, which was the last thing that required one of us to be personally available.”

That hadn’t been fun. House Steiner owned enough shares to have permanent representation on the board, but Frederick’s portion of those shares wasn’t enough to dictate even that block, much less a full majority. Thus, Max had needed to visit dozens of shareholders and proxy holders to persuade them that the corporation should get out in front of the LCAF’s reforms to aerospace production. As the closest thing there was to a competitor to Lockheed/CBM, that wasn’t an unreasonable position for Bowie to take but they were already heavily invested in the new ‘mech factories.

“Rather you than me, but they went for it,” Frederick told him. “You’ve saved a lot of lives.”

The W10 variant was something the AFFS had refitted their limited fleet of the Lyran-built heavy aerospace fighter to years ago - removing some of the weapons for improved armor protection.  Given that the Chippewa’s cooling system couldn’t cope with using the full armament anyway, that wasn’t much of a sacrifice but the LCAF bureaucracy had been balking at requests from pilots going back over a century.

“Well it wouldn’t have worked if you hadn’t forced the money-counters to agree to accept the W10 in lieu of more W5s in the future - and refit kits instead of new production while the production line is altered.”

“That was the hardest thing,” Frederick agreed. “We’ll take a short term hit in the number of airframes and that raised some hackles. Hopefully the improvements will cut losses to off-set that in the longer term but I think some of the supply officers are far too used to just expecting losses and the need to replace them.”

“Which is a self-reinforcing cycle,” Max concluded. “Hopefully we can break that, because those fighter wings are the Commonwealth’s first line of defense.”

“How about the other matter? That world I can’t even pronounce?”

“Kwangjong-ni?” Max could manage it but only because he’d had a lot of practice. “An underwater survey team is on the way but there’s a lot of ocean to check and we haven’t narrowed it down much. That one won’t have a quick outcome unless we’re very lucky.”

Frederick rested his elbows on the table. “I suppose it’s better if it doesn’t return anything right away. Maybe people will calm down about thinking I turn up lostech everywhere I go.”

Max laughed. “Or success will revive those rumors.”

“Let’s avoid finding anything in the Suns then.” The duke shook his head. “We’ll need to figure out what to do for most of six months before the wedding.”

“What does Katrina want besides keeping you out of the Triad’s eye? And what do you want?”

The general rubbed his face. “The alliance is doing us good, so reinforcing that would be preferable.”

Max leant back in his chair. “And the key to that is the mutual enmity towards the Draconis Combine. We have other things in common, of course, but since you’re primarily seen as a soldier, that’s the safest bet. You met Aaron Sandoval on Addicks, didn’t you?”

Frederick nodded. “You’re thinking I should go to Robinson first? And accompany the duke to New Avalon from there?”

“If he’s willing, but on the way to Robinson, you should stop on Kentares. A news bite about a Lyran general visiting the war memorial there should prime public opinion to respond favorably to you…”

Castle Davion, New Avalon
Crucis March, Federated Suns
28 November 3015

Weddings, Frederick had realized, meant that women had marriage on their minds. And while the groom’s brother remained the most eligible bachelor in the Inner Sphere, almost every marriageable noblewoman in the Suns had bounced off his bachelorhood already, and the arrival of a second unwed royal had turned many of them to someone they saw as more attainable.

Max had covered for him twice already during the wedding reception, but he couldn’t see his secretary right now and there was a cluster of feral Feddie ladies bearing down on him. Looking for a route of escape, he spotted a blonde officer in AFFS dress uniform parting ways with a man who’d been clearly danced into the ground.

Three quick steps took him up to the woman and he noted the rank on her epaulet. “May I ask the next dance, Leftenant-General?”

She beamed at him enthusiastically. “I’d be delighted, General.”

They clasped hands as the next dance began and Frederick was glad that his preparations for the event had included practicing the local dances because they weren’t quite the same as those in vogue in the Commonwealth. Still, his partner was clearly very experienced and she was able to cover for his unfamiliarity.

To his further relief, she didn’t attempt to make conversation about his background and marital plans. The dancing, it seemed, was what she was more interested in and Frederick was just fine with that. It wasn’t as high energy as a good game of Skye basketball, but it required some of the same focus and precision. Her smile did broaden as he got used to the dances and she stopped holding back.

By the time that the music stopped for the formal departure of the married couple, both Frederick and his partner were breathing hard and he felt as if he’d gone through a full match of rugby, which wasn’t far off in duration from how long they’d been out on the dance floor.

“It’s been a while since someone’s kept up with me for this long,” the officer admitted as they both accepted champagne flute from one of the trays being carried around by the castle staff. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

“Dancing isn’t my first choice of exercise, but I’d rather be doing something than standing around talking,” Frederick admitted. “I’ll have to ask that you excuse a gaffe though, in asking you to dance before I’ve asked your name.”

Her smile didn’t slip. “Nelitha Green-Davion. And you need no introduction, general. LCAF uniforms aren’t so common on New Avalon, after all.”

So she was a Davion - he would have to parse which branch later, probably. The ambassador would no doubt nitpick the consequences of his spending so much time with her. Max would probably be able to tell him. “I’ve rarely had a better time at court on Tharkad.”

“Ladies and gentlemen.” Ian Davion, beaming with happiness for his brother, raised his glass and cut across conversations taking place all around the ballroom. “I give you Hanse and Dana Davion. May god bless them both.”

“Gott segne,” Frederick murmured as similar sentiments were voiced by everyone else, drinking a toast as the happy couple walked down the length of the great hall, clearly far more engrossed in each other than in the thousands of guests. As it should be, he supposed.

Nelitha drained her glass. “There will be more dancing, if you would care for it?”

“I’d be delighted,” he said honestly.

“I’m glad to hear that,” a third voice interjected and they both turned to see Ian Davion had managed to sneak up on them while the focus was on his brother and sister-in-law. “But I would like to speak to Frederick for a moment, if you can spare him, Nelitha. Just briefly.”

“Of course, your highness.”

Frederick glanced after her for a moment and then snapped his gaze to the First Prince. “Is there some crisis? Your highness.”

If Ian noted the small pause before the formality, he brushed it off. “Frederick, we’re practically comrades and I hope we’ll one day fight alongside each other. You can use my name. And no, it’s not a crisis, just something I wanted to alert the ambassador to via a backchannel. If I call him aside, the rumor mill will start grinding.”

Uncertain if speaking privately would be less alarming, Frederick glanced around. “Well, I’m all ears.”

“I’m going to announce the movement of a couple of RCTs tomorrow, from the Draconis March to the Capellan March. Please pass on that it’s not a long term shift of focus, just a -”

“Ian!” a loud voice interjected and a tall, dark-haired man butted in, clasping the First Prince on the shoulder. “I wanted to thank you for the additional troops. It’s good to know you’ve heard the petitions for more support against the Liaos.”

Frederick could almost imagine Aldo saying something similar, probably with an implicit ‘at last’ appended. Taking in the long hair, as well as the red-haired woman and boy following the man, this had to be Duke Michael Hasek-Davion. “Your grace, your highness,” he greeted the adults and then dipped his head slightly to the boy. “Lord Morgan.”

“Sir.” The child saluted him seriously and Frederick humored him by returning the gesture.

Ian reached over and ruffled his nephew’s red hair affectionately. “I’ve always heard those petitions, Michael. But we have two fronts to handle and I’ve every confidence that you’ve got the Capellans well in hand, so you’ll have to accept the Thirty-Fourth Hussars and Third Guards as an quality upgrade: I’ll be rotating two of the Deneb Light Cavalry RCTs over to the Draconis March before the summer.”

It made sense of the warning, Frederick thought. With the Marik Civil War ended, the Capellans would now have to watch both flanks again. A shift of forces towards the Capellan March might be taken as a move of focus away from the Suns and the Commonwealth’s mutual foe, but if it was just a temporary drawdown while forces were rotated then it made more sense.

Michael’s face fell, apparently deflated. “I appreciate the flattery but I would prefer more resources. Promoting your cousin Yvonne to lead the Crucis March makes me feel as if I have two hostile borders just to my own domain.”

The First Prince sighed. “Yvonne won’t do anything untoward, Michael. Between you and me…” He paused. “And the Duke of Duran, of course.”

Frederick shrugged. “I’ll leave your family to talk, your highness. A pleasure to meet you, Duke Michael, Princess Marie… and you, Lord Morgan.”

“No, it’s fine. It’ll be public in a day or two. I think I can trust your discretion.” Ian turned back to his brother-in-law. “Yvonne’s a placeholder while Hanse gets the time in a more junior position. I’m promoting him to Field Marshal at Christmas and giving him the Kathil Operations Area. It’s why his command and Dana’s are being rotated to the Capellan March.”

The duke looked outraged and Frederick unraveled the implications of the unfamiliar command structure. Unlike the Lyran structure of purely military Theaters, with a Margrave answering directly to national command, the Federated Suns' military chain of command was more feudal. The entire realm was divided into three marchs, one facing the Capellan Confederation, one facing the Draconis Combine and the third covering the interior and most of the periphery border. Duke Michael Hasek-Davion of New Syrtis was the march lord of the Capellan March, and the Kathil Operations Area made up almost half of that March, so Ian was sliding his own younger brother in to effectively pull half the duke's hereditary domain out from under him, at least temporarily.

“You couldn’t have discussed this with me beforehand?” the duke protested.

“I was planning to tell you tomorrow, but since you raised concerns today…” Ian looked around. “But this is hardly the time.”

Tell him, not discuss it, Frederick noted. He’d been warned not to trust Michael Hasek-Davion, and even without Max’s information, it was logical that the Duke of New Syrtis would prefer to ally with House Marik against House Liao rather than House Steiner against House Kurita. It seemed that Ian was intent on exerting dominance over his vassal, and doing so in front of an outsider to boot.

Michael drew himself up. “I’m sorry to hear that your cousin’s toxicity against my house and staff are being given a pulpit again, Ian. I look forward to discussing this at greater length tomorrow.”

Ian shook his head as the Hasek-Davions departed, Morgan looking back at his uncle in bemusement. “I didn’t think he’d react that badly.”

“Telling him in front of me may have been the concern,” Frederick noted. “I am a foreigner, after all.”

“I hope you’ll take it as my commitment to continue focusing our combined efforts against our, ah, Combine enemy.”

He tilted his head in appreciation of the joke, but he also wondered what was going on between Yvonne - Yvonne Davion, presumably? - and Michael Hasek-Davion. Max had mentioned her in passing but in his history she’d only resumed prominence by this date because Hanse Davion had taken the throne and he was much closer to her than his brother was. But here Ian had promoted her.

“He protests too much,” Frederick said, keeping his voice down. “Reminds me of some of the officers my cousin has had to break out of service as she reformed the LCAF.”

“You’re no diplomat, are you?” Ian gave him a wry grin. “But I’m keeping you from your dance partner longer than I intended. Please convey my apologies to her.”

“I wasn’t aware she was your cousin until just before you called me aside.”

The First Prince shrugged. “She’s a countess on Galax, but also a very fine logistics officer. Also a very enthusiastic dancer.”

“I noticed that,” Frederick agreed and then sought her out. Perhaps now he should try some conversation as they danced. If nothing else, he’d be on New Avalon until Christmas and dancing venues were easier to find for exercise than pick-up sports groups if you didn’t have an established network of contacts.

Chapter Text

Chapter 3

Duran Agricultural & Mechanical, Duran
Protectorate of Donegal, Lyran Commonwealth
29 May 3016

The annual graduation ceremonies at Duran A&M had been kicked up a notch when Katrina Steiner had declared she would be visiting her cousin’s homeworld for the summer. The Archon didn’t leave Tharkad often, so this was a signal honor for the planet - and a sign that Frederick’s months abroad weren’t a matter of him being in disgrace.

Melissa Steiner had watched the parading planetary militia and Team Banzai before being quietly moved aside somewhere that she could study. The tedium of thousands of diplomas being presented was probably too much for a five year old to be expected to sit through.

Max had no such excuse to avoid it though, even if his own role was mostly just to make sure Frederick was being given the right diplomas for each graduate. That still left him up on stage though, something that had the Archon’s security on edge.

He’d have said it was ludicrous that they’d expect someone would spend ten years undercover to get close to the Archon, but LIC had managed an even longer term infiltration once against the head of House Kurita so they would have reason to suspect the same being turned back on them.

It was a long, hot day. Fortunately, that had been taken into consideration and bottles of water had been provided - with short breaks so those on stage could refresh themselves. More water was passed out to the students and on sale for any of the audience - dignitaries hoping for their once in a lifetime opportunity to meet Katrina Steiner as well as the proud families of students - who hadn’t prepared themselves.

The last graduate - by virtue of her name of Zoe Zachariah and not making any of the honor lists - accepted her diploma from the chancellor. He, Frederick and Katrina had all been carrying out the presentations, with the exact list for each selected by a mix of merit and random chances.

Rather than sitting down though, the Chancellor stayed at the podium. “It’s a long-standing tradition of academia to recognise not only our students, but those who have contributed to our ability to teach our students. For this purpose, universities have the right to grant honorary degrees to those who might not meet strict academic criteria but whose contributions are undeniable.”

This… was not not the schedule. Max glanced at the security but they didn’t seem alarmed. Then he looked at Frederick and Katrina - the two Steiners looked very alike for a moment as they smiled at him.

They wouldn’t!

“For several years, Duran Agricultural and Mechanical has been able to raise the standards of our teaching, not to mention expand the numbers of our students. I am assured by the Archon - who I assume would know - that our name has spread beyond Duran as an institution of note within the universities of the Lyran Commonwealth,” the Chancellor continued. “And while this has been the work of hundreds, I can assure you that none of it would have been possible without the tireless work of a gentleman that few of you know by name. Mr. Max Mustermann, if you would be so good?”

Apparently, they would. Max gave Frederick a sour look as he stood up and hoped he looked presentable. It wasn’t as if he was wearing academic robes, just a charcoal suit and a burgundy shirt. He wasn’t even wearing a tie, dress codes having changed sufficiently over the years that this was now acceptable.

He had the sudden thought that maybe he was just supposed to be bringing a diploma up for someone else to receive, in which case someone was going to be in a lot of trouble for not telling him… but no.

The chancellor shook his hand vigorously and then presented him with a roll of parchment. “Mister Mustermann, it is with great pleasure that I award you this diploma, declaring you to be an honorary Master of this university.” And then, slightly more intimately, he nudged Max to look out at the students. “I dare say that fully half of those here today would not have the opportunities now open to you without your efforts.”

Well, that was possibly true.

And then the Chancellor stepped back and Archon Katrina Steiner replaced him. “It’s my great pleasure to be here today and to meet so many of our nation’s fine young men and women. I am sure that many of you will be going on to careers here on Duran and also elsewhere within the Commonwealth. It is also very possible that some of you will distinguish yourselves in ways that lead our paths to cross in the future.”

The Archon turned to Max. “I’m sure Max is hoping to slip away, for he’s a very effacing gentleman, but today I must ask him to remain in the limelight once more. It’s a sad truth that barely a day goes past in the Commonwealth that someone is forced to start their life over, having lost essentially everything due to some mischance or poor decision. In Max’s case, that was the case after a Kuritan raid on the world of Summer. Your duke was impressed by his determination and gave him a helping hand, something I know that he has paid both back and forwards - House Steiner and Duran have both benefited. And it is one of my happiest responsibilities to reward such accomplishments.”

She too was given a parchment roll, but she didn’t hand it over just yet. Katrina unrolled it. “Max Mustermann of Duran, I, Katrina Steiner, Archon of the Lyran Commonwealth, First Lord of the Star League, for your services in honor to the Lyran peoples and our commonwealth, hereby confer upon you and your heirs the title and dignity of Baron, along with estates and revenues suitable to this stature. May you continue to uphold the virtues of your new rank, for the greater glory of our beloved homeworld.”

Slowly, ritualistically - something she had probably done scores of times before, now that Max thought about it - the Archon rolled it again and slipped an already knotted blue ribbon around it. Now she placed it in his hands.

There was a rising tide of applause from the students and Max managed to not to stare at them in bemusement. Most of them had probably never even met him. Then again, the Archon was there so most of the appreciation was likely aimed more at her than at him.

Finally he was freed to sit down as Frederick took the podium over for a final speech. Max barely paid attention to it, trying to find a way to stash the two scrolls away without crushing them. His attache case was intended for flat storage, not for something as archaic as scrolls.

The speech ended and the graduates were freed to seek out their families and friends. That was the cue for those on the stage to depart, and at least this went to plan. Max preceded Frederick down to the limousine waiting for the duke and had the door open for him, ready to give him a piece of his mind for springing this on him without warning.

But before his employer could reach the door, the regal blonde form of the Archon sidestepped her own limousine. “Actually, I’ll ride with my cousin. Thank you, Baron Mustermann.” And she climbed inside, waving dismissively to her own escort.

Other than a tightened jaw, the head of the royal escort showed no sign of distress and Frederick followed Katrina into the car. “Get in, Max,” he ordered.

Max started to close the door, using his other hand to open the passenger door so he could sit up front.

“No, in here,” Katrina ordered sharply. And it was an order.

LIC were going to throw a fit, Max predicted. But the Archon is the Archon. He closed the front door and climbed into the back. Fortunately, the armored limousine was more than large enough for several adults to sit inside, so he was left sitting with his back to the driver while the two Steiners faced him.

Once the door closed, the cavalcade was on the way within seconds and Katrina relaxed slightly. “This is our first real chance to speak, Mr Mustermann.”

“Yes, your majesty,” he said stiffly.

“LIC remains convinced that there is some risk you’re a deep cover ISF operative,” she continued. “Or possibly a Free Skye radical. Little things like assisting Frederick in finding more lostech than anyone has dreamed of for centuries don’t seem to sway them.”

“Paranoia is literally their profession.”

“Yes, but it isn’t mine.” She paused. “As for ambushing you on stage, Frederick was convinced that you’d find an excuse not to attend if you found out in advance.”

Max thought back to his own original graduation, back in that other life… which he’d not attended. He’d not considered the really quite poor grades worth any congratulation. In hindsight, his parents were probably more disappointed in that decision than the grades but… And he’d told Frederick that at one point.

“You’re not denying it,” the duke observed.

“Did Frederick tell you he has a girlfriend?” he deflected.

“No,” Katrina confirmed and then smirked. “But our ambassador did. I shall have to send you back to New Avalon, Frederick.”

“Under other circumstances,” her cousin told Max, “I would call you out for this gross betrayal. But today, that would be hypocritical, Baron Mustermann.”

“You’re not actually giving me lands, are you?”

“Of course.” Katrina seemed surprised. “I would hardly do otherwise. Frederick is granting them personally.”

“A swathe of farmland on Summit,” the younger man clarified - presumably meaning the continent on Duran, not the world that shared the name. “It’s mostly rented out so you won’t need to do much other than give some oversight to the rental agents I employ up there. A nice little bit of income, and there’s a house up there that’ll serve as a family mansion if you find the right woman.”

Max scowled at his friend. Frederick hits it off with someone and now he thinks everyone should. It was like a disease.

“We don’t have that long before we arrive,” Katrina observed, looking out of the window. She’d never been to Duran before as far as Max knew, but she seemed to have a good idea of the geography. “Frederick, you had something you wanted to tell me in close confidence?”

Frederick nodded. “Yes, it’s about the Wolf Dragoons.”

Katrina blinked. “If you did sneak in a secret contract with them…”

“God, no.” Her cousin shook his head. “But we took a hospital ship to meet them and that left us with some samples of blood and other tissue that we could do DNA comparisons of.”

She gave him a curious look.

“Max?” Frederick invited him to give the explanation.

“There’s always been the theory that the Dragoons had some connection to Kerensky’s Exodus Fleet,” Max began. “Natasha Kerensky’s name, for example. And they arrived not all that far from the last sighting of Kerensky’s fleet.”

“Yes…?”

“The DNA samples we have raised some other points to support the theory,” he told her. “Four of them indicate direct descent from Kailen Steiner. That’s -”

“Paul Steiner’s son,” she interrupted him. “The one who joined Kerensky’s exodus.”

Max nodded. He’d been surprised that paternity testing could identify that after ten generations or so, but the nobility of the Inner Sphere had an understandable interest in the capability, and it hadn’t been lost even through the Succession Wars.

“Why did you even think to check for that?” the Archon asked after a moment.

Frederick took up the question: “Max has tried several such comparisons to try to trace his origins so he’s familiar with the practice. We ran the Dragoons’ samples through every check we had access to. That included the standard comparisons House Steiner has for any new claimants on the family trust funds.”

She nodded in understanding. “I don’t suppose you got a sample from the Black Widow?”

“No, but there’s a very high probability that two of the Dragoons have a patrilineal connection back to Aleksandr Kerensky,” Max told her.

“I didn’t think he even had children,” Katrina murmured. “Alright… implications?”

“Obviously, the SLDF has a descendant civilization,” he pointed out. “One that can afford to send a small army back to the Inner Sphere. And it doesn’t appear that they’re refugees, so…”

“Around 3009 the Dragoons returned to the Periphery briefly and returned with additional equipment,” she observed. “Likely they are still in contact with their origins. A reconnaissance?”

“After two hundred years without contact, I can understand their curiosity.” Max sat back. “But they’re not simply getting a few history books, they’ve served with four houses now and against most of the houses as well.”

The Archon frowned deeply. “Can we trust them?”

“I believe so,” Frederick offered. “At least for the duration of the contract. They take their honor seriously. Of course, once they leave the Commonwealth’s service… well, there’s never a guarantee that any mercenary might not choose to take a contract against a previous employer.”

“And while they serve us, there’s a chance for us to learn about them,” she agreed. “I’ll accept that for now, but I’ll want to keep them away from our more sensitive activities - at least until I’ve had time to consider the possible threat they may pose.”

“There is one more thing,” Max told her apologetically. “Kerensky took more than four hundred warships with him. If enough military forces survive that almost six hundred ‘mechs can be spared, it seems probable that some of the warships are also around.”

The woman’s face paled. “Baron Mustermann, there’s no possible way I can afford to fund a warship construction programme.”

“I wouldn’t suggest it. But the current resources being directed towards strengthening the Commonwealth’s aerospace arm are one move towards being able to counter hostile warships if necessary. And perhaps similar attention towards armed dropships would be another affordable measure.”

Katrina groaned. “I should have known you’d have a solution that involved investing money, Frederick. I take it that you’re already stretched beyond such an investment?”

“Would you really want me to have that level of influence over such a development?”

“I believe Shipil might be amenable to an approach involving constructing more Overlord-class dropships,” Max proposed, “Which would give House Steiner more influence in an area that Duke Aldo Lestrade of Summer is trying to dominate, since they mainly operate on Skye itself. If such expansion included purpose-built variants for different troop mixes then a dedicated aerospace carrier to fill the role of the Vengeance-class, would be a start. And if one such variant could carry naval-grade torpedoes…”

“I’ll talk to the Admiralty,” the Archon agreed. “But you’re right, Frederick. You’re to stay well clear of this. The last thing I need is suggestions that you’re building a private navy.”

Fort Joshua, Mizar
Federation of Skye, Lyran Commonwealth
28 January 3017

Katrina Steiner had worked with first-rate mercenaries before. Twenty years before she’d fought alongside the Eridani Light Horse while her uncle still reigned, and she knew that they were as skilled as many of the Lyran Commonwealth’s best soldiers.

Fort Joshua, named for Jaime Wolf’s recently killed brother, was a LCAF military base on loan for the duration of the contract but while many mercenaries let conditions slip during what they knew was only temporary residency, the Dragoons were treating the base with care. Almost everything was in good repair, the few exceptions were clearly receiving attention.

“You’re sure no one leaked my arrival?” she asked the liaison officer sharing her staff-car, wondering if this was a show put on for her benefit.

“It’s hard to say what the Dragoons notice,” the man admitted. “But until you touched down, no one knew more than that Mount Asgard was sending someone to inspect the Commonwealth Jaegers here. The Royal Guards may be a giveaway though.”

“There’s only so far I can hazard my security,” Katrina admitted. A decade on the throne had accustomed to the limits of the Triad’s security measures but when she got out and visited other corners of her realm she was reminded all over again.

At the moment, that meant that a full battalion had arrived on Mizar with her, and a company of the Royal Guards was maintaining a loose perimeter while the convoy brought her to the fortress.

The staff car pulled up onside the headquarters building and as Katrina disembarked she saw a gray-haired officer in full-dress uniform waiting at the threshold. “Colonel Wolf?” she asked the liaison in a low voice.

“No your majesty, that’s Colonel Ellman. He’s the…”

“Beta Regiment commander and the colonel who’s had most of a hand with our Jaegers?” Katrina confirmed.

As she approached, she saw Ellman’s eyes flick to her shoulders and note the lack of rank tabs, or any other accouterments commonly worn by senior LCAF officers. The moment when he recognised her face was obvious, but he maintained decorum, merely saluting her. “Welcome to Fort Joshua,” he offered in greeting.

“It’s a pleasure to be here. I wanted a firsthand look at how the Dragoons and my soldiers are working together.”

“Down to business then?” The colonel ushered her inside. “Colonel Wolf is currently overseeing an exercise - his Third Battalion against the Second Jaegers. Tomorrow it’ll be the First Jaegers against my First Battalion.”

“The Second Jaegers are Beta Regiment’s proteges while the First have been working up under Alpha’s supervision,” Katrina thought out loud. “Testing each other’s work?”

Dragoon guards came to attention as they passed, watching the escort following Katrina but standing down as Ellman gave them pointed looks.

“Essentially, yes.” The Dragoon officer confirmed. “Nine times out of ten, troops will behave as you expect them to when pressure comes down, but it’s impossible to say which will be the exception unless you apply the pressure yourself.”

“I’m not about to complain about rigor in their training,” Katrina assured him.

The command center displayed a familiar dance of blue and red icons moving across maps of the training grounds. While Katrina didn’t know Mizar’s specifics, she had seen this many times before. The blue icons were in ascendancy - normally she would be pleased but it was clear that this time it was the Dragoon’s forces being represented. Nonetheless, the red markers were fighting back hard - and they moved with a fluidity she had rarely found in the Lyran regiments.

“It seems the students aren’t yet equal to their teachers,” a powerfully built officer noted, back towards her.

Ellman cleared his throat. “They’re learning, nonetheless.”

“Yes, colonel.” The man stiffened and half-turned. “They’re not up to Beta Regiment standards but I wouldn’t mind them on my flank.”

“High praise,” Katrina observed, moving up next to Colonel Ellman. “LCAF command has high hopes for the Jaegers.” There had been so many attempts over the years to break the inflexible habits that had crept into their doctrines - the Winfield Guards were just the latest, and one she could give her uncle full credit for. Frederick’s brainstorm had potential, but if the units didn’t hold up in the field then it would be another embarrassing failure.

“Ah, are you the Archon’s inspector?” The Dragoon looked her up and down. Like Ellman he noted her lack of any rank markings but she saw no sign of recognition at her face.

“Something like that. Don’t mind me, I’m simply her eyes and ears.” Quite literally true.

The man gestured to a seat. “Please, take a look,” he said proudly. “She should see she’s getting value for her money.”

“I’m sure the Archon is aware of that.”

Turning, all eyes went to the pair of officers who had just entered the room. A tall captain trailed a short, compact man with a colonel’s rank visible. Since Alpha and Beta regiments were the only Dragoons on Mizar right now, this had to be Colonel Wolf himself.

“Colonel, I thought you were observing from the Chieftain.”

“That was the plan, Shos. But some guests I shouldn’t offload onto Jeremy’s shoulders.” Wolf turned an intent look onto Katrina. It reminded her of Ian Davion - or perhaps more of Frederick. There was a guarded respect there, but no submission. “If you’re here in person, Archon, shall we speak directly?”

There was a ripple of surprise and ‘Shos’ looked chagrined. Then the big man laughed briskly. “So much for asking you to discuss the after-action report over drinks.”

“I might have taken you up on the drinks,” she told him. “And the conversation.” Then Katrina turned back to Jaime. “Would you prefer to talk here?”

He shook his head lightly. “There’s an observation deck we can keep an eye on the exercise from.”

“Your majesty,” the liaison officer protested.

Katrina gestured sharply in dismissal. She’d come here to talk to Jaime Wolf, among other reasons. Refusing now would be pointless. Her current escort wouldn’t be enough to stop the Dragoons if they did turn on her - but at the same time, the Dragoons would face a furious Frederick Steiner - and more importantly, they would have lost their honor.

A mercenary didn’t have a nation to fall back on. Their reputation counted for their future prospects and it would be essentially suicidal for them to turn on her directly, at least without the sort of outrageous provocation that Anton Marik had offered. The deck wasn’t enclosed or out of sight anyway, she concluded. It was just removed far enough that they wouldn’t be easily overheard.

Colonel Wolf led her up the stairs and gave her space to pick her position. Katrina chose to lean on the rail, where she could see the screens below as well as the mercenary. “Would you like to begin, or shall I?”

“If you believed I had a secret pact with Frederick Steiner, you wouldn’t have come here personally,” he told her. “But your being here suggests you want to give us a mission that can’t go through normal channels.”

“I don’t have the slightest doubt that the Dragoons will uphold their contract with me so long as I do the same,” she replied. “Until it expires, I think you’d even fight against whatever nation you came from - in the event that we clashed.”

Wolf made no direct response to that, just staring at her with dark eyes.

“When that contract ends, so does that obligation. In the meantime I will extract every bit of value from your service.”

“Naturally,” he conceded. “Just as we’ll ensure we receive every reward that we earn.”

Katrina nodded. “Part of those rewards are aboard the dropships I arrived with. Four brand new Gladiator ‘mechs and just as many Dragonfly aerospace fighters, which I’m offering to the Dragoons.”

“That is generous,” the colonel admitted. “Generous enough that I have to wonder what you gain from doing so.”

“The price will be detailed evaluation of their performance in every metric,” she explained. “These are based on old designs but use parts and materials available to us. I want unbiased assessments of them to compare against those I get from the LCAF testers.”

Wolf frowned. “I don’t recognise either design’s name.”

“The Dragonfly was originally Canopian, while the Gladiator was the Draconis Combine’s first home-designed BattleMech.”

“You want to deploy a Kuritan design?”

“House Kurita didn’t develop the Gladiator, it was developed during House Von Rohrs, during a period when the Kuritas were out of power. Once the Von Rohrs were deposed, the Kuritas did what they could to minimize their legacy - including phasing the design out. You may find that the DCMS takes their presence as a provocation.”

“That’s something that I can work with,” Wolf agreed thoughtfully. “But there are other mercenaries you could have trusted with this. I know Hansen’s Roughriders are testing your new tanks for you. Why are you bringing this to us?”

Katrina steepled her fingers. “It’s obvious that wherever you came from, you’re still in contact with them. Whether it’s your main purpose or not, you’re a source of information for them when it comes to the Inner Sphere. Whoever they are, I want them to see my realm’s strength. In this case, that we’re recovering from the Succession Wars.”

“You’re accusing me of spying.”

It only stings because it’s true, Katrina concluded. “You’re gathering information. That’s not quite the same thing. Embassies are always staffed with personnel who gather publicly available information on the nation they’re within. In fact, it’s helpful for neighbors to have a certain level of information - if any of the House Lords had realized that none of us could be knocked out of contention for the Star League’s throne, the Succession Wars might never have happened.”

“And would that bother you? House Steiner still claims the position of First Lord.”

“Robert Steiner was a fool,” she told him flatly. “His sister and successor was forced to make the claim in order to maintain parity with the other Great Houses. We broke the Star League and even if we all renounced our claims, that would still leave us far short of restoring it. The situation we face now is nothing like 2780 - or even 2559. If there’s ever to be a new Star League it will have to be built from the ground up.”

Secaucus Plains, New Earth
Federation of Skye, Lyran Commonwealth
19 July 3017

There were few things Frederick liked less than defeat… but right now he had no alternative but to be gracious about second place… in a contest where there were only two contenders.

“The battle was well fought,” he admitted, offering his hand to Ian Davion.

The First Prince laughed lightly and clasped the hand firmly. “It was. I thought your Regulars might have us there, a couple of times. That entrapment near the lake almost worked.”

“Us?”

“I, of course, was watching from a bunker. My Atlas would have struggled to keep up with the maneuvers out there.”

Frederick eyed the First Prince suspiciously. There was a very real possibility that Ian was lying through his teeth and had simply borrowed a lighter ‘Mech to participate. What would be an unthinkable luxury for most mechwarriors would be a relatively minor thing for the head of a Great House, after all.

On the other hand, the First Federated Suns Armored Cavalry and the Tenth Lyran Regulars had only been exchanging training rounds with each other on the exercises. It was reasonably plausible that Ian Davion hadn’t felt obliged to participate personally.

“It’s not that much slower than my Orion,” Max noted quietly.

“Yes, but you still drive like you’re grocery shopping,” Frederick shot back under his breath.

Ian had heard all of this, of course, but he laughed again. “No man is a hero to his valet, they say.”

Next to them on the stage, the colonels of the two units were also shaking hands. The ‘games’ had lasted a full week - a training exercise to let the two militaries exchange ‘best practice’. In an ideal world the contest would simply have been a friendly rivalry but one Lyran mechwarrior had been quietly dragged off the battlefield and would be facing disciplinary action for breaking the rules and body-blocking a Valkyrie with his much-larger Griffin.

Hopefully it wouldn’t get to charges - apparently the idiot had been nursing a crush on his lance commander and she’d broken her leg when she misjudged a jump out of the path of a fusillade of simulated fire from the Armored Cavalry and crashed her Vulcan into the side of an abandoned building. Even if a court martial wasn’t called for, someone was getting reassigned and it wasn’t the leutnant - who had done a good job up to that point.

“Nor to his employer,” Frederick grunted. “Anyway…” He straightened his face before turning back to the onlookers - something like half of each unit was on the parade ground for the formal announcement of the results. “To the victor, the spoils.”

A pair of Lyran infantrymen, picked for their height, carried a large brass trophy cup out onto the stage. It was five feet tall and weighed an inconvenient amount.

“How the devil will I get that off the stage?” Ian wondered as the infantrymen set it down and stepped away. The cup was engraved with the words ‘Alliance Games’ and a brass plate (hastily fitted to the base) reported that the 3017 Champion was the First Federated Suns Armored Cavalry.

“Ask for volunteers,” Max suggested. “Just don’t let them try filling it with champagne.”

“Really don’t,” Frederick muttered under his breath. “There’s a datacore in there. It should be waterproof but I don’t know about booze.”

“A datacore?” Ian stepped back and gestured for the commander of the Armored Cavalry to take the trophy. He seemed to enjoy the look on the man’s face as he took in the burden. “I’m intrigued.”

“It’s primarily medical in nature,” Frederick told him quietly, almost drowned out by the cheering Feddie officers and men. “Not everyone in the Commonwealth approves of sharing the data we’ve recovered but Katrina and I both agreed you should have this particular database on humanitarian grounds.”

“Thank you.” Ian drew back a little, ceding the spotlight. “What would you have done if we lost?”

“There’s a consolation prize with another copy,” Frederick told him.

The First Prince looked around. “Where is it?”

“In storage. You didn’t lose.”

“But surely you should accept it on behalf of the Tenth Regulars. I mean, they can’t be left empty-handed.”

“They have your congratulations,” Frederick told him and felt dirty just for saying it. He was turning into a politician. And it wasn’t as if he was giving his own men a statue of a giant brass rooster.

Ian smirked. “I sense a certain double standard. If we do this again… no, when we do this again, I will insist that the consolation prize be awarded.”

“I’ll do my best to make sure you receive it.”

The First Prince stepped further out of the limelight. “Your plan is ambitious, Frederick,” he said seriously. “I’ve agreed to it, but the risks are considerable.”

“So is doing nothing. Your people have been pushing the Combine back towards your original border for years, but every reverse undoes some of your progress. We can’t even say we’ve pushed them back in a hundred years. That has to change - we need to hit them where it hurts.”

“You need to hold what you take as well. That’s where our record is uneven.”

Frederick smiled coldly. “That’s why our assault force is expendable.”

“Expendable?” Ian’s face tightened. “That’s…”

“Don’t get me wrong. I hope they succeed and survive, but if anyone is to take heavy losses then better them than someone else.” He realized he’d clenched his fists and forced them to relax. “And they understand the risks.”

“With no objections?”

Frederick shook his head. “No.”

“Well, I’ll handle my part. The Combine’s warlords will have to choose between responding to you or dealing with us.”

“And I’ve organized the same. If Takashi forces them to focus on me, that should let your marshals sting them hard. Which isn’t as good but it’ll do as a consolation.”

“Marshals, hell.” Ian shook his head. “I said I’d handle it and that’s what I meant. I’ll be commanding the diversionary operations myself. The Combine will have to take it seriously once they know I’m there with the Dragon’s Bane.”

The Fourth Davion Guards, Frederick thought. One of House Davion’s finest regimental combat teams, and Ian’s personal command. “You know, Katrina’s one of our finest generals. As good as I am.” Maybe better, a voice whispered. “But she leads us from Tharkad.”

“I know.” Ian’s eyes narrowed. “But if my presence makes this any more likely to succeed, then I owe it to my men to be there.”

“It’s your decision. And I might not find it easier if I were in your shoes…” Frederick paused… “But every time we lose an Archon on the frontlines, it costs us. Can you tell me that it’s no different for the Suns when a First Prince falls in battle?”

Ian gave no answer. And Frederick realized the argument was lost and exchanged shrugs with Max.

Chapter Text

Chapter 4

Danford, Altair
Dieron District, Draconis Combine
7 January 3018 

“Shut up!” Natasha Kerensky demanded, even though Max hadn’t said anything yet.

It was true that she looked magnificent when she was angry, but she looked pretty amazing all the time, Max thought. Either she was mad 100% of the time or she was just good looking in general. He was leaning towards the second theory but given clan genetic engineering and sociology, the other option was a serious consideration.

“I’d say congratulations on being a better mechwarrior than I am even without sand filters on your ‘mech, but that’s an awfully low bar.”

“You’re living dangerously, Baron,” the Wolf Dragoon warned.

Max laughed. “Aren’t we all?” He shook a canteen to indicate that it was still half-full of liquid and then tossed it to her.

The Black Widow caught it easily, uncapped it and sipped from the contents. “I am a generous goddess,” she declared. “I shall accept your appeasement.” Then she passed the canteen to ‘Gentleman’ Johnny Clavell, whose Rifleman was next to her Warhammer - both of them being swarmed over by technicians who were getting the sand out of the joints before fitting the filters.

“To be fair,” Clavell proved his moniker to be apt, “He did warn us.”

Kerensky gave her second-in-command a beady eye.

Altair was a dry, sandy world that was only habitable because underground rivers hydrated a few regions. Still, it was mineral rich and almost within spitting distance of Terra. Even close to nine hundred years of mining hadn’t exhausted its wealth and when the Succession Wars broke out, the planet had fallen under the control of the Draconis Combine.

The Black Widow Company, the Seventh Lyran Regulars and Team Banzai had come here to change that - the small Wolf Dragoons’ detachment present partly as a liaison with the bulk of their forces and partly because Team Banzai had only two full battalions to their name: the Hong Kong Cavaliers and the Blue Blazers. Their remaining company and a half, plus the Black Widows and Frederick Steiner’s command lance was functionally operating as the third battalion.

“You did,” the redhead admitted to Max at last. “Not that it did the Eighteenth Dieron Regulars much good.”

“I noticed.” He accepted the return of his now empty canteen and gestured to the spare camp stools in the little corner of the repair base that he’d been using as an impromptu office. “How many of that company did you bring down - eight?”

“Nine - two Jenners and a Locust got away,” Kerensky admitted. “Too fast with the way the sand slowed us down.”

Max nodded. “That’s the biggest single hit they’ve taken since landing. How are we doing for salvage?”

“One Hunchback looked like a loss except for parts scavenging,” Clavell told him. “The other eight might be fit for restoration.”

“Thanks.” The balding man made a note. “I’ll flag you to be informed once we verify that, so you can let me know what you want to claim as your share.”

Kerensky perched herself on one of the camp-stools and fanned herself. Wearing shorts and a halter top, she was a spectacular sight but Max had more or less gotten used to mechwarriors dressing like that when on ops. It was impressive that the woman drew his eye anyway, but he felt no need to do anything more than enjoy the opportunity to look.

“You’re diligent,” she admitted. “And for a pack of scientists, Banzai’s little experiment in mercenary work is working out.”

“It turns out that having a functional brain isn’t an impairment when it comes to piloting,” Max shot back.

The Black Widow grinned: “So when will you get one?”

“I have one - it’s currently on General Steiner’s desk.”

“What is?” asked an amused voice.

Max leant back, craned his neck and saw Doctor Buckaroo Banzai (who did indeed look very much like Peter Weller) emerging from one of the tents behind him. “My brain,” he informed the scientist/mechwarrior laconically.

“I hope it’s in a suitably refrigerated jar, human organs don’t handle the heat well.”

“Natasha was actually complimenting your regiment,” Clavell observed, taking another stool for himself.

“Don’t get too excited,” the woman declared. “I was just saying they don’t suck as badly as this bald bastard.”

“My parents were married actually,” Max protested.

Natasha blinked and he could almost see the ‘oh, right, that’s what it means’ behind her eyes. “My point stands.”

“I will accept the rare example of praise,” Banzai declared and lifted the emptied canteen, set it down again and picked up another one, this one still containing some water. “Is there any tactical update?”

“The Black Widows hammered the Regulars’ rearguard pretty hard,” Max replied. “Nine out of twelve ‘mechs down before the sand forced a break in contact.”

“Ah.” The doctor turned and looked at the technical crews. “We can have filters fitted on your ‘Mechs by tomorrow, Captain. If you’re now willing.”

“We gratefully accept the offer,” Clavell said once it was clear Kerensky wasn’t going to say anything.

Banzai nodded. “We’ll get it done then.”

One more thing I’ve changed, Max thought. He wasn’t entirely sure how Team Banzai had formed in the history he remembered, but he was sure they’d been in service with House Davion and had mixed teaching at NAIS with defending New Avalon by 3025 - and probably for most of the previous decade. But when more than fifty expert ‘mechwarriors arrived on Duran under Doctor Banzai’s leadership - and listed three times that many subjects that they could between them teach at Duran A&M - he hadn’t hesitated to sign them up on Frederick’s authority.

More had arrived, and by the time Frederick left for Uhuru it had been plain that there was no short-term need to keep a Lyran Regular unit on Duran as garrison.

Mind you, that had changed with Team Banzai joining this operation, but even so… he’d somehow blundered into providing the Lyrans with an elite regiment. He just wasn’t sure how - something to do with the Halstead Collection? NAIS hadn’t been opened at this point, rather than being three years old as it would have been ‘originally’. While Duran A&M wasn’t comparable, it was definitely a rising institution. Was that why? Or was rumor of the extent of the library available there beginning to spread?

“Is there any news from offworld?” Doctor Banzai asked as he opened a ration-pack.

“Another regiment of the Dieron Regulars seems to be inbound on Dieron,” Max answered. “Given how Colonel Wolf and the rest of the Dragoons are doing, that’s not going to offset the defenders’ losses. Nothing definite on more reinforcements but I’d expect more.”

Altair wasn’t unimportant, but it was a sideshow: one of three worlds that were being taken opportunistically while the Warlord of Dieron had no choice but to try to defend his district capital against bulk of the Wolf Dragoons and six entire brigades of LCAF conventional forces. If Dieron failed, then the gain of Altair, Yorii and Asta would be some consolation for the Lyran Commonwealth.

The main concern that Max had was the arrival of garrison forces for the three worlds. The feat of shipping the Dieron invasion force had tied up jumpships for weeks and it would be weeks more before the next wave of troops arrived. Until then, there wasn’t all that much support available to hold ground.

“That would make sense,” Banzai agreed. “I’d expect the Coordinator to be bringing their strategic reserve to bear.”

“That’s why there are operations hitting them all along the border,” Max told him. “AFFS and LCAF units are launching reconnaissance in force operations that look a lot like what we’re doing here. It’s hard to be certain, but ideally there should be pushback from Rasalhague, Galedon and Benjamin over any orders to send their reserves to fight for Dieron.”

“And Pesht is on the far side of the Combine,” Clavell noted. “Getting reserves from there won’t be easy.”

“I was hoping for some more impressive resistance,” complained Natasha. “If the Eighteenth fade into the desert and play hit and run, this is going to get tedious.”

“I’m okay with this being easy. I lived in the slums on Summer for a couple of years and I was living better than some of the middle-class areas here,” Max told her. “There may be brighter parts of the Combine where things are better for House Kurita’s subjects, but until I see one I’m happy to see worlds liberated from them.”

“You really hate them,” she said.

“No.” He shook his head. “They aren’t even the worst people in the galaxy. But they’re the ones I can reach and do something about.”

Doctor Banzai nodded soberly. “Starting where you can reach is a constructive way to proceed.”

“So who do you hate?” asked Natasha curiously.

Max looked at her. “There’s another bunch of snakes that decided to conquer a three planet state out in the Periphery. Not in and of itself worse than anything that’s been done here.”

She nodded.

“They killed ninety percent of the population of that state.” Max kept his voice calm. “They liberated those people from freedom, from prosperity and from being alive.”

“That’s almost Kentares levels of atrocity,” Doctor Banzai exclaimed. “I trust someone stopped them?”

“To the best of my knowledge,” Max said, “The Cloud Cobras didn’t face the slightest consequences.”

Natasha went very still. “Do you know where they are?”

“Not exactly,” he told her. “Deep in the coreward periphery. The story was passed from trader to trader, but they had enough hard data that I don’t think it’s exaggerated.”

Doctor Banzai reached over and slapped his shoulder. “Like I said. Do something about the problems within your reach, before you worry about those further away.”

District City, Kathil
Capellan March, Federated Suns
31 January 3018

The buzz of his comm woke Hanse Davion from a deep and happy sleep. Before his hand reached the handset, he’d determined two things: the buzz was one that signalled an emergency, and that it had also woken Dana.

That gave his voice a certain snap as he answered. “Davion speaking.” His wife needed as much sleep as she could get - even her usual vigor was being sapped by her pregnancy.

“Sir, we have a Priority Alpha from New Avalon. It’s flagged as Code Canine.”

He could feel Dana’s alarm from where she lay in his arms. That priority meant that the message would have been bounced from HPG to HPG as quickly as they could be powered up and set for the next link in the chain. Not much was so time sensitive as to require that. And Code Canine was the current status for a royal-grade message: intended for himself, Ian or a tiny handful of others.

“I’ll unlock my console,” he told the poor man in the comm center. Almost certainly more excitement than he’d really wanted at this time of night.

Dana sat up so that Hanse could move his arm out from under her. “Should I step outside?” she offered.

“What?” he asked her as he threw his legs over the side of the bed. “No, you’re cleared for Canine and be damned if you should leave your own bed.”

His wife lay on her back and rested her hands on her belly. “I suppose this little one isn’t a security risk yet.”

“I don’t think we’ll share a bedroom with them after the birth. Except for moments of extreme importance.” Hanse found the console without turning the lights on, the cord on the handset just long enough. “Alright,” he told the operator as he keyed in his password. “I’m in, send it through and log one secure copy until I confirm receipt.”

That was standard procedure for Canine: once he had his own copy to watch, all others would be scrubbed. Except whatever ComStar retained, of course. Hopefully the encryption would hold but who on New Avalon could be sending him something…? Still sleep-blurred, Hanse worked his way through the list… It would have to be Yvonne Davion, he decided as the bar showing the file being sent reached full.

“Alright, I’ve got it,” he declared.

“Thank you sir. I’m wiping our copy now.”

“Have a good night.” Hanse went back to the bedside and set the handset down. “This had better be good.”

Dana shook her head, not lifting it from the pillow. “No news is good news.”

He sighed. “Point to you.” Starting the message, he sat on the edge of the bed to watch.

The ComStar logo appeared on the screen, not the AFFS or Federated Suns banner he’d expected. When it cleared, he realized that Yvonne was in one of the neutral recording rooms in an HPG station, not her office. Why would she do that? A cold chill went down his spine… His distant cousin - more of an aunt, really - looked far older than she had at their wedding. Decades older.

“Hanse, I don’t know how long this will take to get you,” she told him. “Right now it’s the thirtieth…” She looked aside. “No, very early on the thirty-first.”

“Less than a day ago,” Dana noted, checking the clock. They were almost an hour from midnight, having turned in early for once.

On the screen, Yvonne straightened and looked right at the camera. “Hanse, you need to be on New Avalon. As fast as you possibly can. Leave the minute you’ve heard this message. It can’t wait.”

Hanse wanted to look at his wife, exchange the silent ‘why’ that both were asking, but he didn’t want to look away.

“I’m sorry,” Yvonne’s recorded voice continued. “Ian is dead.”

“No!” The word burst from him. His hand automatically reached back and he felt Dana’s palm and fingers close around it.

“Ian was killed in action on the twenty-fourth,” the Marshal of the Crucis March continued. “Reports were diverted by someone and I only just found out. The details… It's ugly. We believe the DCMS has his body.”

Another gut-punch. Ian was on Proserpina, a Combine world. More than one First Prince had died on the border - more than a few, really. But they’d always been recovered, died in a victory or at the least a relief force had managed to drag them away before they could be treated like some obscene trophy.

Not Ian. No, not him. Please god.

Yvonne’s eyes were hollow and Hanse knew what she was feeling. She loved their First Prince, for all his foibles. For all his decision to let the Hasek’s smash her career, he was still a boy not unlike the children of her own body. She was as devastated by this as he was…

And that, as much as the warmth of his wife’s hand, forced him to control himself. If Yvonne could force herself to send this message, then he could bear to hear it.

“Whoever diverted the message has forwarded it on,” Yvonne continued. “I believe, to New Syrtis and to other key worlds with High Council representation. I can only assume that Council members will start towards New Avalon as soon as they hear. I’m going to send word to as many of our allies as possible, to avoid a quorum that’s weighted in the Duke’s favor, but I don’t know how much time or preparation he has for this. It was enough to keep me ignorant for almost a week, so there’s definitely some.”

And then, urgently - painfully: “I don’t know who to trust anymore. You need to come home, Hanse. Now. Before it’s too late.”

The recording cut back to the ComStar logo.

Hanse forced himself to inhale slowly. Exhale. His pulse was thundering in his ears.

Dana let go of his hand and for a moment he felt adrift, then he felt her arms around his shoulders. Her face against his hair. Their child between them.

“Is the threat real?” she asked quietly.

Hanse nodded, slowly. “I’m heir presumptive, but Marie only voided her own claim. The High Council can rule in Michael’s favor as her husband, or appoint him as regent for Morgan. It’s one of the few powers they have left in practical terms.”

Since the start of the Succession Wars - before that, really. Since before the Star League, House Davion had been steadily expanding their control of the Federated Suns at the expense of the High Council that was made up of the leaders of member-worlds in the Federation. Long before Hanse’s birth, the High Council had been reduced to essentially rubber-stamping the First Prince’s chosen policies. But now they had a chance to make a difference and the members wouldn’t be human if none of them at least considered doing so.

Dana exhaled slowly, his hair stirring in it. “Alright. Worst case scenario?”

“He’s appointed as First Prince and we’re quietly gotten rid of so we’re not a rallying point against him.”

She drew her head back, then rested it against him. “Worst case.”

“Not that probable, at least the last part. But Michael’s smart, he wouldn’t try if he didn’t like his chances on the first part.”

“And the best case?”

“We get there, and they hail me as First Prince.” Hanse closed his hands around his knees. “I don’t want to be First Prince!”

“I know. But is there a middle road?”

“I… don’t think so.” He forced himself to reach up, to rest his hands on hers. “And if I want to have any say…”

Dana kissed the back of his neck. “So we’re going to New Avalon.”

“We…”

“For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part.” She held him a moment longer and then released him. “You chase up the dropships and jumpships to get us there, I’ll make sure our gear is packed. We’ll get through this… together.”

Nadir Jump Point, Dieron
Dieron District, Draconis Combine
4 March 3018

Frederick Steiner was adrift in the zero-g of the compartment. He found it curiously relaxing to do this but it was rarely feasible for any great length of time. Usually he would be aboard a dropship that was under thrust, or the jumpship was using its Kearny-Fuchida drive so he would be strapped down.

But since his own task force was waiting for a second to join them at Dieron’s nadir point, so that they could combine their aerospace defenses during the flight to the planet itself, there was no point engaging thrust for a few hours of gravity at the expense of fuel. And thus, he was able to simply close his eyes and imagine that he was amid the stars…

“Sorry to disturb your nap,” Max told him from the bunk where his secretary was strapped in and reading a book.

Reaching out, Frederick found a stanchion easily in reach and pushed himself down to the deck. “I’m sure.”

“I am!” the older man drew the last word out with mock petulance. “But business calls. A K-F signature is forming - the bridge estimates that it’s something large.”

“If they’re on schedule, that’s our reinforcements.” Frederick pulled on his uniform jacket while Max unstrapped himself.

“And if it isn’t, we’re in the shit.”

“That depends.” Unless there had been a couple of aerospace wings ready to jump in, Frederick thought that they’d be alright. And that wasn’t that likely. If they had been available, the Warlord of Dieron Military District would have probably already called them in to help him fight off the Wolf Dragoons. After weeks of fighting, Marc DuQuesne had to be getting frantic.

The pair went up the stairwell to the Retribution’s bridge and found the compartment red-lit, the crew strapped into their seats with eyes locked on their consoles.

“Not quite a minute until they jump in,” the captain reported without prompting. “One jumpship, heavily loaded. Has to be a Star Lord or a Monolith.”

“We’re expecting a Star Lord,” Max noted.

“We’ll find out in a moment.” Frederick strapped himself down in case the Retribution started to maneuver, Max taking the seat next to him. Around them, the other dropships of the Seventh Lyran Regulars were doing the same, and presumably the Union-class dropship carrying the Black Widows was as well. Team Banzai had remained on Altair after the Eighteenth Dieron Regulars loaded their depleted force and an as-yet-undetermined amount of the planetary militia.

The rest of the militia were lurking in the deserts, lashing out where they could. It was almost certainly not going to change the fate of Altair but it was keeping Team Banzai (now expanding up to a full regiment with the benefit of salvage) from joining the battle on Dieron.

The same logic was keeping the Tenth Skye Rangers and Tenth Lyran Regulars pinned down on Asta and Yorii respectively: the inbound garrison forces would be focused on breaking down the existing government and police structure and working on transitioning back to Lyran levels of both.

That left Frederick with limited options to assist the Wolf Dragoons. Jaime Wolf’s reports made it clear he’d mauled the local militia and Ninth Sun Zhang Cadet Cadre to the point that they’d been essentially folded into an auxiliary force for the Fifth Sword of Light, but the confined battlefields formed by Dieron’s massive mountain ranges meant that the Dragoons hadn’t been able to fully exploit their larger numbers until Warlord Duquesne had managed to bring in reserves.

Once the Eighteenth Regulars arrived - a day or two - they’d be joining three of their brother-regiments as well as the Second Legion of Vega, tipping the balance of numbers against Jaime Wolf.

In a flare of visible light and of radiation only detectable by the Retribution’s sensors, a jumpship exited hyperspace. Frederick leant forwards and looked at the visual display, magnified and refined enormously due to distances that would have left the Mark I Eyeball quite inadequate.

He exhaled in relief at seeing the Lyran fist visible upon the Star Lord-class jumpship, just as one technician confirmed: “It’s the Tedric, sir. We’re exchanging confirmation codes, but it’s her.”

The long, needle-like jumpship sported six egg-like dropships. Two of them could have been reflections of the Retribution: massive Excalibur-class combined arms transports - and the other four were Overlords, each carrying a battalion of the Third Royal Guards.

“Your old regiment,” Max noted.

“The Pride of Tamar,” he agreed, thinking back for a moment to Summer and the last time he’d fought with them. The Third Guards had been assigned to the mission but only under tight constraints, held in reserve so that it shouldn’t be obvious that they were available for deployment. If it was possible for victory to be accomplished without them, they would be held back. If the operation fell apart, they would be available only to help extract the forces committed.

But the middle road, the range of possibilities he’d agreed with Katrina… they did include committing them for decisive effect if the battle was in the balance. Frederick had felt the temptation to call on them from the first day, the call to commit his best troops right away. But Katrina had been right: that would have wasted them. Keeping them fresh and out of sight meant that he had them now, when they were really needed.

“Sir.” A crewman unstrapped and carried a headset over to him. “General Steiner wants to speak to you.”

“This could get confusing,” Max noted, taking the headset and passing it over.

He wasn’t wrong, but it wasn’t a new issue either. “Pete, welcome to Dieron.”

“Let’s save that for once we’re on the surface,” his cousin replied.

Frederick felt a pang of empathy for the older officer. Just as Katrina had leapfrogged him in ranks once, he too had risen faster and higher than Pete Steiner, who was from one of the more distant branches of House Steiner but was certainly an admirable officer. “Fair enough.”

Pete sounded uncomfortable. “Are you listening to me privately? I have a message for you from the Archon.”

“Just a moment.” Frederick glanced at Max and mouthed ‘privacy’. What could be sensitive?

The balding man nodded and left his seat, stepping over to the communications officer’s console. After an exchange of words and some controls being adjusted, Max gave Frederick a thumbs up.

“Alright, Pete. No one should be able to hear you now.”

“Good.” The older man took a deep breath. “LIC has some troubling reports from the Federated Suns. They believe that they’re pulling out of the offensive.”

Frederick’s first thought was that that was impossible, but he bit that response back. Simon Johnson wouldn’t say such a thing without reason, and Katrina wouldn’t have sent the message unless she believed there was something to it. “What are the reports saying?”

“There are reports of regiments that were supposed to be in action returning ahead of schedule. The Thirty-Sixth Avalon Hussars and Fourth Deneb Light Cavalry were supposed to be joining operations but the jumpships supposed to carry them didn’t arrive so they aren’t going anywhere. In addition, although they wouldn’t usually meet until autumn, our ambassador reports a third of the High Council are on New Avalon and more are arriving with every jumpship.”

“I see. Has Ian Davion made any statement?”

Pete’s voice was grim. “We have no verified communication from the First Prince for over a month. It’s not unusual for him to leave recorded statements to be released on upcoming events that can be predicted, while he’s actually on the battlefield, but they’re usually intercut with the occasional live report. Right now, we have nothing like that.”

Frederick frowned. On their own, that proved nothing. The shift of jumpships might be a simple change in targets to respond to a developing situation. There had been more than enough time for the situation to alter from expectations. Ian Davion was hardly obligated to tell them that, but at the same time…

He’d expect him to. The First Prince seemed committed to building bridges with the Lyran Commonwealth. Keeping them in the dark wasn’t in line with that.

And what was the High Council doing? Frederick had to remind himself of their role. They were almost the inverse of the Estates-General, which was in theory merely a group of representative advisors with no actual authority save that delegated to them by the Archon - but in practical terms the custom of them holding those delegated powers had real force. The High Council was older as an institution than the office of First Prince, and in theory had at least equal power. It was just that in practical terms, that power had been stripped away while the Estates-General had risen in comparison to the point that they had been a critical political battleground in deposing Archon Alessandro Steiner.

A chill went down his spine. The High Council couldn’t be doing something of the same kind?

“That’s concerning,” he admitted out loud. “Has the Archon altered my orders?”

“No.” He could almost see Pete shake his head. “But she may have to. If we don’t start getting clear messages that the Suns are carrying out their side of the operations, she’ll authorize no further strikes into the Combine. That means you have about two months before the other warlords have no real excuse not to back up Duquesne’s district.”

“I’d say closer to six weeks,” Frederick calculated. “Thanks Pete. We’re on a tight timescale then. But we’re not out of cards to play yet. Even if the AFFS isn’t going to back our play, Jaime Wolf’s had Duquesne on the backfoot for a while now. And there’s no regiment down there on either side that’s the equal of yours.”

“Thanks. I’ll see you on Dieron.” Pete cut the transmission with those laconic words.

Frederick took the headset off and looked at the captain. “Eight and a half days to reach Dieron?”

“At one standard gravity, sir.”

“We’re making the initial run in at one point five,” he ordered. “Then decelerate at one-gee so the troops have some chance to recover.” It was going to be rough, but with the clock ticking faster than he’d thought, every hour saved could make all the difference in the world.

Max met his eyes with an implicit question. Frederick squared his shoulders and ignored him. He’d tell him later, right now he needed to update his key officers on the change of plans without revealing why. Everyone knew the AFFS had their backs. Morale would take a beating once the certainty of that cracked.

Chapter Text

Chapter 5

Avalon City, New Avalon
Crucis March, Federated Suns
15 March 3018

Seven hundred years of history looked down on the High Council as they assembled. This wasn’t where they’d always met, of course. More than once they’d been relocated following shifts of power or simply because the institution had outlived the architecture.

After damage done by a DCMS raid in 2796, the Council had temporarily relocated into part of Castle Davion, since the executive complex built up on the mountain was more defensible. By the time the threat had been dealt with, First Prince Paul Davion had managed to strip further power from them and - perhaps symbolically - the great hall had remained the Council’s gathering place ever since.

Usually, that was little more than a few pro forma votes. But now, beneath the visages of past First Princes (and before that Presidents), the rulers of over three hundred worlds were gathered to cast a vote that would really matter. There was a nervous energy in the air, as if they weren’t quite sure that this was really happening.

Hanse didn’t see that nervousness in his brother-in-law though.

Duke Michael Hasek-Davion hadn’t seemed to be unhappy that Hanse was there, just about the circumstances. He’d said all the right words about shared grief. He’d embraced him. He’d embraced Dana…

Hanse forced himself to unclench his fists. And he watched as the Duke of New Syrtis took the podium.

“My lords and ladies, the First Prince is dead. We have received confirmation via ComStar that his body has been positively identified. And we have no Prince Imperial, prepared and ready to step into that vacancy. This is a time of mourning, but it must also be a time of decision.”

There was a ripple of agreement. The Prince Imperial was the position of heir apparent: someone who had been fully prepared and accepted as the successor. Customarily it was conferred after the First Prince’s eldest child or other preferred heir had spent five years in the armed forces and five years working in the civil service. It passed the throne to men (or in one case a woman) who were in their thirties or forties, usually with heirs of their own, certainly with a proven record of leadership in both spheres in which the First Prince was expected to lead. Ian hadn’t been the first leader of House Davion to take the throne without that preparation, but at least then there had been no challenge to his succession.

“What’s he doing?” Dana asked quietly as Michael segued into a tribute to Hanse’s brother.

Olivia Fenlon replied just as softly. The duchess of Chesterton was one of Hanse’s allies - her homeworld was within the Kathil Operations Area but more importantly she was one of the key diplomats managing relations with the Lyran Commonwealth. “By drawing attention to Ian’s military credentials he’s building a picture that Hanse, like Ian, has comparatively little experience with civilian government.”

“In contrast to himself.” Hanse’s wife understood immediately. “So we counter by bringing up and Hanse’s civil records as governor of New Aragon?”

“It’s the obvious response…”

Hanse leant forwards. “But it’s obvious, which means Michael will expect it. Olivia, are you ready?”

She smiled thinly. “I’ll draw their fire, you finish him off.”

Dana looked around the room. “I have to admit, I’d rather be strapped into my Enforcer right now.”

“It’s a battlefield,” Hanse agreed. “But you can’t always choose where you have to fight.”

“What can I do to help?”

“You’re doing it right now,” he told her.

Dana took his hand. “I mean it.”

“So do I. It’s… to be brutally honest, right now Morgan is one of Michael’s weapons. A living heir, a potential next generation of leadership. You and our baby are a counter to that. Much more, of course, but politically you’re neutralizing that approach.”

Dana leant upon him for a moment. “Got your back.”

“That means a lot,” he told her.

Olivia had been speaking to the room while they were conversing. “We cannot afford to remain in suspension. We’ve already seen a near-collapse of operations against the Draconis Combine, damaging the Suns’ reputation in the eyes of our allies. The late First Prince would be deeply disappointed by our failure to step up and continue his work. I move that his brother, the son of Andrew Davion, the grandson of Peter Davion, be acclaimed as our First Prince so that we can complete his work.”

“Working for the Lyrans’ benefit?” someone asked.

Heads turned. Speaking out of turn like that was poor form, to say the least. The High Council were generally not hurried in their discussions, even if it was mostly because there was very little urgency.

Michael Hasek-Davion rose and requested the podium from Olivia, who had already taken a half-step away with her own statement concluded and thus had no way to challenge the rest without looking as if she was trying to stop him speaking.

“I don’t know who said that,” Michael declared solemnly, “But that is a question that has been voiced in my hearing before. I am sure that Ian is sincere in his admiration for House Steiner’s current leadership, but he died leading his men in what amounted to a diversion so that the Lyrans could seize a major industrial world from the Combine. Now, I’m all in favor of liberating worlds from House Kurita - I’m sure we all are - but there are dozens of Lyran worlds they could be recovering, rather than taking a world that would be just as easy for us to invade.”

Hanse could hear muttering from the Draconis March worlds. Aaron Sandoval glared at a few of the louder voices, but even he couldn’t quell them entirely.

Michael stepped back and let the Duke of Robinson speak. The head of House Sandoval walked with a stick to support his two cybernetic legs. “If the Combine had thrown their resources into fighting for Dieron, which was a very real possibility, it could have been us taking worlds like Proserpina and Galtor from the Combine,” he pointed out. “And the Lyrans are carrying out their own diversions - while our current indecision is preventing action to avenge Prince Ian. But we’re getting away from the point.”

“I disagree. The duty of the First Prince, first and last, is to the Federated Suns.” Jerome Davion, the Duke of Argyle, was the speaker and eyes went wide around the room as one of the major cadet branches violated custom so rudely. “We need a First Prince who will fight for us, not to support an ally of questionable value.”

Arguments started breaking out around the room as delegates, seeing the custom of silence broken, turned to their neighbors. Sometimes they argued, but sometimes they found agreement and pockets of common ground formed - right up until their sentiments were heard by someone who disagreed.

“Aren’t you going to speak up?” asked Dana.

Hanse frowned. It was tempting, but… “Not until I can do so decisively. If they ignore my orders now then it’ll be easier for them to do so later. I need a knockout punch.” He was counting heads, picking out faces whose politics he knew and guessing at the tide.

Apart from a few exceptions like Olivia, or Duke VanLees of Kathil, much of the Capellan March was speaking up in opposition of the Lyran alliance - backing Michael Hasek-Davion.

The Crucis and Draconis Marches were more split, but that was in itself concerning. Even the Duke of Kilbourne - very nearly as far from New Syrtis as it was possible be and still be within the Federated Suns - was arguing with Duke Sandoval of Woodbine, a cousin of Aaron’s. Hanse had a solid block of support from the Golden Worlds around New Avalon itself, and the relatively few worlds in the Terran corridor. He’d hoped for more support from along the border, but now that he thought about it, many of them had military governors rather than permanent civilian governments represented here in the High Council.

There were some neutrals, he saw. Lords and representatives of poorer worlds, particularly the ‘skidrow’ of impoverished worlds along the Periphery border were now shifting - some of them literally changing seats to get to the edge of the room rather than be drawn into the debate.

“Hmm.”

Dana leant up against him. “You’ve thought of something.”

“I have.” He cupped his hands around hers. “Do you know Stanton Defire?”

“The Marquess of Lackland? The one who keeps trying to get investment into underwater mining on his homeworld.”

“That’s the one. It’d be a big help if you’d go tell him that I’m in favor of re-establishing the old Outer March.”

Dana nodded. “I’ll take care of that. Should I tell anyone else?”

“No, he’ll know who to tell that won’t spread it to someone we don’t want to hear.”

While his wife moved towards the back of the room, Hanse started moving forwards - shaking hands and dropping words into the ears of those who were wavering.

Michael saw him coming and his eyes narrowed. Hanse met that with a confident smile, but didn’t get the crack in the duke’s demeanor he’d hoped for. Still, once he’d started moving it would be a terrible idea to step back.

Reaching the technical support desk for the podium, he leant over. “You have the national anthem?”

“Of course, your highness.”

Hanse nodded. “Play it. Loud enough to be uncomfortable.”

The woman at the desk blinked and then grinned. “You’ve got it.”

It only took her a few seconds, and then the sound of the first few bars rang out. Hanse moved up to the podium and took over the microphone and began to sing, his own voice almost drowned out by the recording of the National Choir’s: “Do you hear the people sing? Singing the song of angry men? It is the music of the people. Who will not be slaves again!”

Other voices took up the song, eyes turning towards Hanse and conversation dying down. Talking over each other was one thing, but talking over the national anthem? A song chosen in honor of New Avalon's revolt against Terra, sanctified in wars against other tyrants both foreign and domestic? That would be taking it too far for all but a handful of those present - and those few exceptions were hardly foolish enough to do so when outnumbered a hundred to one.

“Angry men,” he said when the music ended. “Men and women, determined to be free. I will confess, I am angry. My brother is dead. Nor did he die alone. Many others have lost brothers, fathers, sisters. Dying, as so many others have, for our freedoms.” Hanse planted his hands on the podium. “And what do we do here? In this chamber? For a few minutes, we can unite our voices in song, but can we do the same in purpose? In leadership? I say that we must. I say we will.”

“Duchess Fenlon has asked that I be affirmed as the First Prince. As your Prince. I stand willing. If you would not have me, then say so. And say why. To my face, with courage. Speak now!”

Hanse’s supporters spoke up and he saw Stanton Defire and Dana almost literally pulling the outback representatives into line. For a moment he thought that no one would, that he’d pre-empted Michael’s ploys, but then Stephen Davion spoke up. The Duke of Bristol and Marshal of the First New Ivaarsen Chausseurs, a man who hated the Draconis Combine with every fiber of his body.

“Tell me one thing, Hanse. What are the Lyrans giving us that’s worth Ian’s life?”

Damn him. Hanse knew that his half-sister Marie was close to Stephen, but he’d thought that he could at least count on the man’s unrelenting hatred to keep him in line. Michael must have been working for hours to get the proverbial loose cannon to fire exactly the way he needed.

There was no choice save to meet the challenge directly. Getting caught in a lie now would leave Michael an open path to the throne and god knows what he would do with it. Hopefully Katrina Steiner would agree that keeping that from happening was worth what Hanse was going to do to her.

“Nothing is worth a brother’s life, Stephen,” he replied, forcing humility. “But Star League libraries, with scientific secrets that can save the lives of billions? That was the prince’s ransom: a price that Ian paid gladly, for our people.”

There was a dead silence, followed by exclamations of disbelief.

“Frederick Steiner is the greatest lostech hunter of our era,” Hanse continued unwaveringly. “And Katrina Steiner has honored our alliance by sharing the prizes of that with us. My brother lived and died for the Federated Suns. And you have my oath that I will do the same.”

“Hanse Davion is our First Prince!” Stanton shouted, having escorted Dana to the front of the room. The Marquess released Hanse’s wife to cross to stand next to him. “Who says aye?!”

Thunderous voices echoed him, filling the great hall to the rafters.

The beginning of a cheer was cut short by Aaron Sandoval, stepping up to flank Hanse on the other side of Dana. “And does anyone here dare say nay?” The old duke shot a challenging look at the council.

None accepted the gage.

A thin smile crossed Aaron’s face. “I thought not,” he murmured.

“All hail our First Prince.” Michael Hasek-Davion hustled his own family forward, to join the triumph. Sounding and looking almost entirely sincere. Almost.

Hilton Head, North America
Terra, Solar System
17 March 3018

Precentor David Rowan slammed his fists down on the table. “How could this have been allowed to happen?!”

“Calmly, my friend, calmly.” Julian Tiepolo was lying through his teeth. There was nothing calm about Precentor Dieron, and the man was hardly his friend.

Across the table, Pedrigor Aliz steepled his hands. “Respectfully, Primus, it’s hard to remain calm when we’re faced by a security breach of this extent. Do we have any indications of how much data the Lyrans have recovered.” He gave Precentor ROM a questioning look.

Tojo Jarlath sat straight in the chair. He’d taken over from Kristofur Vesar after the debacle on New Delos that had ended the previous Precentor ROM’s efforts to compromise the Wolf’s Dragoons. “At this time we have too little information to work from,” he admitted without flinching.

“How is that acceptable?!” demanded Rowan.

“I make no claim of that, sir. I can present only the facts and a modicum of speculation.”

“The facts are…”

“The facts,” Tiepolo cut in. “Are that this is a very new revelation, and possibly the event predates Jarlath’s tenure in charge of ROM.” Blaming Vesar cost little at this point and he was broadly happy that the current Precentor ROM was managing the department in the manner he wanted. This was a debacle, but hopefully not one that would cost him a reliable subordinate.

Screens lit up and the other three members of the First Circuit appeared on them, attending remotely via HPG transmission. “I only got a summary,” Villius Tejh warned, before anyone could say anything. “It’s the middle of the night on Sian. Something about the Suns finding a Star League library?”

“Buying,” Aliz told him. “We’re all here, let’s recap so we’re all on the same screen.”

“During the meeting of the High Council to decide the succession to Ian Davion, Hanse Davion revealed that the reason his brother was running diversionary operations for the campaign that’s currently so heavily wearing on David’s nerves is that the Lyrans have provided House Davion with Star League scientific data,” Jarlath reported coolly. “Shortly thereafter, he sent an encoded message to the Archon, alerting her that he had found it necessary to reveal the existence of the information in order to prevent Michael Hasek-Davion from usurping the throne.”

“Is that accurate?” Tejh asked, looking to the side.

“It’s unclear,” Huthrin Vandel admitted from New Avalon. “Our local analysts are still working on it, but Duke Hasek-Davion appears to have believed he had a shot and Hanse Davion seems to have believed the same, given this and other concessions he’s made.”

“Other concessions?”

“Nothing immediately relevant,” Tiepolo told him. “There will be a full update once Huthrin’s people have a comprehensive report. Our focus is the classified data.”

“The First Prince’s exact words,” Jarlath reported, “Were that they had received ‘Star League libraries, with scientific secrets that can save the lives of billions’. He also credited Frederick Steiner as the specific source. I believe that we must assume that the use of a plural is intentional: we are dealing with multiple finds. Most probably, the Halstead Station find was far more comprehensive than was thought at the time and that this is one of the libraries in question.”

“I asked for greater attention to the Lyran Commonwealth’s research some years ago,” the Primus reminded them. “And yet we have not found signs of that?”

“We’ve had signs that they had uncovered some texts,” Jarlath clarified. “Some have been gifted to leading universities, and in particular Frederick Steiner’s patronage of his homeworld’s agricultural college.”

“Who cares about agriculture?!” demanded Rowan. “The Lyrans are on the brink of seizing control of a Combine district capital and they’ve landed an entire regiment of lostech ‘mechs - who knows how many more they have?!”

“I assume that to be a rhetorical question.”

“Dieron,” Rowan pointed out harshly, “Is less than twenty light years from Terra. What stops them from coming here next? And no, that is not a rhetorical question, Precentor ROM.”

“Let the man answer,” Tejh proposed.

Tiepolo nodded. If Dieron did fall then it would probably be time to move the administrative and representative role of heading ComStar’s activities inside the Combine to Luthien. And there would be no reason for the role to remain in Rowan’s hands. It might be best not to, in fact.

“In short, Precentor Luthien, a Lyran Commonwealth attack on Terra would almost certainly be an unmitigated disaster for them,” Jarlath responded confidently.

“Are you insane?”

“The ComGuards ground forces are limited in size and even more so in practical experience,” the younger man admitted. “However, we would not be relying upon them to defend us. Any Lyran attack would have to penetrate the extensive Space Defense System which has been rebuilt over the last two hundred years. Orbital weapon platforms and surface weapon batteries cover every inch of our orbitals - these are the same weapons that caused severe losses to the SLDF, who were landing far more forces than the entire LCAF possesses - and the SLDF had a huge battlefleet of warships to use, whereas our own comparatively modest naval forces are the only active warships in the Inner Sphere.” He paused. “We’d also have an unquestionable right to Interdict the entire Lyran Commonwealth, which I am sure Janos Marik and Takashi Kurita would be delighted to take advantage of, given their recent reverses.”

Tiepolo nodded. “I can assure you that contingencies for a potential attack are being reviewed, Precentor Rowan. However, I think we can all agree that while Katrina Steiner is almost certainly unaware of the scale of our defenses, she is hardly foolish enough to invite an Interdiction.”

“That may be so, but it hardly reduces the threat posed here. A technologically advanced Lyran Commonwealth…” Ulthan Everson, the last of them to speak, shook his head. “They are ideologically opposed to our order but their military reforms, particularly the efforts to improve their industrial output of battlemechs and aerospace fighters, are aimed at the obvious threats. Any strategy aimed at us would be different. More subtle.”

“And therefore more dangerous.” Tiepolo nodded. “Finding out is the first challenge, one for Jarlath. In the meantime, we should step up our efforts to contain the Lyrans.”

“What do you have in mind?” enquired Aliz. “If the Steiners have entire libraries hidden away then they are aware of the risk of someone destroying them - they must be backed up.”

“And if we leak data to the other Great Houses then we could be giving them data that the Steiners lack, because we don’t know what they have,” Vandel added. “I’ll step up efforts to trace what they’ve given the Davions now that we know it’s happening.”

“Look at ways to shape public opinion against House Steiner,” proposed Tejh. “The Davions are more sensitive to John Q Public than the Liaos. If Hasek-Davion was able to make it enough of an issue to affect the succession then there must be some well of distrust that we can exacerbate. The Steiners are bad enough without letting them ally with one of the most able militaries in the Inner Sphere.”

“Good thinking.” Tiepolo tapped the table. “Any location found to have some of these libraries is to be recorded, cataloged if possible, but not destroyed.” He looked around the First Circuit. “Not by us. However, the location can be leaked to the ISF and SAFE - to the Maskirova as well. Their efforts will damage the Lyrans even if they fail, but in success they will gain only data that is already unavoidably in Lyran hands: thus we avoid giving out additional scientific data.”

“That is all very well in the longer term,” pointed out Rowan. “But they also have a short-term weapon to use in the form of their Royal Guards. Now that they don’t need to hide the lostech equipment they’ll maximize its use - and for all we know they’ve used the years since Helm to develop the capacity to maintain and replace it. Dieron may just be the first in a succession of strikes at both the Combine and the League.”

“...I believe,” Aliz said slowly, “That you are correct. Primus, under the circumstances I believe we should look at arranging finds of SLDF hardware for the Lyrans’ enemies. The Combine first, under the circumstances, but contingencies for all the other states - even the Suns if that becomes desirable.”

“Does anyone wish to vote against this measure?” Tiepolo asked, glancing around.

“It feels wrong,” Vandel admitted, “But you’re right. A powerful economy backing a powerful military could destabilize the entire Inner Sphere.”

“I doubt that anything can be put in place in time to deal with the current campaign,” Rowan grumbled. “But give the DCMS the weapons and they’ll be all too eager to erase the shame of such a major defeat.”

“That’s exactly what we want them to do,” Tiepolo concluded. “And whether it’s striking back at the Steiners or trying to take advantage of House Davion’s disarray, we must fan the flames of war.”

Sükhbaatar Valley, Dieron
Dieron District, Draconis Combine
13 April 3018

The Sükhbaatar Valley dwarfed even the scale of the battle being fought, Max thought. To the north was Tatsuyama Mountain, largest of the sprawling Khüiten mountains that dominated the north of the supercontinent that made up most of Dieron’s landmass, while to the south was Mount Swanto, a similarly dominant peak within the Scales of the Dragonet - the range that stretched south across the equator and almost to the antarctic regions.

A missile alert had Max stepping his Orion quickly behind the cover of the monorail line - the impact of a half-dozen LRMs would mean hours of work repairing the suspended railroad but it could mean life or death to him.

“Keep pushing!” Frederick called, his Zeus leading the way.

Max blinked sweat out of his eyes, wished he could reach into the neurohelmet to wipe them, and followed obediently.

Around them, scores more BattleMechs were doing the same as companies of the Lyran Regulars and Royal Guards pushed south towards Mount Swanto. Ahead of them, a few of the Dieron Regulars turned to keep firing but the rest quickened their pace, pressing on towards Fortress Dieron.

The Orion wobbled slightly as Max navigated across a shallow agricultural channel. Water management was a major issue in the valley - it was the drainage route for the inland Zanabazar Sea, via the mostly underground Kazakh river that reminded Max too much of Helm. Two other rivers met the Kazakh to form the Sükhbaatar sea at the heart of the valley, before the lower Kazakh finally reached the Mapuche Ocean, a thousand miles to the south-west.

The result was a network of manmade channels, intended to ensure both that the water didn’t drain away before the farmlands could be sufficiently hydrated, while also preventing a build up in the upper Kazakh that could flood the city of San Martin, built into steep cliffs over one of the few above-ground sections of the mighty river.

“I’d have thought I was used to these damn things by now,” he grumbled, wading through water that was only shin deep on the heavy ‘mech. The Dieron Regulars were right on the edge of LRM range so he didn’t waste his missiles on them. They’d have to slow once they reached steeper slopes, so he’d save the ammunition for when he had a better chance of hitting.

There was a chime as he climbed back into the fields on the far side of the canal and Max opened the comm channel. “Sledgehammer Seven,” he confirmed.

“Sir, Wolf Alpha is trying to contact Sledgehammer Actual.”

Max glanced ahead at Frederick’s Zeus, which was exchanging fire with a pair of Dragons who were hanging back slightly to cover for a column of DCMS tanks. The heaviest tanks had already been over-run, but the Tokugawas had been fast enough to stay ahead until now.

“He’s a little busy right now. Put him through to me,” he decided.

“Yes sir,” the comm tech said obediently. Max decided against correcting the poor kid, who was stuck in a cramped van several kilometers behind the battle, getting bounced around as he tried to cushion the towering egos of various officers. It wasn’t exactly the sort of glorious assignment that got put on recruiting posters.

“Baron Mustermann.” Jaime Wolf’s voice sounded concerned. “Is the general being unavailable something I should worry about?”

“No, just a temporary issue. Can I help you, Colonel? If you really need the general, I’ll need a couple of minutes.”

“A strategic update for him,” the mercenary reported. “I’m sure he’ll want to know, but a few minutes won’t matter.”

“I’m all ears.” Max knelt his Orion for a moment, making it a smaller target - he didn’t think he was in range of the Dragons but some of the older ‘mechs of the militia had long-range small-caliber autocannon that could hit him from here if they got lucky.

“Engineers supporting Gamma Regiment have cracked two of the entrances to Fortress Dieron,” Jaime told him proudly. “I’m funneling my own regiment up the pass, but we have penetrated the outer layer of the defenses.”

Max’s eyes widened and he checked the map. Fortress Dieron was buried beneath Mount Swanto - one of the two most important military bases on the planet. And the counterpart, under Tatsuyama Mountain, was already in Lyran hands. While breaching the outer layer of defenses was far from taking the base, it meant that the retreating DCMS forces were heading to a contested stronghold not a secure one. And Gamma Regiment had been advancing on the mountain from the south, so they would have limited ways out. “My congratulations to Colonel Korsht.”

“I’ll pass them on. Please convey my own compliments to the other General Steiner on taking San Martin.”

“I’m sure he’ll be pleased.”

They cut the channel after a few more pleasantries and Max kicked his Orion into motion again, now far enough from the fighting that he could risk moving at full speed without the usual evasive maneuvers. The Dragons, armor tattered, had retreated as soon as the Tokugawas had reached the highway where the wheeled tanks could use their full speed.

“Frederick, message for you,” Max told him as he saw the Zeus was no longer under fire.

“Right, one moment.” A moment later, Frederick continued, but now on the general channel. “Sledgehammer Actual to all Toolbox assets. Scouts and strikers, give us a two kilometer advance perimeter while the trooper and support elements catch up and reform. We’re getting too strung out.”

There were a string of acknowledgements, as the various companies accepted the shift in marching orders. Commandos, Griffins and Phoenix Hawks that had been covering the flanks began pushing forwards again, while the heavy ‘mechs that had been on point slowed to let damaged or just slower compatriots catch up with them. Entire companies of LRM carriers and self-propelled guns that had been struggling to range on the retreating Dieron Regulars dropped off the fire-support availability list as they raced to close up with the forward echelons.

It was a complex dance, and being carried out by a battlegroup containing elements of two different units, but there was a smooth professionalism to it that Max admired.

“What’s the news?” Frederick asked, stopping his Zeus in another drainage channel. The dirty water rippled around the feet of the ‘Mech, heated enough by the cooling metal that it was causing visible currents.

“The Dragoons have cracked two entrances on the far side of Fortress Dieron. Wolf is throwing reinforcements in.”

There was a slow intake of breath. “Has he now?”

“Colonel Korsht’s regiment was directly responsible, but Alpha regiment are moving in to exploit the opening.” The other three Dragoon regiments were spread out across the rest of the planet, keeping the pressure on the other Dieron Regulars - but the Sükhbaatar Valley held the greatest single concentration: Warlord DuQuesne’s own Fifth Sword of Light, the Second Legion of Vega and the tattered remains of the Eighteenth Dieron Regulars.

“I wanted to catch them before they could hole up for a siege,” Frederick mused. “But if the fortress is compromised, they may not have the option.”

Max glanced at the map. “There’s an old saying about rats in a trap.”

“That would be a fight that favors us,” the Steiner said flatly. “But we shouldn’t be dumb about it. DuQuesne must realize that…”

“Sir!” a voice cut in. “Heavy DCMS forces moving northwards towards your position.”

“...a counter-attack?” asked Max.

“Has to be,” Frederick agreed. “Question is, what does he mean to achieve?” Once again he switched to the general channel. “Toolbox, this is Sledgehammer Actual. The Snakes are coming out to play, so we’re going to humor them. Our playbook is to contain them - I don’t want any breakouts. All companies make sure you stay in contact with whoever is on your flank.”

Max managed to stay on Frederick’s flank as the Zeus moved up. Fortunately, the general didn’t insist on putting Sledgehammer company directly into the frontlines, instead taking a reserve position while the fast-moving striker units stung and harassed the oncoming DCMS, buying time for the main force to form up.

The boil of red icons along the tactical map marked where scouts were taking the risks - and the fire - to identify threats. It was a lot of metal, and Max tried to identify unit codes as he was keeping station on Frederick’s flank. “I see the Legion and the Regulars, but not the Sword of Light,” he muttered to himself.

“You’re right,” Frederick agreed, “But keep the channel clear right now, Max.”

Having not realized that he was speaking out loud, Max colored slightly and muted himself. Tactical analysis was someone else’s job. Right now, his only real job was to stay alive and - if possible - help keep Frederick alive as well.

A Lyran Phoenix Hawk bounded back into view, exchanging fire with a second Phoenix Hawk. The Lyran fired a PPC shot that struck the Draconian in the chest - it must be one of the Royal Guards, they’d be the only ones with one of the lostech Phoenix Hawks that carried a PPC, Max thought.

More constructively, he locked up the Kuritan and triggered his LRMs - the Orion shook slightly as ten missiles streaked out of the launchers, and then again as a replacement salvo was moved into place by the autoloader. Max thought that some of his missiles hit but he wasn’t sure how many.

Then more ‘Mechs appeared - a wedge of Quickdraws, Chargers and Dragons spearing through the light and medium ‘mechs of the Lyran frontline. Almost all were in camouflage but a single red-painted Dragon led the wedge forwards.

LRMs slashed out from both sides, then PPCs and autocannon as the ‘Mechs closed into range.

Max twisted to make himself a harder target. There was a line of tanks following the ‘mechs, either the same company that they’d seen earlier or a similar force. Rather than trying to hit the DCMS ‘mechs, he focused his attention on a Tokugawa tank as it came down the slope and fired his autocannon, then his LRMs. He saw the tank slew around as shells ripped into the wheels on one side, then LRMs splattered across its turret and upper hull.

Frederick stepped forwards, crossing Max’s line of fire - he jerked his crosshairs away and managed to avoid firing his next salvo right into his friend’s back. The Orion strode after the Zeus, trying to cling to it as the ‘mechs lunged at it.

The distinctive head of Frederick’s Zeus meant he was drawing more than his fair share of fire. Not that he was the only one being shot at - a Warhammer exploded, the pilot flung upwards by his ejection seat.

Max saw the red Dragon closing in and twisted to bring his crosshairs across it. The lasers weren’t quite on target - the twin beams clipped the side of the smaller ‘mech but only did glancing damage to the chest and arm before it had moved ahead, most of their energy wasted on the hillside behind it. Correcting his aim, Max fired his autocannon, tracking shots across him.

Then he rocked as missiles hit him. Max’s cockpit lit up as the explosions pelted him - too many for a single salvo, he was being singled out. He let the impacts force him into a side-step and saw the next streams of missiles coming in - two, no three ‘mechs hitting him. Two Quickdraws and a Dragon, all in the red-and-gray markings of the Legion of Vega. The three ‘mechs were spacing their fire so that there was always one shooting at him while the other two reloaded their missile racks.

The Dragon’s autocannon added insult to injury. He replied with his own, heavier autocannon and both of them added lasers. The Orion rocked under the bombardment but the shaking wasn’t enough for Max to miss entirely - he was aiming for center mass but the shots hit the Dragon’s right arm and half-severed it.

“Getting roasted here!” he called.

“We’ve got your back, Seven!”

A moment later, a second Orion moved up and joined him in shooting at the Dragon, while one of the Quickdraws found itself the recipient of a salvo of LRMs fired from an Archer that could launch more missiles on its own than the volleys that had been punishing Max.

“Aerospace activity!” someone called.

Max twisted his Orion to take the next shots on intact armor and took the opportunity to check the skies briefly but nothing seemed close enough for him to worry about. Straightening up, he fired into the Dragon again, hitting it with everything in the Orion’s arsenal. He wasn’t sure what hit - or even if it was his fire or the other Orion’s that was responsible - but something must have breached the autocannon’s magazine because the Dragon blew apart, peeling open from the right shoulder to its core, then tearing apart as a secondary explosion marked the LRM ammunition going up as well.

Unlike the Warhammer earlier, the Dragon’s mechwarrior didn’t eject.

The rate of fire had sent the temperature of the Orion skyrocketing. Max shamelessly ducked behind the other Orion, checking Frederick’s position. He saw the Zeus dueling with the red Dragon, both ‘mechs bearing the marks of weapon impacts but neither seemed to have taken penetrating damage.

A Panther’s PPC lashed out towards the Zeus, only to miss. Max drew a bead on the smaller ‘mech and opened up with his LRMs, then waited a breath for the temperature to drop further to fire his autocannon. While some of the missiles scored hits, they were also enough warning for the Panther to fire its jump jets just as he fired the autocannon, so the shells whistled uselessly beneath it.

It didn’t save the light ‘mech though. The jump took it into the field of fire of the company to one side, one made up of heavy ‘Mechs from the Royal Guards. A Marauder drew a bead on the Panther and he saw both PPCs skewer the Dieron Regular right as it landed. The shots punched straight through the chest of the ‘Mech and visible particle spray made it through and out of its rear. The Panther staggered and fell.

Before it could rise, Max’s autocannon cycled and he fired again. Between his fire and the Marauder’s, the Panther was torn apart.

Turning his attention back to the Quickdraws, he found that the one taking LRM fire was a blackened wreck, upright but immobile.

The other was running at Frederick’s Zeus. For a moment, it looked as if the Steiner was going to take the fire of both his current adversary but also this interloper. Then the Zeus dropped flat and the two salvos crashed over it, the two Kuritan mechwarriors battering each other’s ‘mechs as they had been on diametrically opposite sides.

The Dragon toppled backwards, the already damaged cockpit burned through by one of the Quickdraw’s lasers.

Scarred and overheating, practically incandescent on Max’s infra-red sensors, the Quickdraw slid to a dismayed halt at the sight of the friendly fire. It was a fatal error: Frederick rolled the Zeus up and fired from one knee while Max, the Archer and the other Orion added their own fire.

Crippled and burning, the Quickdraw fell to its knees and the mechwarrior ejected.

Frederick brought his Zeus upright and stepped back towards Max. “Status!” he barked on the task force command channel.

Max moved to cover Fredrick while the general took stock, turning one ear to the replies.

“Sir, we have multiple dropships taking off from Fortress Dieron and four other locations around Dieron.” Max recognised the speaker as one of the air defense operators. “Our aerospace forces aren’t fueled to chase them into orbit, we’re coordinating with Wolf’s Dragoons wings to try for an interception.”

“Just have someone watch them,” Frederick snapped. “Put every bird you can on air support and observation - those dropships are evacuating troops, it’s more important we focus on eradicating those still here before they can go to ground. I don’t want to be dealing with a heavily armed resistance for the next twenty years.”

“The Fifth Sword of Light escaping?” Max wondered, picking out another Tokugawa - the one he’d seen earlier had been taken out already - and pelting it with LRMs. “DuQuesne will have a lot to answer for.”

“He’s probably speaking to a higher authority.” Frederick’s Zeus indicated the red Dragon, where it lay on its back. “That ‘mech has a Warlord’s rank markings - most likely he ordered the retreat and then led this charge to expunge the shame.”

Max blinked and then nodded. By the Draconian code of honor, that would make some degree of sense. And in that case, this campaign was… well, it wasn’t over but what remained was mopping up.

Chapter Text

Chapter 6

San Martin, Dieron
Federation of Skye, Lyran Commonwealth
July 3018

There was a sense of unreality to setting foot on Dieron. Katrina’s uncle had almost ruined the Commonwealth by drawing down garrisons to fuel reckless attacks on their neighbors. She’d been very afraid that committing troops to Frederick’s offensive might end in similar humiliation - or a debacle.

It was harsh to say that the Wolf’s Dragoons were being used for half the ‘Mech regiments assigned because they were expendable, but that was basically the truth. They were spying for a foreign power, even if the spying wasn’t all that intrusive, so if they were shattered it wouldn’t have been so bad. In Katrina’s experience, most other major mercenary units would have hesitated to accept such a high risk operation, even with the rewards she had offered.

Jaime Wolf had jumped at the idea.

The Archon wasn’t sure what that said about the mercenaries' point of origin, but she was sure that the risk had paid off.

She was met by a wall of sound: soldiers cheering her as if she was the one who had conquered this world. Security around the spaceport had been taken up by the forces she’d brought with her, so she was surrounded now by members of the units that had fought for Dieron.

The Wolf’s Dragoons. The Royal Guards. The Seventh Lyran Regulars.

Small detachments had arrived from the other three worlds that had been taken, so Team Banzai and the Tenth Lyran Regulars and Tenth Skye Rangers were also represented.

And, outnumbering them vastly, the other regiments. Donegal Infantry, Arcturan Cavalry, Royal Tharkad Panzer. Regiments from worlds stretching from Tamar to New India. The often unheralded conventional regiments that bled for inches where ‘mechs were unavailable or too unwieldy.

And every man and woman knew that unlike almost any other Archon since the debut of the Battlemech, Katrina Steiner had served with them. Had gone from the Nagelring into the infantry, the armored cavalry and then the artillery. They knew that Frederick Steiner valued them… but that she understood them.

A part of her was saddened that she had to play this game with a general who had, however begrudgingly, proven himself loyal. Another part looked at the damage Anton Marik had done to the Free Worlds League and knew that the price was worth it. The same would not happen here, not on her watch.

Civilian officials greeted her nervously, knowing that just being seen with her probably put them on the ISF’s watch list to be purged if the Draconis Combine managed to take Dieron back. But they’d come anyway, either because they felt a duty to the people they had governed and must now serve… or perhaps in hope that it would let them hold onto power.

For some of them it might even work. Importing every level of government for an entire planet couldn’t work. She’d have to trust that some, hopefully most, would adapt to and appreciate the Commonwealth’s laws.

After that line came the meat of the occasion: the three military commanders.

Frederick was in the center, their cousin Pete on his left and Jaime Wolf on his right - the fur and leathers of his dress uniform standing out compared to the blue and white of the two LCAF generals.

“Frederick.” She returned his salute. “I know you get impatient with honors and accolades, so I’ll confer upon you something I know you’ll treasure more. I doubted you… and you proved me wrong.”

Her cousin’s stiff demeanor cracked with a frosty smile. “I appreciate that you trusted me despite your doubts.”

Katrina clasped his shoulder briefly and turned to Jaime Wolf. “And you, Colonel… I trust that you are equally proud to have announced to the Inner Sphere that the Wolf’s Dragoons are undiminished by your service to Anton Marik.”

“Perhaps not quite as proud,” the short man replied. “I, unlike the noble General, am not too proud to accept other rewards.”

“Including other tough missions, I am sure.” She reached out and they exchanged a handshake. “But before the Dragoons depart Dieron - I know that you dislike garrison work and will not ask that of you - before you depart, I shall award each of your regiments the Dragonslayer Ribbon.”

A traditional Lyran award, one marking service with distinction against the Draconis Combine. It had been awarded to mercenaries before - and it was far cheaper than the other rewards the Dragoons had asked, and would be receiving. The Nagelring was going to be furious, but Dieron was worth the price of the four items that had once belonged to General Aleksandr Kerensky, the Nagelring’s most famous graduate. It wasn’t as if the real things were really on display anyway, they had been kept in a vault since before Katrina had been born.

A school rag, a cadet class ring, Kerensky’s academy thesis and also his final letter to Archon Michael Steiner II - which had never been opened. The latter had been penned and dispatched before Kerensky learned of the Archon’s death in 2760, filed unopened by Robert Steiner II and finally handed over to the Nagelring for their memorial exhibit by Robert’s sister Jennifer during the First Succession War.

For any planet, much less one as materially vital and symbolic as Dieron? Katrina would give them up gladly.

“And last, but not least.” The Archon turned to the commander of the Third Royal Guards. “Pete, I have discussed with the other senior officers of the Royal Guard how I should reward you and I believe that we’ve settled on something appropriate.”

The general looked puzzled. “The honors are due to my soldiers, your majesty. I merely have the privilege of standing at their head,” he said modestly.

“No longer.”

Pete Steiner’s jaw sagged.

“General Pete Steiner, I hereby relieve you of command of the Third Royal Guards.”

The soldiers' voices slowly fell silent as Katrina’s words spread. No one protested, but looking at their faces, she saw uncertainty and even anger. Good.

She looked at them and then smiled. “Today is a very particular anniversary, one with special meaning for the Royal Guards. A memory of one of the worst days of the brigade. The day that the Fourth Royal Guards, left abandoned to die upon New Caledonia, were removed from the rolls of honor.”

“Today,” Katrina Steiner announced, speaking clearly as microphones picked up her voice and carried it to every corner of the parade ground. “I hereby reactivate the Fourth Royal Guards, transferring to it the fourth battalions of the First, the Second and Third Royal Guards. And I offer its command to Pete Steiner. A man who I know does far more than merely stand at the head of fine soldiers. He leads them. And he leads them well.”

There were tears in the corner of Pete Steiner’s eyes as he accepted the fresh uniform jacket carried out for him, one bearing his proper rank and medals… but also the unit patches of his new command.

Katrina was happy to give the general a moment in the spotlight and both Frederick and Jaime seemed similarly inclined, moving away to leave room for the other dignitaries to congratulate him as the soldiers cheered vigorously, particularly those of the Fourth Battalion of the Third Royal Guards, who had just learned they were following their general into the reformed Fourth Royal Guards.

“I’ll leave the Fourth here on Dieron to get organized,” the Archon told Frederick. “The other battalions being assigned to them came here as my escort, so the Third will escort me back to Tharkad before they move to their next posting.”

Her cousin nodded, looking distracted. “There’s someone else you should meet,” he told her in a low voice. “Away from the cameras.”

She stared at him for a moment. “Who?”

“Envoys from Hanse Davion.”

Katrina made a face. “The Davions are too useful as allies, but that doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven him for blurting out our possession of the Star League libraries. Do you have any idea how many of the Estates General have started petitioning for access to solve some problem, as if the data is a magic wand.”

“At a guess,” Frederick looked thoughtful, “All of them?”

“Pretty nearly.”

“I think I could convince Duran to elect Max to the Estates General, if you’d like at least one reasonable voice there.”

Katrina snorted. “What has he done to upset you lately?”

“Nothing yet,” her cousin admitted. “The envoys are right here, if you’d like to talk to them now. Or you can go back and join Pete’s impromptu promotion party.”

“There is nothing impromptu about it, I planned this very carefully,” she told him with a laugh. “He’ll need to get used to being a bit more public now anyway - the Fourth will be getting a lot of media attention. I can spare some time for these emissaries.”

Frederick led her to a small side-chamber. There were already two guards posted there, but Katrina’s ever-present security detail insisted on entering before her, to make sure there were no obvious threats.

“Who did Davion send?”

“General Green-Davion… and a colonel from the Davion Guards.”

Katrina arched an eyebrow. “Does the colonel have a name?”

“Sortek.”

She blinked. “You really don’t like him.” She parsed her memory. Sortek… she’d heard the name but couldn’t place it among the nobility of the Federated Suns. Not that that was all that surprising, there were hundreds of petty dynasties just in the Commonwealth. Still, if it rang a name. “What has your hackles up?”

“He smiles too much.”

Katrina felt a smile cross her face. “Something you’re not guilty of. And General Green-Davion? Does he smile too much?”

“She.” Frederick didn’t meet her eyes. “And no. Not enough, perhaps.”

Whatever was wrong with Frederick? He’d been a staunch advocate of the alliance with the Suns, but now these two had his nose out of joint. Katrina turned to her aide, a young woman with a noteputer and a memory that was almost as good. “Where have I heard of Sortek before?”

“Colonel Ardan Sortek was promoted from the Seventeenth Avalon Hussars last year, after one of the earliest attacks ordered by Ian Davion,” the aide reported without consulting anything. “Second-generation New Avalon gentry, his father and Andrew Davion were close friends and the younger Sortek is a close confidante of Hanse Davion.”

“That’s who you mean, Frederick?”

“Ja.”

Katrina’s enquiries were cut short when the security team emerged and gave the all-clear. She decided to go in directly and see these envoys firsthand. Now she had two reasons to see them: to find out what Hanse’s excuses were and why they had Frederick so agitated.

Both officers wore full dress uniform, indicating that they weren’t trying to keep their presence low-key. And despite the different ranks, their body-language indicated that it was Colonel Sortek who was in charge. Sure enough, it was the boyish looking colonel who greeted her first. “Your majesty.” He swept a deep bow towards her, then kissed her hand when she extended it.

Katrina gave him a measured look and decided that his taking the lead meant that the personal connection mattered more than formalities. “Colonel Sortek. And you would be General Green-Davion?”

The woman was tall and blonde - in a Lyran uniform she’d have been able to slot seamlessly into the Triad or Mount Asgard. She also moved gracefully and seeing her step forwards teased out a memory of seeing her once before, in a report from New Avalon.

“Yes, your majesty.”

“Well, I see why Frederick decided to monopolize you at the royal wedding,” Katrina observed.

Nelitha Green-Davion didn’t blush, but her eyes did flick towards Frederick for a moment.

The Archon gestured towards the seats. “We don’t have all that much time before I need to go back outside, so let’s drop the formality. I’m sure Hanse Davion considers his reasons good for compromising the security his brother agreed to, so let’s hear them.”

Ardan Sortek nodded. “I’m not sure how much you know about the circumstances around the First Prince… the late First Prince’s death,” he began.

Katrina listened with half her attention, glancing at Frederick out of the corner of her eyes. He was trying to pretend that his full focus was directed at the speaker, not the female officer. Someone who didn’t know him well might have been fooled, but Katrina was not.

It seemed she’d have something to tell Donna next time they spoke. Now, how to arrange for General Green-Davion to be assigned to the Commonwealth for a while? She was going to have to forgive Hanse Davion for his indiscretion, but she’d still wrench all the concessions she could get out of him so some liaison officers would be a reasonable starting point…

Honor of Skye, Skye
Federation of Skye, Lyran Commonwealth
25 July 3018

“To victory on Dieron!” The duke of Skye raised his glass high and everyone present did the same.

The champagne was from a treasured vintage, and normally Aldo Lestrade would have been delighted that his uncle had broken it out for him to sample… but on this occasion, the wine tasted sour to the Duke of Summer.

But he drank. He had to. It would be social suicide not to appear to be celebrating Frederick Steiner bloodying the dragon’s nose.

“A great victory,” Grethar continued.

Aldo had to cut this off or he might start retching. “Indeed, and my understanding is that Archon will not attempt to over-reach as her uncle might have under these circumstances.” A timely reminder that House Steiner had not always been an effective guardian for Skye, he thought. Best to veil any such criticism with praise.

“I’d have thought you’d be eager to see more of Skye liberated,” someone sniped.

Raising his glass to admire the crystal of the flute and the remaining champagne, Aldo let the moment linger and then shook his head. “I’d be eager to see any Skye world free,” he assured the gathering. “But the only one of the worlds the Duke struck at that was ever part of the Commonwealth was Yorii - and that a brief interval between the collapse of the Terran Hegemony and the First Succession War. I’d not say that it’s a Skye world yet. And the use of ten ‘mech regiments has undeniably wearied soldiers, emptied warehouses and diverted shipping. We can’t reasonably expect another major offensive for a year or two. I’d have preferred to see worlds like New Wessex or Vega freed… but I’m not the Archon, am I?” He laughed lightly and sipped from his glass.

The champagne tasted like ashes in his mouth.

Free Skye’s power was based on the fact that Tharkad’s interests were not those of the Isle of Skye, which was a proven fact - look at the fact that investments were being thrown into backwaters like Duran or Porrima (the latter at least in Skye) and not into industrial hubs like Summer. That was a blatant political move to geld House Lestrade further - 

Aldo had to fight not to visibly snarl at the term that came to mind.

- to weaken House Lestrade further. The Steiners were funding the worlds they ruled directly as they sought to centralize power further and further.

And they were winning. The conquest of Dieron by two generals from the ruling house was a rallying cry for the idea that only House Steiner could rule over the Lyran Commonwealth’s worlds. And restoring the Fourth Royal Guards, the traditional champions of the united Commonwealth - the Pride of the Commonwealth, where each of the other three stood for one of the constituent realms?

No, he’d been dealt a defeat.

“Perhaps in a year or two, Aldo. Dieron’s industry will be a boon for now,” Duke Grethar told him in a lecturing tone. “Without it, the Combine’s ability to prevent us taking worlds back will be weakened.”

Aldo nodded. “We’ve certainly seen how attacks on our own industries have hampered us. It makes sense that the reverse is true,” he said in a conciliatory tone.

His uncle was a fool in many ways, but Grethar Lestrade at least ruled Skye - and House Lestrade. As much as Aldo knew that he could do better - would do better! - Grethar had his respect for the fact that no opening to take power had ever been presented. The strength of House Lestrade was the strength of Skye.

And if it was just his uncle, Aldo could wait. The man was childless, his nephew the only logical heir.

His eye caught on the shadow that followed his uncle and Aldo Lestrade found it necessary to hand his wine-glass off to a servant before he crushed it in his artificial hand.

The illogical heir, on the other hand… the bastard orphan that Grethar and his wife had adopted?!

Margaret Aten was no Lestrade. And the girl had drunk deep of the Steiner kool-aid. (Lestrade had looked up what kool-aid was once, and it sounded fittingly disgusting). Aten would ‘rule’ Skye as a mere viceroy for Katrina Steiner or whoever succeeded her - assuming she managed to inherit, which looked distressingly possible.

Aldo had even considered offering to marry her to avert that dreadful prospect but the slightest move in that directly by a disposable patsy, to test the waters, had aroused Grethar’s fury… and worse than that, his wife’s. The female of the species, Aldo reflected, was more deadly than the male. The patsy might have survived Grethar by simply avoiding the Skye court for a few months but the instructions that had sent the poor man off to the far edge of Alarion province on an assignment that would measure its duration in decades, not years, had actually originated in the duchess’ office whatever the official record said.

If the time ever came to… hasten the succession of a new Duke, it would require a matched set of caskets, Aldo thought. It was an increasingly common thought in his mind.

“I doubt,” Grethar told him, breaking his chain of thoughts, “That some of your more extreme contacts will see it our way, but hopefully your efforts to rein Free Skye back will be eased by such a major victory.”

“Energetic young men and women,” the younger Lestrade noted, “May find themselves less drawn to such causes if they can direct their energies into such efforts as will be required to integrate four worlds into the Commonwealth. A work of years.”

“Indeed. There’s going to be some heavy recruitment going on,” his uncle said knowingly. “I’d much rather that the hotheads were venting their passions on the injustices left by Kuritan rule than causing mayhem at home.”

And a few years of government service there could lead to some more right-thinking people moving into offices back here, Aldo thought. “I will do my best to encourage such patriotic thinking.”

“Would you consider taking such a role yourself?” asked Aten curiously.

Aldo tapped the metal fingers of his arm. “Alas, my medical circumstances preclude such adventures,” he told her smoothly. “But if you wanted to get your feet wet somewhere…”

“I think it best Margaret learn government work here on Skye, at least for now,” Grethar cut that thought off.

“Merely a thought.” And if she rebels against your constraints by going anyway…

Aldo looked for another glass of wine. The dance goes on. Now if only Frederick Steiner had been more biddable - having a capable soldier on hand wasn’t hard to arrange, but one with the prestige of the Steiner name to use… He’d have sworn that the man would need barely a push to accept endorsement in any venture that undercut his cousin, but instead he’d reinforced her by playing the role of the man reluctantly won over despite misgivings.

Had someone got to him? There was that newly-minted Baron - who was from Summer, as it happened. They’d crossed paths at some point. But Musterman was a nobody - he’d answered phones for a living, one step above sweeping the streets.

Alessandro was dead… who else might have been that influential? It was something to think of but it was also far too late. No, if Aldo wanted support outside of the Isle of Skye he’d have to either manufacture it or approach Selwin Kelswa…

Or both, he thought. Or both.

Iscariot, Ashio
Dieron District, Draconis Combine
4 March 3019

As a prefectural capital, Ashio was one of the thirty or so most important worlds in the Draconis Combine, but this was still Takashi Kurita’s first visit. Even the Coordinator couldn’t visit every world in the Combine - especially the Coordinator, in fact. Since his father’s death Takashi had traveled much less than he had as a military officer.

But with Dieron in the hands of the Lyran Commonwealth, the administration of the military district had to be re-established. Out of Dieron’s prefectural capitals, only Algedi was further from a hostile border and Algedi was one of the Azami worlds, a group somewhat out of step with the cultural mores of the Draconis Combine. Rather than give them more access to the levers of power than either the Internal Security Force or the Order of Five Pillars liked, Takashi had allowed his cousin Marcus to choose Ashio as his ‘temporary’ headquarters.

Theodore would probably say something sarcastic about that, which the ISF would insist on reporting. His son was either blind to political reality or just didn’t care. Takashi found each equally inconvenient but it would be easier to correct the boy if he knew which.

Three men were waiting for them in the Prefect’s palace. Each wore the immaculate uniform of a DCMS general officer - except for their swords. Those were elsewhere. The trio bowed sharply at the waist as Takashi entered and remained bent over, examining the floor, as he ascended the dais and sat in seiza upon the mat waiting for him.

Marcus Kurita followed Takashi but he remained standing at the edge of the dais.

Takashi let the moment draw on and then flicked his fingers. “Tai-shu Marc DuQuesne has disappointed me. Were he alive, I would remove him as Warlord and require that he explain his failures to myself and then his ancestors.”

The three generals straightened, but said nothing. Good.

“In dying, he has expiated his personal shame.” But not his responsibility for this failure. Still, beyond Takashi’s reach. And the late Warlord had neither wife nor children or siblings which made matters… easier. “And yet, you live.”

Again, silence. He had asked no question. They offered no response.

Takashi gestured to his cousin. “General Ch’uan. General Toshirov. General Koutri. I find it necessary to elevate another officer to lead the District of Rasalhague while my cousin Marcus brings his talents to bear on rectifying such deficiencies as he may find here.”

The new Warlord of Rasalhague was a steady man, but not given to innovation. On the other hand, Cherenkoff was not overly ambitious either. Takashi Kurita liked that in him - the man indulged himself in many ways but not in the ambitions Marcus was so poor in hiding.

Toshirov, of the Twenty-Fourth Dieron Regulars, bowed once more. “Greetings, Tai-shu.” The other two followed suit.

The Dieron Regulars included superb regiments, some of the finest in the DCMS. The Twenty-Fourth was not one of them. The Third - Chu’an’s command - and Koutri’s Twenty-Seventh were reliable but average. The Eighteenth was a true loss though. Even the Sword of Light would be wise to respect them. Although Takashi was forced to admit, the sharpest blade of the DCMS was not always wise.

It was beneath the Coordinator’s dignity to grit his teeth. Losing the Fifth Sword of Light would have been bad. But getting it mauled and then losing the Eighteenth as well? What had DuQuesne been thinking? Expend a Legion of Vega? Fine - that was what they were for! Lose a Regular regiment? That you had better have a sound explanation for.

He gestured again, just enough that Marcus would see it out of the corner of his eye.

“Being new to Dieron District,” the new warlord enquired silky, “Please explain to me why you have withdrawn from your duties upon the district capital?”

“Sir, even the Sword of Light withdrew,” Chu’an offered. Perhaps emboldened by seniority among the three - the Third could trace their history to regiments that had come to serve the first Coordinator back before Dieron’s rulers deceitfully joined the Terran Hegemony.

Marcus shook his head slightly. “General Conti has made proper apology for his failure. As you hold yourself to the same standard, General Chu’an, you may do the same.”

A side door slid open, revealing the garden. A servant walked forwards into view, carrying a pair of swords. The staff here were quite efficient, Takashi noted.

Chu’an inhaled slightly. Bowed. Walked stiffly out into the garden.

The door slid smoothly closed. Takashi really did not plan to spend time watching someone who would fail so severely.

“Inform Tai-sa Kingsley that he is elevated to command of the Third Dieron Regulars,” Marcus instructed one of the aides.

“Lord.” The aide bowed crisply and departed.

Marcus looked at the two remaining generals. “Do your answers differ, generals?”

“Sir.” Toshirov spoke up first, again. “Warlord DuQuesne ordered withdrawal to preserve our regiments for future operations upon Dieron. Our regiments stand ready. It is for you to decide if we are fit to lead them.”

“A man may dislike his duty, so long as it is carried out,” Takashi observed, keeping his voice calm, focusing on no one.

“Such operations will take place,” the new warlord informed the pair. “I shall lead the Fifth Sword of Light personally, to restore their honor. Your regiments, and others, shall share that opportunity. There will be time for you to prepare your regiments, and for you to demonstrate your fitness to lead them.”

“We are honored by your trust,” General Koutri declared.

He was right. Second chances were to be treasured, Takashi thought. “Cousin.”

Marcus half-turned. “Lord.”

“I shall confer further with you. You may bestow half of the supplies I have brought upon the Dieron Regulars. The remainder is for the Sword of Light.”

His cousin showed no sign of displeasure that Takashi was making his subordinates aware that the generosity was from the Coordinator and not himself. “It shall be as you command. If I may enlighten my officers before they are dismissed?”

Takashi inclined his head slightly.

Marcus returned his attention to the two generals. “The fortunes have smiled upon the Dragon. Two SLDF dropships have been recently discovered adrift and abandoned in a system of the Draconis Rift. While the ships themselves are mere freighters, the contents were military equipment comparable to that recently seen in the hands of the Lyran Royal Guards. I trust that you appreciate the honor you are receiving.”

Both generals doubled over. “Please express our intense gratitude to Lord Kurita,” Toshirov all but whispered. “Our lives and loyalty are ever his.”

“From my ears to his own, from your lips to mine.” Marcus inclined his head austerely towards the pair. “You are dismissed.”

Takashi watched the pair depart and it was possible his eyes twinkled slightly as he stood. If so, he hoped Marcus did not notice. Perhaps it would be appropriate to confer a poem upon the Dieron Regulars before they set out to reclaim their homeworld? He would think on it.

“Subhash,” he greeted the man who had arrived silently behind one of the drapes.

Marcus twitched slightly and turned to see the unassuming man step into the room, signature smile directed at the pair on the dais.

“Lord Kurita.” The spymaster bowed. “Warlord.”

“What news?”

“The Wolf’s Dragoons have withdrawn from Dieron,” Subhash Indrahar informed them quietly. “Alpha Regiment guards their dependents upon Mizar, the other four vent their war-lust upon our borders, their targets range from Vega to Kobe according to informants.”

“A vengeance strike at Mizar to draw reserves away from Dieron might be feasible…” mused Marcus, then shook his head. “No.”

“Correct. The Dragoons’ contract with the Lyran Commonwealth is coming to a close,” Takashi agreed. “They have proven their worth, and I am more than happy to pay their price if they will fight for the Dragon. If they do not, then we can consider vengeance. Until then, it would be premature.”

“An attack on dependents would certainly be ill-received.” Indrahar folded his hands within his sleeves. “In addition, Jaime Wolf has departed with certain senior officers - the Black Widow and the recently retired Colonel Ellman - upon a mysterious errand. His jumpship has been sighted heading for the coreward periphery.”

“Another supply run such as that ten years ago.” The Coordinator noted with a frown. “Except… then they departed spinward, beyond the Outworlds Alliance. And now they depart along our other border. It seems possible that their origin is on the far side of the Combine from Terra.”

“The same direction Kerensky - the general - departed in,” Marcus observed.

“Whether there is a connection or they merely wish us to believe that there is one, I cannot as yet say,” Indrahar admitted. “Nonetheless, it seems the Dragoons will not be a factor in any battle for Dieron this year.”

“Which leaves the Fourth Royal Guards and the Seventh Lyran Regulars.” The Warlord’s eyes narrowed. “The latter would matter little, except for Frederick Steiner.”

“A worthy foe.” Takashi paused. “And the Fourth rising from the grave… Returning them to that would humiliate House Steiner.”

Marcus nodded. “It would be overly optimistic to say that they could be destroyed before further Lyran reinforcements arrive, lord. Our ancestor Hugai Kurita trampled the pride of the Lyran Commonwealth on the battlefields of New Caledonia, but it was not a quick or easy campaign.”

“As pleasing as speed would be, cousin, all I ask is that you grind that pride into the dirt.” And if you fail, that weakens your efforts to usurp my throne. Heads, I win. Tails, you lose.

Chapter Text

Chapter 7

Deep Periphery
10 May 3019

Jaime was nursing skinned knuckles when he sat down with Kerlin Ward to review his reports. The Clan Council had insisted on sending a few members along with the Khan to meet the Dragoons, and one ristar of Kerlin’s own bloodhouse had made pointed comments about them being ‘former’ warriors.

Officially, the next couple of minutes or so of the meeting had been retroactively declared to be ‘deferred Trials of Position’ that confirmed the three Dragoons present as still having warrior status within the Clan. The young Ward would be missing the rest of the debriefings thanks to Natasha and a concussion, while Jaime had been happily punching Gregor Vickers in the face.

Since Gregor’s genemother was Jaime’s father (a statement that would have raised eyebrows in the Inner Sphere), Jaime would normally have cut him a little slack but the surat had commented on Joshua’s absence favorably.

It hadn’t gone entirely the Dragoon’s way, and poor Jeremy Ellman was in the medbay with a concussion of his own… but as the saying went, you should see the other guy!

“I am glad to see that your skills have not atrophied.” Kerlin sat neatly at one end of the curved couch that filled a small niche in the cruiser he’d brought to carry the Dragoons’ replacement equipment. “But that is not why we are here. I have had a quick look through the data you have brought back and a couple of things stood out.”

Natasha was sprawled opposite the Khan, leaving Jaime stuck between the two of them. Which was accurate to the chain of command, he supposed. “Just a couple of things?”

“Your previous reports indicated that the Successor States were at a point of technological regression, barely able to keep their remaining factories building new weapons for the Succession Wars, but now you report they are building new factories. Are the Lyrans so very different from the Suns?”

“In some ways, yes,” Jaime admitted, speaking carefully to avoid the contractions he was used to from the Inner Sphere. “They lucked into finding an old Star League library but the Steiners seized that opportunity and they are running for it with everything they have.”

The Khan frowned. “That could alarm some of the Grand Council. How much of a technological leap are they making?”

Jaime hesitated. How do you even measure that? “I do not believe they are building large quantities of anything particularly more advanced than they were already,” he said at last. “Or, if they are, it is well hidden.”

“Which is possible,” Natasha interjected. “They hid that library’s existence for years. It’s a cunning strategy that we could learn from, Kerlin: no one launches Trials of Possession for things that they don’t know exist.” She evidently didn’t care if someone was offended by her contractions - or perhaps she hoped that someone would be.

If so, Kerlin disappointed her. “Thank you, Natasha. I would have never thought of that. So what are they building?”

“As far as I can tell, the Lyran focus has been to build more of what they currently maintain. They have a small force - the Royal Guards, think of them as the equivalent of Alpha Galaxy - that has some Star League equipment but they’re deployed sparingly - probably because they cannot replace anything they lose yet. Even munitions and armor have to come out of carefully hoarded stockpiles.”

“You can believe they want to change that,” Natasha added. “Freddie Steiner would love to use the Royal Guards more. They ripped right through some of the Combine’s best once he turned them loose. But he’s focused on parts to keep other regiments fully active. Figures it’s a better investment to have five good regiments than one great regiment, according to his aide.”

Kerlin nodded in understanding. “So these Dervishes you received were not Star League models?”

“No. They are basically the same models currently built on New Avalon, but previously that was the only factory left for the ‘mech in the Inner Sphere. The Dervish was originally designed by the Lyrans and now they’re building them again. As Natasha said, House Steiner seems to think that building a few advanced ‘mechs is not as useful as building a lot of simpler models.”

“At times they seem much like us,” Ward said in a contemplative tone. “This Frederick Steiner seems almost as if he is saKhan to the Archon’s khan… but then they elect to throw numbers at their enemies rather than quality. The logistics must be boggling.”

“They are surprisingly good at logistics. Centuries of practice,” Jaime admitted. “The current Steiners are a capable combination. Katrina, Frederick and Nondi are all capable generals, and they’re backed by a powerful resource base. When we arrived, the Lyrans had arguably the least effective military out of the Successor States, but right now I’d place them a solid third - and they’re still getting better.” If the invasion takes place, the Lyrans won’t be a pushover. I’m not sure they’d win, but they wouldn’t collapse at the first encounter with the Clans, he thought.

“There’s something I didn’t include in the report,” Natasha reported in a more subdued tone than usual.

Kerlin noted that and looked at her. “Holding information back?”

“I’m telling you. Whether you pass it on to the Grand Council is up to you.”

Jaime knew what she was going to say so he watched Kerlin for the reaction.

“Frederick Steiner’s aide, a guy called Mustermann, told me a story about some colonies in the periphery that got overrun by a barbarian horde. He was pretty disgusted, claimed they wiped out ninety percent of the population.”

The khan leant forwards. “A threat to the Inner Sphere? If there was some outside enemy we could focus the Grand Council on it would keep them from -”

Natasha shook her head. “Kerlin, he was talking about the Clans! The Cloud Cobras, to be specific.”

Kerlin Ward froze and his gaze locked onto Natasha like gunsights. “...he knew about the Clans?”

“Not exactly. He doesn’t know a lot of the specifics, but I think he’s talking about the Tanite worlds. But my point is: in his view, the Cobras’ are utterly repellant. He drew comparisons to some of the worst atrocities of the Succession Wars. And he’s not wrong.”

The Wolf Clan leader’s eyes narrowed. “The Cloud Cobras report the Tanite worlds as pacified… but they’re still sharing access to their resources with Clan Burrock. My understanding was that they were still paying off the contracted aid they received when they took over. But they’ve not reported anything along the lines of mass-slaughter.”

“They hardly would.”

“True.” The Khan shook his head. “You were right to keep that out of the reports. I will dig up what I can, but the Cobras are a Warden clan. I do not want to alienate them.”

“If you can prove it,” Jaime told him, “It will be evidence of the challenges posed by invading the Inner Sphere. Whatever difficulties the Cloud Cobras faced with just three worlds, multiply by a hundred times as many worlds for just one Successor State. And, even if we win, can you imagine that level of bloodshed across the entire Inner Sphere? It’d be an unprecedented bloodbath.”

“The thought had crossed my mind.” Kerlin shook his head. “So the Cloud Cobras may have committed atrocities, word of them has reached the Inner Sphere and the Successor States are beginning to recover its lost technology. Can today get any worse?”

Jaime reached into his pocket and pulled out a data disc, sliding it across the table to Kerlin in mute reply.

The older man eyed it as if it was a poisonous reptile. “What is this?”

“When Katrina Steiner met me on Dieron and gave us some artifacts the Goliath Scorpions will be interested in - long story, it’s in the report - she gave me this.”

Kerlin picked it up. “And?”

“Play it.”

After a brief moment of hesitation, the Khan opened a panel built into the table and activated a holo-projector, inserting the data disc into the appropriate slot.

With a flicker, Katrina Steiner sprang to life above the table - facing away from Kerlin unfortunately, but a quick adjustment of the controls turned to hologram to face the Khan. The Archon sat upon her throne, wearing a uniform stripped of all rank and distinction.

“Greetings,” she said once the recording resumed. “I am Archon Katrina Steiner of the Lyran Commonwealth. I have entrusted this message to Jaime Wolf, to relay to the rulers of his people.”

“Unity…” the Khan of Clan Wolf murmured.

“Our peoples have evidently been divided by more than two centuries. My ancestors include those whose recklessness brought down the Star League. Yours, I believe, are among those who fled that holocaust. But we are not our ancestors and you are not yours. Neither of us can bear the blame for our forebear’s actions, what we have is the responsibility to do better. You have reached out to learn of us and I shall trust that Colonel Wolf and his people are reporting accurately, whether that is to my people’s credit or not.”

“As you have approached us, I now approach you with an offer: make open contact with us. I recognise that you must have concerns of being drawn into the conflicts that continue between the five Great Houses, but I do not ask that you take sides. I would welcome an ambassador from you, and I would use such influence as I can to introduce ambassadors to the other great lords, or to ComStar who may be able to play a more neutral role.”

“The Succession Wars were begun over the right to lead to the Star League and have proven simply that none of those claiming the title of First Lord are worthy of it. If you regard a reunited Star League as a threat to you, I can honestly say it is not a likely prospect. If you view it as desirable, then I regret to say that I cannot offer hope of the old Star League - but it is possible that a new Star League or something similar can be created. The means to this is communication, and I invite you to make this communication two-way.”

And then those gray eyes grew steely. “And if you are not inclined towards doing so, please be aware that future efforts to spy upon my people will be combated to the extent of my abilities. I am offering my friendship, but if you prefer enmity then I will meet you in kind.”

The recording cut out.

“She is impressive, quiaff?” Natasha had an impish look in her eyes.

“Aff. If she was of Bloodhouse Steiner, I would want her as a bondsman,” Kerlin concluded. “Clan Wolf would profit greatly if we had such a leader. But she is not one of those Steiners, she is heir to one of those that betrayed the Great Father and shattered the Star League. There might be a handful of Khans on the Grand Council who could look past that. A star’s worth, perhaps. No more.”

“That is my own thinking,” Jaime admitted. “I did include this in the report but I was careful to mention it only in one paragraph. Easily removed if you see fit.”

“I do.” Kerlin ejected the data disc and snapped it decisively. “It speaks well of the Successor Lords that they can still produce a leader who can send such a message, but the time has not come for open communication with any of the Successor States.”

Jaime nodded in understanding. “Alright. So we keep to the plan and take service with House Kurita. After we’ve finished our circle of the Inner Sphere, I’m guessing you don’t want us to come back. We’ve hundreds of recruits from the Inner Sphere.”

Kerlin sat back and looked Jaime in the eyes for a long moment. “I have new orders for you.”

Natasha stretched. “What next? Invade Terra? ComStar’s security is a joke.”

“No. I want you to prepare the Inner Sphere for invasion.”

The redhead sat up straight, causing Jaime’s adrenaline to spike. “You what? When did you go Crusader?”

Kerlin gave her a puzzled look and then shook his head. “Not prepare them to fall, Natasha. Prepare them to resist an invasion. I think your mission has bought us time for the issue to fall out of active consideration but sooner or later someone will bring it up again. And we have to win every vote, while the Crusaders only need to win once.”

“...you realize this is treason, quiaff?”

“Technically, you have not been ordered not to help the Inner Sphere recover from the damage they have done to themselves. Otherwise your previous evaluations for their new ‘mechs and aerospace fighters would be suspect, not to mention training up Lyran troops. Just continue doing that and do not plan on any further resupply.”

Jaime frowned in thought. “But we are under orders not to tell anyone about the Clans.”

“Yes. So long as the Clans do not make open contact, that order would remain valid. I will leave it up to you how you deal with that.” Kerlin looked tired. “Jaime, Natasha… I probably will not be Khan for another five years. I have groomed a successor, but you know that such things depend as much on luck as skill. I cannot be sure that your next report will be edited sufficiently to avoid giving the Crusaders a cause. So there must be no report.”

“We’re on our own,” Jaime concluded.

“I entrust the Inner Sphere - the Star League, such as it is - to you.” Kerlin smiled wearily. “It is in good hands, quiaff?”

Fortress Dieron, Dieron
Federation of Skye, Lyran Commonwealth
5 July 3019

A thousand years on, Max thought. And people still endure cubicle farms. What a bizarre universe!

The official governor’s mansion was a painstaking reconstruction of a sixteenth century Japanese castle. Frederick had deemed it ridiculous and since Max couldn’t even pronounce the name, he’d supported relocating the Lyran administration to an office building in the city. The security detail had been happy too: they weren’t at all confident that there weren’t any secret passages that would let ISF assassins into the castle.

As a result, the only difference between the room used by the Lyran administrative staff and those used by commercial firms in the same city was that the number of people per cubicle was rather smaller.

Frederick, of course, had his own spacious office at the end of the room furthest from the windows and adjacent to such conveniences as the coffee machine and the conference rooms. “Is that the shipping schedule?” he asked as Max entered. “We’ve run our spare parts down lower than I like.”

Max tossed the folder he was carrying onto the desk. “No, it’s a report on human rights violations in the central business district.”

“What?”

“Apparently the normal density of people in an office like this is four times higher than what we’re operating on.”

“I had to get a special exemption for workers' conditions on grounds of security concerns before we could move in. I’m not mis-remembering that?” Frederick asked warily. “It wasn’t some dreadful bureaucratic nightmare?”

“It was certainly a nightmare but it also happened. And yet…”

“Four times as many? They must have air conditioning to rival a ‘mech cockpit!”

Max shook his head. “They don’t.” He took a seat facing Frederick. “I’m joking about human rights violation citations, fortunately. But there will probably be a note about what the locals consider normal working conditions coming in the near future because I’m not kidding about how they pack four people to a cubicle. The building admin asked me where the rest of your staff were.”

Frederick buried his face in his hands. “I did not join the LCAF to be buried in red tape about worker’s regs!”

“To be fair, land prices on Dieron are insane. Between the mountains and the necessary agricultural lands, there’s not that much left for everything else.”

“Tharkad’s ice fields and Duran’s deserts have about the same effect, it should not be this bad. And yes, yes. I know Dieron has more people than Duran - but it’s not as heavily populated as Tharkad!”

“Want me to get an analyst on that?”

The duke nodded. “Do it.” He opened the folder Max had brought. “Ah, Bowie and Coventry reports?”

“Looks like things are going well.”

“So instead of a bureaucrat, I get to play at being a business mogul. How long before I can get in my ‘mech again?”

“As the military governor, you can do that whenever you want,” Max told him, before ruthlessly adding: “But the paperwork will be here, waiting for you, piling up.”

“Oh god.”

“There’s a scheduled exercise at the weekend for your command company,” the older man admitted kindheartedly. He didn’t want Frederick to try taking a running jump out of the window at the far end of the outer office. The glass was rated against light military weapons, so the burly officer was unlikely to actually make a successful swan dive out into the twenty storey drop, but he might still hospitalize himself from the impact. “Something to look forward to.”

“Very much so.” Frederick spread out the reports. “Ah, the Bradfords are going ahead with Project Guillotine.”

Max nodded. “Doctor Banzai patched up a damaged Commando on Altair and sent data to Coventry. It seems to have sold them on completing the new Valkyrie production line to include full-head ejection, and they’ve authorized design work on amending the Commando to alter that as well if the Valkyrie works out.”

“Nothing about doing the same for their Phoenix Hawks?” Frederick rubbed the scar on his forehead.

Max remembered that it was ejecting from a Phoenix Hawk that caused the scar. “Not yet. They’re prioritizing the more fragile light ‘mechs for now.”

“It’s a step in the right direction.” Frederick brushed them aside. “And Bowie? They’re the new money-maker, since I haven’t managed to get shares in CMW.”

“Well, you have a few.”

“A few fractions of a percent.” The duke snorted dismissively. “But I guess with a firm that’s so well-established, not many people who own the shares will be willing to give them up. Anyway… oho! Swordsman prototypes are in testing. Now I wish I was doing that, not sitting behind a desk six days a week.”

Max picked up the Coventry papers and started sorting them back out to file in Frederick’s cabinet. “Without the desk work, there’s no new Valkyries on Coventry, no new Swordsmen… and the Dervishes we’re expecting wouldn’t be coming off the production lines on Furillo.”

There was a ping from Frederick’s desk and he reached over, stabbing the comm panel. “Yes?”

“General, you have an unscheduled visitor.”

Frederick rolled his eyes. “Who is it?” Max knew that as Dieron settled down, more and more of the locals had tried to create connections with the military governor. This wouldn’t be the first one to try to catch him in the office.

“General Green-Davion of the AFFS, sir.”

The general’s face brightened visibly. “I…” He glanced at Max, almost asking permission.

The older man leant over and spoke up so the microphone could hear him. “Send her up.”

Frederick stabbed the button to cut the channel. “What are you up to, Max?”

“Do you have some reason not to meet her?”

“No!” Hesitation. “I just… haven’t met her professionally.”

“I understand it’s awkward to let her know that you’re also a general, but I think she’ll cope with the shock,” Max told him drily. “Do you have any idea what she wants?”

“I doubt it’s to come dancing.”

“Although that could be arranged…” He trailed off teasingly.

“Probably not around here,” Frederick grumbled.

“There’s an Officer’s Club. Just say the word and I’ll set up a night of dancing.”

“Since when is it your job to manage my social life?”

Max smirked. “3007, wasn’t it? That’s when you hired me.”

“Max. Shut the hell up.”

He gave his employer a casual salute and picked up the papers from Bowie. “I’ll file this away and get out of your way. No need to be a third wheel.”

Exiting into the outer office once he’d put the papers away, Max saw the elevator doors open, admitting the golden head and dark green uniform of Nelitha Green-Davion. Her expression brightened noticeably when she recognised him, but he was pretty sure that it wasn’t for his sake.

Well, there was no need for him to try to avoid her. “Welcome to Dieron. General Steiner is waiting for you.”

“It’s a pleasure to see you again, Max,” Nelitha told him, but there was a spring in her step as she headed for the office and Max had to make a point of not watching her walk away. A couple of the staff were not so scrupulous and he glared at them, feeling like a hypocrite.

His own desk wasn’t far away and Max opened up his terminal to filter through invitations. And possibly to discreetly notify the Officer’s Club that an event with ballroom dancing would be appropriate to schedule in the next week.

A ping on his own console alerted him to an incoming call, although not from Frederick’s desk - so alas it would not be instructions to find an excuse for the two generals to socialize.

“Mustermann,” he confirmed after accepting the call, which seemed to be from Fortress Dieron’s command center.

“Baron, we need to get the General on the comms and he’s put his comm on divert.”

…Frederick never set his comm to divert. Or at least, not in Max’s experience. Maybe it was a mistake, or maybe the conversation was getting too personal. Hope sprang eternal.

“What’s up?” he asked, hoping it would turn out to be something he could field himself, or defer until later.

Fifteen seconds later, to the astonishment of everyone in the office, Max dashed over to Frederick’s door and kicked it wide open. (If it had been locked, that would have probably broken several of his toes).

“What the hell?” Frederick exclaimed. He was fully dressed, fortunately or unfortunately, but he and Nelitha were sitting side-by-side and going through one of the case files listing available data from New Dallas. It looked like the Taurian directory, from the bulls head at the top of the page.

“Astrotraffic report almost a hundred jumpships arriving at the Zenith Point,” Max told them grimly. “Nothing that’s scheduled so the best guess is Takashi wants his castle back.”

Fortress Dieron, Dieron
Federation of Skye, Lyran Commonwealth
17 July 3019

Frederick Steiner braced one foot of his Zeus and slammed the other into the head of the Panther running up the ramp that the Lyran was covering.

It was a savage move, but the repairs to Fortress Dieron had only just begun. Barely a dozen of the hundreds of turrets that should have been adding their fire to the defense were ready for use. The light ‘mech went down like a sack of potatoes, the head module torn half-way off the shoulders. It was possible the mechwarrior inside was alive but Frederick wouldn’t bet on it. And even if the samurai had survived, he’d not be doing anything with the ‘mech until it was repaired.

A hail of fire came up the ramp but stood to the side of it, the Zeus was a hard target to hit.

Frederick stuck his autocannon over and fired down at the ‘mechs below. Only for demonstration purposes, because he’d been dealing with insurgents and the weapon was loaded with anti-infantry flechettes that wouldn’t do much against ‘mech armor.

“‘A general should not be on the frontlines’,” he muttered, quoting Max. “Well, if we weren’t spread so thin...” He wasn’t even sure where his secretary was right now.

The Combine landings had coincided - not that it would be in any way coincidental - with ISF cells going live and leading uprisings in every city on Dieron. None of them had stood a chance against frontline forces, but that wasn’t the point. Frederick had needed to divert resources to rescue administrators and collaborators, which killed any plans to try intercepting the initial DCMS landing zones. And then commando raids had been launched on military bases, sometimes from inside the perimeter.

At least the chances were good that the ISF elements on Dieron had mostly shot their bolt, he thought.

“This is Sledgehammer Actual. I’ve encountered DCMS elements at Ramp Seven-Zero-One.” He paused and checked the unit markings, which were DCMS standard not the stylized paw of Brion’s Legion. “Looks like the Head-takers.” The Twenty-Fourth Dieron Regulars’ official nickname translated as ‘Collectors of Heads’ or ‘Head-takers’.

“Confirmed, Sledgehammer Actual.” Tim Hickson, now Colonel of the Seventh Regulars, sounded calm. “We’re tangling with both their battalions, but the Regulars have punched past the front line.”

The ramp wasn’t inside Fortress Dieron itself, it was part of the outer works - an access route up one of the two hundred meter barriers that made the stronghold so formidable from this direction. Two of Frederick’s lance-mates caught up at last - Laws’ Battlemaster and Robins’ Banshee. They’d arrived just in time. A pair of Jenners fired their jump jets to get up to Frederick’s position without using the ramp.

The two Lyran mechs opened up on the leftmost Jenner, slapping it with two PPCs and ripping off one arm and one leg. The Jenner crashed into the ground.

Meanwhile, Frederick turned to track the rightmost Jenner and fired the Zeus’ lasers into the dead center of the target, carving away plates of armor but not quite penetrating.

Then he turned and took its return fire against the left arm of his Zeus, while he kicked the other Jenner down the ramp.

Robins was now in range with his own lasers and the remaining Jenner was the lucky recipient before it could start running and become a harder target. Six medium lasers ripped multiple holes in the light ‘mech’s protection and a follow-up salvo of SRMs exploited those openings.

The Jenner exploded as its own missile storage was struck. The mechwarrior was hurled skywards by his ejection seat and an instant later, Frederick was rocked against his restraints by the blast.

Laws moved up to the ramp and fired his PPC down into the fallen Jenner. “It’s not going anywhere,” he reported, stepping back to avoid return fire from further down.

“Nor are we,” Frederick muttered. “Screwdriver, this is Sledgehammer Actual, I have a target for artillery.”

“Sledgehammer Actual, this is Screwdriver.” The artillery commander sounded apologetic. “I’m sorry sir, we’ve had to pull the guns back under cover - the Regulars have reached our firing positions.”

Frederick drew his teeth back, but before he could say anything more, another voice cut in.

“Sledgehammer Actual, this is Dancer.” Nelitha sounded cool and confident, like a drink of fresh water. “Task Force Castellan is deploying. If you can hold five minutes, you can have priority for their first firing mission.”

“That’s welcome news, Dancer. I appreciate the assistance.”

“Shuffling resources is what I do, Sledgehammer.” There was a click as she left the channel.

“Quite the lady,” Laws said lightly.

Frederick glared at the skull-headed Banshee. “Focus on the ramp,” he snapped, not entirely sure why a compliment for his friend was so irritating. “We still need those five minutes.”

Outnumbered three to one, the Lyran forces had concentrated on holding the Sükhbaatar Valley. With the two mountain ranges shielding it, they could control the entrances and use their interior lines of communication to buy time. The moment news of the invasion was sent, reinforcements had been scrambled to help hold onto Dieron. Task Force Castellan was only one of four different forces that had arrived via one of the proximity points formed by Dieron’s moons.

A half-dozen jumpships would be stuck waiting for the transient points to be usable to depart, something that might take longer than charging their drives, but they’d arrived within twenty-four hours of the first DCMS landing and their dropships were coming down right as the main forces began to pincer Sükhbaatar Valley.

Right now Pete Steiner and the Fourth Royal Guards were holding San Martin against the Twenty-Seventh Dieron Regulars, and reports were that the other Dieron Regulars unit was deploying ‘mechs refitted with SLDF grade weapons - Jenners with pulse lasers, Dragons with ultra autocannon and Panthers with extended range PPCs.

I need to ask Max where they found that, he thought. Hell, I hope he’s okay.

The northern mountains were also under pressure but rather than scatter his ‘mech forces further, Frederick had assigned the passes to armored brigades. It made him nervous but so far they only reported encountering probing attacks from the Ninth Sun Zhang Cadre. Even so, he’d prioritized them for the fresh troops.

Win in the north, he thought. Crush the cadets, wheel and take the Twenty-Seventh in the flank. That’ll leave me two or three regiments free to pincer the Twenty-Fourth and Brion’s Legion. It would be nice if the DCMS would cooperate and make this easy for me.

They wouldn’t though. Aggressive as they were, the Combine wouldn’t press attacks on fortified positions if they weren’t winning. They’ll pull back, secure the rest of the planet and force me to come after them - right before they throw their reserves in. They’ve got a couple more regiments I haven’t seen yet - I’d have thought the north would see more than just a Cadet Cadre.

“Where’s Sledgehammer Three?” he asked Robins.

“Her Archer’s leg is toast and she shot her missiles dry,” the mechwarrior reported. “The techs don’t have the knee actuators they’d need and it’d take hours to fit if they did, so she’s limping back to reload and find somewhere she can give fire support from.”

A heavy ‘mech reduced to a turret, Frederick thought. Archer actuators shouldn’t be that hard to come by but getting the forces that had taken Dieron repaired had run down stocks of parts. Some were sufficient, others not so much. “Task Force Liberty is bringing parts from Addicks,” he answered. “Prince Davion’s appreciation for our taking Dieron.”

More accurately Nelitha’s generosity. Hanse Davion had apparently authorized her to offer anything at his command in apology for revealing the Lyran’s technological advantage and when she learned how short the Dieron garrison was of parts, she’d sent an HPG to the AFFS depot three jumps away. Task Force Liberty was the result: two Mammoth-class freighters with an aerospace carrier to escort them, carrying a wishlist of supplies. Tens of thousands of tons of vitally needed parts and consumables.

“Sledgehammer Actual,” a voice cut onto his channel. A Skye accent, not quite suppressed by an attempt at crisp Tharkadian English. “This is Castellan Actual. I’m informed you need fire support.”

Frederick checked his exact grid location. “I do.” He gave his best estimate of the location of the DCMS forces massing up to rush the ramp. “How soon can you hit them?”

“Our embarked guns are still setting up,” the man responded, “But my dropships’ guns are loaded and ready now. We’ll be hitting your targets in sixty seconds or my name isn’t Quentin Alexander McPherson.”

“That would be appreciated, Commodore McPherson.”

Task Force Castellan was made up of the Elvidner: six Fortress-class dropships that not only carried two battalions of heavy artillery and their escort, but also mounted a heavy gun on the nose of each dropship.

“Expect inbound friendly artillery,” he warned his lance and the other two assault ‘mechs immediately moved for cover. Artillery might be friendly or unfriendly but it always had the right of way.

Frederick switched to the intel channel. “This is Sledgehammer Actual. Do we have any update on the other Drac regiments?”

“We’ve confirmed their dropships came down on Voltenna, sir.” The woman on that desk was steady, another good pick. Voltenna was Dieron’s much smaller second continent, roughly centrally placed in the planet’s southern ocean. “Based on dropships seen during the evacuation of Dieron last year, there’s a high probability that we’re looking at the Fifth Sword of Light and the Third Dieron Regulars.”

“I see. Have there been any problems landing our reinforcements?”

“No sir. Task Force Revenant and Task Force Ruthless have both landed in the Khüiten mountains. They’re expected to be engaging the Twelfth Sun Zhang Cadet Cadre within the next hour.

“Thank you.” Frederick cut the channel as he heard the whistle of incoming shells, and moved to cover the top of the ramp in case someone tried to rush the ramp to get away from the bombardment.

Voltenna. Tsk. Dislodging the DCMS from there will be a problem, he thought. So they have a stronghold, we have a stronghold and the rest of Mateo will be the battlefield we fight over. And numbers favor them, even with the Tenth and Eleventh Lyran Guards up north now.

Explosions rocked the mountainous terrain of the fortress and Frederick put the larger picture aside, focusing on the now.

Chapter Text

Chapter 8

Mount Asgard, Tharkad
Protectorate of Donegal, Lyran Commonwealth
24 July 3019

The interior of Mount Asgard was cool and the various command centers were dimly lit, to make the display screens more visible. Every theater along the border had their own dedicated command center and staff, to allow the Margraves commanding them to deliver orders while on Tharkad or so the Archon and the High Command could coordinate with them when they were on their command worlds.

Katrina’s own preferred position was on a level half a kilometer below these chambers, further removed from generals who held their ranks by courtesy alone and where she could focus her attention on whatever corner of the Lyran Commonwealth needed them the most.

Right now the first of the chamber’s three large screens displayed the Terran corridor, centered upon New Earth but including Dieron and sections of all five Successor States. The next showed the full globe of Dieron, rolling slowly to show the full surface over the course of sixty seconds. And finally, the third showed the entire border with the Draconis Combine, with orange markers for activity. There was more than Katrina was comfortable with, not that that was anything new.

“We just got an update from the fighting on Port Moseby.” Edward Regis indicated one world near the mid-point on the last display. “The good news is that Gamma Regiment of the Wolf’s Dragoons should be there in three more days, but the bad news is that the Eighth Commonwealth Jaegers’ raiding campaign didn’t have quite the end we were hoping.”

“Don’t soft-soap me, Ed. How bad is it?”

“They hit their objectives, which has bought the time we need there, but the Legion of Vega caught them on the last one and barely a company made it out. Kommandant Bryan was not among the survivors.”

“Damn. Was he at fault or are we looking at a posthumous award?”

The General of Armies rubbed his chin. “The trouble with these operations is that even if you do get everything right, you can still get unlucky. If he slipped a little at the end, he still did what needed to be done.”

Katrina slumped into her chair. “Get the paperwork in motion and figure out who’ll collect it.”

“His daughter’s at the Nagelring.”

“Fine.” She took a deep breath. “Are the Jaegers going to be salvageable?”

“Probably not, at least as far as the Eighth is concerned.” Regis looked regretful. “Two leutnants got back, but there’s not enough of a cadre to rebuild it right now. I suggest folding the battalion back into the Third.”

The initial five Jaeger battalions had been successful enough that Katrina had built them up to four companies each, then split them in half and added more recruits to field ten battalions. She was uneasily aware now that this might have not given the units enough time to season, but Takashi was turning Frederick’s strategy back on her: multiple raids and reconnaissance-in-force operations, fixing her reserves to avoid losing worlds elsewhere and thereby depriving Dieron.

“I meant the Eighth,” she agreed. “But the concept as a whole?”

“I consider it proven.” Regis folded his arms behind his back. “More seasoning time for them to absorb their new mechwarriors would have been preferable, but we don’t have the luxury of holding combat units back right now and the other nine have done well.”

“Frederick will be smug.”

“That is your particular burden, Archon. I think that as prices go it’s not a steep one.”

“I’ll make you deal with him next time he’s on Tharkad.”

Regis tilted his head in acknowledgement of the hit and then looked at the central screen. “I think I can bear that, your majesty. It would mean he’s made it back, after all.”

Katrina’s gaze followed the general’s to Dieron’s globe, where days old data mapped the movements of almost a dozen regiments of ‘mechs and three times that in other troops. Flares of light marked where the lines of advance clashed and so far every victory seemed to have a matching defeat for Frederick’s forces. Nothing had yet been decisive either way, but the numbers did not favor him.

“So far Marcus Kurita has refrained from committing the Sword of Light against Frederick’s units,” Edward continued. “He’s using it mostly to sweep up soft victories against cities that are far from our center of mass on the planet, but we know it’s where they have the bulk of lostech. Entire SLDF ‘Mechs, while the Dieron Regulars are using existing wargear with SLDF weapons installed in place of their own.”

“His counterpart to the Fourth Royals.”

“He may be waiting for the Fourth to leave the Sükhbaatar valley. The Dieron Regulars might not be as well equipped, but their lostech is giving them an edge against the Lyran Guards and Lyran Regulars.”

“Victory usually goes to the side that commits its reserves last.” Katrina didn’t address the key point: her orders that Frederick was only to commit the Fourth in defense of Sükhbaatar. If the revived Royal Guards regiment got cut off then it might be annihilated and the political backlash would be insane. She’d rather lose Dieron than see that happen - and with the Royal Guards holding the defensive advantage in the mountains around Frederick’s stronghold, they were filling a vital role.

Regis shrugged. “It also usually goes to the side that takes the initiative.”

“What can we scrape up to reinforce him? Takashi can’t have much left with his current pace of operations. He’s even sent one of the Pesht Regular regiments to Rasalhague.” Pesht District’s only external border faced the periphery and the district’s regiments were usually understrength and undersupplied. Even so, piracy was a constant threat so moving them to face the Suns or the Commonwealth was a rare move for the DCMS.

“The Wolf’s Dragoons are already committed with four regiments responding to hot-spots and we can’t really move Alpha Regiment away from their base on Mizar.”

“It’s a fine thing for Takashi that Jaime Wolf is incommunicado right now.” She shook her head. “And Simon tells me that Kurita’s made him an offer for when our current contract ends.”

“That’s sadly predictable.” Regis steepled his fingers. “You’ve met Colonel Wolf, do you think he’ll break with their usual custom and take another contract with the Commonwealth?”

“As much as I’d like to say otherwise, the best we can probably hope for is their usual requirement of not being committed against their previous employer.”

“Which means Hanse Davion gets the pleasure of facing the Dragoons.”

“Yes. He’s made his own offer too - honestly, I’d be just as happy if Wolf took that offer, but I think he’s for some reason looking to surpass the record of McCarron.” McCarron’s Armored Cavalry had fought for every one of the Great Houses, and against four of them.

Regis looked up at the border display. “Short of turning Team Banzai around and sending them back from Duran…”

“Unacceptable. Duran A&M got a target painted on it by Davion’s admission. I want the garrison on Duran back up to strength.” She wasn’t going to repeat the mistake that her uncle had in 3005.

“And Selwin Kelswa will raise hell if we pull anything from Tamar’s theaters, justifiably.” The general made a face. “That leaves the Marik border and we’re already seeing some opportunistic probing from that direction. I think we might be able to get away with reassigning the Second and Seventh Jaeger battalions from there. With the right routing, we can get their dropships to Dieron along with a supply run for Frederick. Infantry and armor are feasible, but that will be even more demanding of shipping.”

Katrina looked at the deployments and reluctantly concluded that Regis was right. She wasn’t surprised - she’d not selected him at random to head the LCAF - but there was always some hope. “Why does it always feel as if we’re running as hard as we can to stay where we are, Ed?”

“That’s not an unreasonable summation of the Succession Wars, Kat,” he told her, matching her informality. “Shall I cut the orders?”

“Do it. And send Frederick whatever conventional regiments you can pry out of Skye’s garrisons. I’ll drop cash for militia regiments to stand up to full readiness to take their place. Besides that, have our hiring agents on Galatea up their offers - I want every merc unit we can pick up out on the border. That might take up enough slack that we can free up another ‘mech regiment.”

“I’ll try, but I don’t expect any large units will be soliciting contracts before the Dragoons move on next year.”

“I know, but enough small units spread out could have a similar effect.” Katrina tugged on the braid that she’d put her hair into this morning. “I’ll see if I can wring another favor out of Hanse Davion. Ardan Sortek hasn’t been called home yet, so I don’t think we’ve worn out our credit with the First Prince yet.”

“Is that a debt we want to call in in full?”

She paused in consideration. “I doubt he’d end the alliance, but it would be possible to go too far. But at the same time, we can’t be taken advantage of. It’s a balancing act. If he’s willing to grant what I have in mind then I think I’ll call it even and let him know that the debt is paid. Michael Hasek-Davion might not be the problem for us that he is for Hanse, but I still know which I trust more on the throne of the Federated Suns.”

Katrina checked the clock and then picked up her comm. “Jared, call Colonel Sortek and invite him to dine with myself and Melissa this evening. I’m aware it’s short notice.”

Regis arched an eyebrow as the Archon put the comm down. “You usually keep courtiers away from your daughter.”

“Ardan Sortek isn’t a courtier, he’s too sincere - besides, she likes him.”

“Ah, that’s dangerous at that age. She’s old enough for a first crush.”

She gave the general a suspicious look. “She’s nine and he’s twenty-six.”

“I’m not saying that it’s a realistic crush, or that he’d do anything remotely inappropriate. But for that very reason she may cry herself to sleep over the chivalrous mechwarrior she’ll never have.”

“...I pity any woman you marry,” Katrina told him sincerely and headed for the monorail that would take her back to the Triad. Regis had to be joking with her. Melissa was just a little girl. He had to be joking… right?

Atacama Desert, Dieron
Federation of Skye, Lyran Commonwealth
31 July 3019

Deber City was blazing on Frederick’s tactical display, and some of those fires were literal.

Others were tactical markers, crimson icon showing the fiery sword that meant Marcus Kurita had finally committed his prize regiment.

“Iznakki space port is in their hands,” Max reported. His Orion had been folded into the command lance - the rest of Frederick's company were out of action or had been assigned to fill slots in the other combatant regiments. “They managed to take it without any reports reaching us and then smashed right through the link between the Tenth and Eleventh Guards to reach the city and its bridges.”

Frederick thumped a secondary monitor with his fist, careful that it was one that had ceased to function anyway. The impact on plastic and metal stung his knuckles. The other man didn’t need to elaborate what that meant. Deber City lay on the Khoomei River - one of the major waterways crossing the Atacama Desert, a sizable section of Mateo’s coast. Without the bridges, the two Lyran Guards regiments couldn’t reinforce each other and Marcus could focus the Dieron Regulars on one side or the other of the river to beat back whichever half of the Lyran force that he chose.

“Can we coordinate an attack from both flanks?” he asked and then shook his head, knowing the answer. “No, let me guess - we’re jammed.”

“They got the hardlines as well,” Max added. “By the time we get a reliable commline set up…”

“No time.” Frederick turned his Zeus west. “Signal the Eleventh to withdraw east to Quintero. We’ve lost this battle, we need to preserve our forces. We’ll go west to Ulaagom.” It meant dividing their forces, but the important thing was to break contact.

The word went out, and the orders were succinct enough that a daring aerospace fighter pilot was able to act as a laser-com relay to get news across the river to the Eleventh Lyran Guards. It cost the man though, and a pair of Saber interceptors were chasing his Seydlitz north when the pilot dropped out of contact - hopefully due to the jamming rather than being shot down.

Turning his back on Deber City, Frederick wheeled west and marched with the Tenth Lyran Guards as fast as he could. It was ironic, he thought. Katrina offered me the Tenth once. I turned them down, but now here I am fighting with them.

The forced march was tied to the slowest units - the two dozen or so assault ‘mechs among the Guards. While Frederick’s Zeus and the rest of his lance could have reached sixty four kilometers an hour - even Max’s Orion was able to almost reach that - there were Stalkers and Atlases in the ranks that were more sluggish. But their value was too great to leave them behind.

Thus, lances of Griffins, Commandos and other ‘mechs had to fight a rear-guard, forcing the pursuit to slow and fight, then racing to catch up once the heavier ‘mechs were far enough ahead. It was fortunate that the rolling desert hills weren’t doing too much to slow the supporting two armor regiments or the mechanized infantry.

It was all frustratingly distant, so Frederick was glad to hear the chime from his comm panel as soon as they reached the next hardpoint in the planetary comms network that hadn’t been compromised. Whatever the topic of conversation was, it had to be better than his own thoughts.

“Sledgehammer Actual, this is Ragamuffin Actual,” Pete greeted him.

“I read you, Ragamuffin Actual.”

“I don’t know if you’ve got the latest intel,” the other general told him, “But it looks like the Snakes split up to chase you. You’ve got the Fifth Sword of Light behind you, while the Third Dieron Regulars are going after the Eleventh.”

“More or less what I’d figured.”

Brion’s Legion had been basically smashed between the two Lyran Guards regiments outside Deber City - some survivors had escaped, but the regiment was functionally out of play - possibly for good. Unfortunately, in retaking the city, the DCMS had probably captured the salvageable ‘mechs so they could either give them back to the mercs or -  more likely - use them to rebuild the Twelfth Sun Zhang Cadre. That had taken enough losses from combat and transfers to keep the Dieron Regulars up to strength that it had been pulled back to guard the DCMS bases on Voltenna.

Which was likely why Marcus Kurita now felt free to deploy his reserves. Well, that and the chance to smash the Lyran Guards while they were isolated from the Seventh Lyran Regulars, who were keeping the Twenty-Seventh Dieron Regulars busy in the south, or the Second and Seventh Commonwealth Jaegers, who’d drawn the Twenty-Fourth Dieron Regulars far enough north that Frederick could pounce on Brion’s Legion.

“I can have the Fourth on dropships in an hour and dropping to support you in ninety minutes total,” Pete continued. “We’re the only force you have that can match them for lostech. You know it makes sense.”

“You know I can’t do that. We don’t have any other ‘mechs free to cover the Sükhbaatar valley. Tanks and infantry can hold the passes, but if they hit the coast then we’ll be besieged in the forts.”

“They only have the Sun Zhang Cadre spare. They’ve got fighting spirit but not much else - besides, they’re down to barely two battalions. The reserves can hold them a day or two - long enough to win.”

“Pete, don’t push me.”

There was a pause and for a moment he thought that he’d convinced the other man to give up on it. Then: “If you don’t bring us out now, when will you? Right now we’re not even a threat, and once Marcus Kurita knows you won’t deploy us outside the valley we’re not even useful as a deterrent.”

“I know that, but you have your orders.”

“Your orders, or the Archon’s?”

Dammit. How secure was this commline? Codes could be broken, and landlines could be tapped into. “Pete…”

“Rumor has it that Katrina doesn’t want to risk my regiment,” Pete continued. “But if we can’t be risked then what’s even the point of us?”

“You’re holding the critical bases for us,” Frederick told him. “I know you want to fight, but without you holding them I couldn’t have risked bringing the Lyran Guards all this way -” Deber City was practically on the opposite side of the planet from San Martin. “- to take out Brion’s Legion.”

Unfortunately, with the gains there cut off, and two fresh regiments taking the field, the numbers were still about even and the Combine had two regiments of lostech ‘mechs compared to one on the Lyran side.

“You can’t keep the same fifth of your force in reserve when the Dracs are rotating theirs,” the other general warned. “If not now, let us loose soon. You can’t claim you’re holding us back to counter the Sword of Light if they’re being used and we aren’t.”

Except you’re right that Katrina’s given me orders not to do that. And the hell is, I can’t say she’s really wrong. Losing the Fourth when they were only reformed last year would be a huge embarrassment.

“I’ll put you in the field when I have the right opening and the right plan,” he promised. “Let it be, Pete.”

He cut the channel and received another call a moment later. “Sledgehammer Actual.”

“Seven,” Max’s voice replied. “I’m guessing Ragamuffin gave you the overview before begging to be deployed.”

“He did.” Frederick paused. “He’s that predictable?”

“He’s a Steiner. I’ve met Lyran commanders who weren’t aggressive, but not one yet from House Steiner.”

Despite himself, despite the situation, Frederick grinned. “Well, I hate to say it, we aren’t going aggressive. The Sword of Light have faster ‘mechs than we have here, they could keep us at range and pick us apart.”

Intelligence sources on Voltenna had made it clear that the Third Dieron Regulars had been rebuilt with the slower lostech machines, while the Fifth Sword of Light was the hammer to that anvil, including not a single ‘mech slower than a Dragon. It was going to make breaking contact with them a nightmare.

“Marcus picked a good moment to put his reserve in the field,” the older man agreed. “But unless he knows that the Fourth aren’t available, he’s gambling that you won’t bring them in and bracket his best troops between three crack regiments.”

“He could have guessed. He’s not a fool…”

Then Max said what Frederick was already thinking: “Or he knows something we don’t yet.”

“Max, I need to talk to Nelitha. If there are reinforcements inbound, for either side, that could change everything!”

Atacama Desert, Dieron
Federation of Skye, Lyran Commonwealth
1 August 3019

The Sword of Light had scouts out, so they couldn’t really be surprised to find the Tenth Lyran Guards lined up facing them, ten kilometers from the township that had been the rallying point for their attack on Deber City. Less than three days had passed, but Max would have had to look the place’s name up - if he cared to. It was another desert town on the road, any originality stamped out of it long since by the precarious economics of its location and the demands of conformity made by House Kurita.

But here they stood, a hundred Lyran Guards mechs (and Frederick’s command lance), flanked on both sides by armored battalions. The infantry had continued into the town - this wasn’t a fight they were suited for.

“Marcus Kurita!” Frederick’s voice boomed from the speakers on his Zeus as the red-painted ‘mechs marched towards the blue and white Lyran ‘mechs that must have been silhouettes against the setting sun. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Kintaros. Crabs. Mongooses, Falcons and Hussars. Sentinels and Bombardiers. Lancelots and Flashmen. It was a cavalcade of anachronisms. Max could see some familiar designs among them, but almost eighty percent of the ‘mechs were designs that had been lost in the Succession Wars. Oh, occasionally there would be a trickle of production from one factory or another, but even there the ‘mechs would be patched together improvisations for technology no longer available.

Not these fresh, intact and functional ‘mechs.

One hundred and forty-nine ‘mechs, Max counted. The Fifth Sword of Light was at full strength - four battalions and a command quintet for Warlord Marcus Kurita, who stalked forwards in a crimson Excalibur. Hopefully the base model, not the Royal model that fixed some of its more glaring issues. It was hard to tell - certainly the battle computer of Max’s faithful old Orion wasn’t up to detecting the differences.

“Frederick Steiner, I presume.” The Kurita’s English was precise and accentless, no doubt learned as a boy and rigorously maintained for the handling of foreigners and dissidents who did not accept the ‘perfection’ of Japanese. “I had doubted your presence until now. Your reputation is not one of abject cowardice, and seeing this force in retreat I had thought that you were elsewhere.”

“Retreating?” The duke’s voice dripped scorn. “I was merely advancing to the most suitable battlefield. As the governor of Dieron, I must be hospitable to foreign guests.”

Keep him talking, Max thought. Let the desert cool - the colder it is, the better for us. We don’t have the freezers in our ‘mechs that the Sword of Light have. Not even Frederick’s Zeus had them - he’d refused to be out of action long enough for the ‘mech to be refitted with them.

“You are mistaken, General Steiner.” Marcus Kurita spoke smoothly and courteously as the DCMS ‘mechs fanned out to cover the same frontage as the Lyran Guards. “Dieron is the capital of my district and thus it is I who am the host. You are my guest.”

“Impossible: the guest comes to the host and you’ve come to me.”

“I have merely come to meet you.” Was that a hint of irritation? “Or would you rather say that I have come out to locate and deal with an intruder? Ah, I do not mean to treat a distinguished Lyran soldier like a bandit who has stolen over the wall in the middle of the night.”

“I do not dispute your expertise in the subject of banditry,” Frederick replied. “There is nothing dishonorable in battling pirates, and had I been assigned to the periphery I would have pursued that mission with vigor. It is merely that all of my assigned duties have been to wage war against other Great Houses.”

It was hard to say if Kurita was slighted or not. “As warlord of Rasalhague, I have taken worlds from the Lyran Commonwealth. I look forward to doing so as warlord of Dieron.”

“I assumed so, since you have come here to try to take Dieron from the Commonwealth. I must tell you though, I have yet to lose a planet to House Kurita.”

“Then this will be the first.” The Excalibur spread its arms, much as the man inside might have.

Frederick chuckled. “So you acknowledge that this is a Lyran world now, and that you are the guest.”

“...enough of these pleasantries. You say you choose this as your battlefield? Very well, I will grant you the dignity of letting you choose your place to die.” And yet, there was a note of uncertainty to Marcus Kurita’s words.

The desert was hilly here, but the hills were low - it was rare for them to be taller than a ‘mech’s height. Nor were there iron deposits to confuse magnetic sensors and as the evening chilled, infrared would pick out a combustion engine or a fusion reactor. In short, it would be incredibly difficult to hide forces here. Without satellites to pick up and relay laser-coms, only short-range radio communication was possible due to the jamming carried out by both forces, whereas closer to the town the Lyrans might be able to use the landlines there to coordinate with more distant forces.

Yet here was Frederick offering battle when he was outnumbered almost three-to-two. The warlord must be wondering if it was a trick.

No, it was definitely a trick. But what was its nature?

Frederick moved his Zeus forwards. “You spoke earlier of cowardice, General Kurita.” Another slight, that wasn’t a fair translation of Marcus’ rank. “Yet you have been waiting to join battle for weeks now, while I have been on the frontlines. I offer you the opportunity to allay the doubts of your warriors as to your courage.”

“There are no such doubts,” Kurita denied.

“Then you don’t fear to face me?”

“I have no fear of any of the Lyran Guards, even the famed Tenth regiment.”

“No.” Frederick tapped the club-like missile launcher of his Zeus against its chest. “I mean, in person.”

“...are you challenging me?”

“I am Frederick Steiner, son of Sophia Steiner, grandson of Giovanni Steiner. I am the Duke of Duran and through my veins flows the blood of Archons, of Lords of the Star League. I have won a dozen battles against House Kurita and House Marik and I have claimed seventeen battlemech kills.” Frederick’s boasting cut through the air. “I offer you, Marcus Kurita, the chance to be the eighteenth.”

The Excalibur stood stock still. “I regret that there is such advantage held by my forces that I cannot accept your offer of a proxy battle, Lord Steiner. You do me honor, but I have also my duty to my lord.”

“You mistake me, Kurita. I do not offer you any proxy. Each of my mechwarriors will face one of yours. Lyran Guardsman against Sword of Light samurai. No random melee, not blundering around looking for each other. These hills stretch for miles - to the sea of sands north of us, the ocean to the south. Plenty of room for us all to duel. A single, glorious and decisive battle. Do you dare?”

The challenge hung in the air.

“You have courage, Steiner.” Marcus managed to sound amused. “Very well. I, Marcus Kurita, Tai-Shu of Dieron military district and commander of the Fifth Sword of Light, accept your challenge. I, the son of Undell and grandson of Hugai, heir to the glorious legacy of House Kurita, shall meet you in single combat. Let each mechwarrior among your ranks seek one of my warriors who may be willing to face you. Though do not take this as license to demand that my samurai take blatantly unfair challenges.”

“I am sure you have brought enough samurai that my warriors can find suitable adversaries.”

That was more confidence than Max felt right now. With two elite regiments present he was almost assured to be the least able mechwarrior present. This was going to suck, but with numbers this heavily weighted against them, he didn’t feel that he could back off.

Marcus and Frederick stood facing each other, while other ‘mechs moved forwards to issue challenges. After the first few, it wasn’t just the Lyran Guards who sought out adversaries. There weren’t any assault ‘mechs visible in the ranks of the Sword of Light, but some of the samurai clearly felt emboldened by their advanced technology and willingly sought out assault ‘mechs to challenge.

With both of the other members of the command lance thus picked out, Max scanned the as yet uninvolved Combine ‘mechs and finally picked out a Champion as his opponent.

The heavy ‘mech was at the bottom of the heavy bracket, where an Orion was usually around fifteen tons heavier. His own cut-down Orion had only half that tonnage advantage. They had comparable autocannon and secondary armament though - he could hope that the Kuritan ‘mech’s speed would be offset by his armor.

Actually, more than off-set would be great. Hopefully this was an utter cretin who’d joined the Sword of Light due to family connections and a flawless disciplinary record rather than actual skill.

Not that that was at all likely, but he could hope.

Marching forwards, Max placed his Orion in front of the Champion and gestured towards it with one arm, in silent challenge.

“Ah, you do me honor.” The samurai’s english was closer to the slightly germanic accent found on Tharkad and other major worlds than Marcus Kurita’s star league standard. “I am Sho-sa Bernard Stolze of the Sword of Light. My family have the honor of ten generations of service to House Kurita, and I have earned distinction as a marksman.”

Shit. That last wasn’t a claim to especial accuracy - it meant at least five kills against enemy ‘mechs. The equivalent of ace for an aerospace pilot.

Max reluctantly flicked his own microphone. “Thank you Sho-sa.” He swallowed, realizing he was hesitating and continued: “I am Baron Max Mustermann… General Steiner’s secretary.”

“I am honored to face a Lyran nobleman in battle. I regret that despite knowing your name and title, I do not recall your deeds or records.”

He knows if I had any, I would have told him! “I am the first of my house, Sho-sa Stolze. And I claim no kills. I suppose that that will make you my first.” Max tipped the torso of his Orion forwards in an ironic bow. “Do take care of me.”

“...I will be pleased to educate you, Baron.”

It seemed to take almost no time at all for the mechwarriors to pair off and spread out. The Sword of Light ‘mechs not challenged backed up to the edge of weapons range, more than a battalion in number.

Max knew, vaguely, that there were other ‘mechs around him but all he could do was shift to stay roughly opposite Stolze’s Champion.

Just don’t die, he thought. Play it out, wear him down. If I have to eject, there should be enough fighting going on to escape and find my way to one of the tanks. At least the wind is coming from the east. That’ll blow me in the right direction.

There was no specific signal given to begin the duels. Or rather, it was started when Marcus Kurita’s gauss rifle discharged and Max had time to see the shot strike Frederick’s Zeus in the shoulder before all his attention was on trying to stay alive.

Stolze moved his Champion in like lightning, autocannon blazing. More by luck than skill, Max side-stepped and the shells streaked past his Orion - but his own shells also missed. Fortunately he’d managed to get a lock for his LRMs and some of them hit but they were only chipping away at the armor plating.

The faster ‘mech closed in, which was predictable. The Champion’s autocannon was the only long-range weapon it mounted, and it was just as effective up close. If it could get into optimal range for its lasers and short-range missiles then it would be too close for Max to use his LRMs.

Trying to keep his lock, Max backed up, keeping his thumb pressed down on the trigger for the twin LRM launchers - they cycled quickly, alternately lobbing small flights of LRMs at the Champion.

A second autocannon salvo marked the first damage he took - shells smashing into the Orion’s left leg and shaking him around. Max had waited for the shots to land, and fired back only once he was sure of his footing. With the target closer he was more fortunate - his shells ripped into one of the wing-like arms.

The good news was that the armor of the limb was heavily damaged by the shells, much more so than the hit he’d taken. But there was nothing critical in a Champion’s arms, Stolze could soak up damage with them and it wouldn’t impair his combat capability.

If Max had one leg of his own ‘mech crippled then he’d be a sitting duck.

Fortunately, his LRM stores were less than half-full anyway and as a pip next to his crosshairs lit up, signaling that the Champion was within extreme range of his lasers, the balding mechwarrior reached over to a side-console and lifted a cover, thumbing the button under it.

The last salvo of LRMs streaked forth, cratering the dorsal armor behind the Champion’s cockpit, but no replacement missiles fed into the weapons. Instead a panel on the back of the Orion opened and half a ton of LRMs cascaded out and onto the desert floor.

Max stepped sideways, letting the Orion cool for a moment and holding off on his autocannon. The move let him avoid a shot from the Champion’s own autocannon but his cockpit was lit briefly by the flare of inbound missile thrusters as a salvo of SRMs hit home.

He barely had time to look at his status indicators, but the other mechwarrior’s lasers must have also hit given how little protection was left on the left leg.

Max fired again, locking the autocannon and lasers into a single trigger. He had to bet in single concentrated impacts - hopefully doing enough damage to blast into the internals of the Champion. He succeeded in scoring a hit now but it was the Champion’s undamaged arm that took the impact  - reduced to little more than a stump, a sacrifice Stolze was no doubt entirely content with.

He was taking hits in return - the entire damage display flickered, reporting damage all across the Orion. Stolze must have switched to using his LB 10-X autocannon’s cluster rounds. Between that and the SRMs, his Orion was being hammered all across the front. It was less likely to cause deep penetrations, but the chances of exploiting existing damage was much higher.

Twisting, Max tried to protect the damaged left leg. It was a predictable move but he had few options.

The angling made it harder to bring his autocannon to bear, the Champion was on the edges of its arc of fire and Stolze was jinking around, threatening to move not only out of the arc but also to fire on his rear and hit the left leg from that angle.

Max didn’t think his autocannon struck home, he saw glowing armor plates marking where his lasers had struck and the energy-transfer had heated them.

Shots smashed back and forth - his damage display was amber and red for armor - the leg flared up again and the display showed that it was now functionally bare of protection. Max could feel the Orion growing sluggish as the heat build-up began to impact on the myomers.

The Champion was scarred but functional, still spitting fire. Its thermal signature was vivid against the chill of the desert night, but Stolze didn’t hesitate to keep firing furiously - now he was close enough that even if the ‘mech was slowed by overheating, it could match the Orion.

Reversing course, Max lunged in to try to exploit the Champion’s lack of any functional arms.

Stolze realized the danger though and turned, backpedaling just far enough to avoid the punch Max threw.

For a moment Max’s rear armor was taking hits but he managed to turn around. His autocannon hit home and for once he saw the Champion stumble. Was Stolze not entirely comfortable with the ungainly ‘mech? It was possible.

Then he felt a hammer-blow and heard a warning tone. At point blank range, Stolze had gone back to high explosive shells and the muzzle of the Orion’s autocannon had been the target.

Whether it was skill or luck didn’t matter. Max was down half his firepower.

At least now keeping the autocannon on target wasn’t a factor so he could twist and turn as much as he needed. But the Champion was still on him, always peppering him with missile and the autocannon, forcing him to guard where the armor was thinnest. Laser fire wasn’t in evidence, perhaps Stolze letting himself cool off.

I can’t drag this out much longer, Max realized grimly. He had barely any armor left.

Flipping the safety off the manual ejection control, he eyed the Champion and charged at it once more, lasers firing as he swung the arms up high.

Stolze dodged, not wanting to take a blow to his own armor - which might not survive a hit.

Max kicked out with the damaged leg, missing the Champion and overbalancing the Orion deliberately. Then he tucked his limbs in on himself and yanked the bar mounted in between his knees.

The canopy blew open and a moment later, a tremendous force - he knew intellectually it was a rocket - hurled him up and into the sky.

Max was screaming. He’d never done this before. Even practise on Duran had been on a hydraulic ram that only raised you a few meters, if just as fast.

But now he’d been lofted hundreds of meters up, high enough to see what seemed like the entire battlefield.

Most of the ‘mechs were still fighting. Well, he’d not thought he was among the best or even the average combatants in this battle.

There was another jerk as the parachute deployed, grasping the air as Max reached the apex of his brief flight. His shoulders complained as he reached up and grabbed the grips of the parasail type arrangement.

Steering the thing was another thing that he couldn’t have done, but the wind was carrying him away and that was all he could hope for. For a moment, Max saw the Champion standing over his poor abused Orion. Then he was turned around by the wind and caught what looked like Kurita’s Excalibur, still dueling Frederick.

The ground rushed up and Max bent his knees. It hit him before he was ready and he folded up, sprawling on his face. The parasail dragged him along the dirt and sand for a few meters. Then he managed to find the part of the grip that severed half the cords and let air escape from it.

The middle-aged man rolled onto his back, managed to detach himself from the parachute. It was tempting to simply lie on his back, but he knew the battle was still raging. It would be easy to get crushed underfoot.

Somehow he forced himself upright, forced the neurohelmet off, so he could at least see around himself and started staggering in what he hoped was the right direction.

The hills were far larger when you were on foot than they were in a ‘mech. And the night was much much darker. Despite the drastically different colors of each regiment, it was hard to see which was which.

Throwing himself into the shelter of a ditch, Max dug into the small survival kit attached to his belt and pulled out a compass barely the size of a coin. Establishing that he was moving in the right direction, he took a deep breath and crawled out of the ditch.

There was an explosion in the distance as a ‘mech’s ammunition detonated.

He saw a Zeus crumple, lifelessly. Max froze and stared at it until he saw that it had the canopy of a normal Zeus, not the distinctive wolfshead of Frederick’s with its full-head ejection system.

A Mongoose raced past, trying to get past a Commando, then tumbled and crushed a gnarled tree after one out of a salvo of SRMs cracked against its knee. The light ‘mech rose and kept fighting, but it was limping now and the Commando was unrelenting.

After what seemed like an eternity, Max stumbled up against a wall, which he understood only on second-look was the flank of a Goblin tank.

It took the man longer than he’d like to remember where the hatch was. By the time he reached the handholds to climb up on top, the tank commander had opened the cupola and was pointing a side-arm at him. “Affold!”

The challenge! What was the response…? “Abacus.”

“Zymase!”

“...Bezant?” He hoped it was bezant. He wasn’t sure anymore.

Fortunately he must have been right, because the sergeant lowered her pistol. “Who are you?”

“Sledgehammer Seven.” He swallowed. “I ejected.”

“Okay, go round the back, I’ll open the infantry hatch for you.”

Oh. Oh yes, the Goblin carried a squad of infantry normally. So much had happened that he hadn’t managed to keep that in mind.

The narrow hatch entered an equally cramped compartment but no one else was inside it and being within the armor of the tank felt much much safer than outside. Max sprawled on the bench and forced himself to take deep, calming breathes.

“Are you injured?” the sergeant asked. She was a woman, he couldn’t tell much about her looks under the coveralls and helmet.

“No. Just tired and scared.”

She laughed. “Not used to being out of your ‘mech?”

“I don’t even get shot at that much generally,” Max confessed. “What’s going on?”

“I’m not sure. Looks like most of the duels are winding down.” She sat opposite him. “Why are we even doing this? The Sword of Light have us outnumbered. Why stand here and not keep withdrawing? I know they’re faster than us, but we could have played it out until more forces gathered, fought them more evenly.”

Max laughed wearily. It hadn’t occurred to him that she wouldn’t know, he was probably too used to being near the top of the information chain.

“We needed them inside our jamming,” he told her. “We’re pinning the Sword of Light in place, and out of contact with the rest of their force.”

“I hope it’s worth losing half the Tenth Guards,” she told him grimly. “More than thirty of our ‘mechs are down… and if they just use their fresh ‘mechs then we’re in a lot of…”

“Sarge!” someone shouted from the turret.

The woman swore and squirmed forwards to reach her position in the turret. Max moved up so he could look into the turret as well, squinting at the holodisplays to get a distorted view of what was happening.

“Someone’s dropping right on us,” the sergeant confirmed. “I don’t see transponders…”

“Transponders would be picked up,” Max said in relief. “They’re coming in quiet.”

“But they should be visible! That much metal and heat…”

“Only if someone’s alert and looking. With a battle in front of them and cut off from the command vans and so forth… Well, they’re pretty sharp,” Max admitted. “But I guess we got lucky.”

“They’re going to have to light up to land though. I’d say… around now.”

Max couldn’t see a thing to reflect that, but a few moments later there was audible thumping as hundreds - perhaps thousands - of tons of metal hit the ground.

“What… what is this?” Marcus Kurita’s voice boomed out across the landscape.

It wasn’t Frederick Steiner’s voice that replied.

“Major Salome Ward Kell, Third Battalion Kell Hounds.” The major sounded amused. “I gather some of your force don’t have dance partners, warlord? Well, we can’t have that…”

“Not you, Kurita.” Now Frederick’s voice could be heard from outside the tank. “You’re mine!”

Any response from Takashi’s cousin was lost as weapons fire crashed out with renewed vigor.

Chapter Text

Chapter 9

Iscariot, Ashio
Dieron District, Draconis Combine
9 September 3019

Takashi Kurita’s eyes were heavily lidded as he looked down from the dais. Once again, General Koutri and General Toshirov stood before him… but the set of their shoulders betrayed that they knew the extent of their failures.

And - though it would never be spoken - of his own failures.

The Coordinator could never admit such weakness. He would be torn apart and the Combine would fall into civil war between the warlords. But in his heart, Takashi knew he would have to live with this as well. Who was that ancient queen who had said that when she died, the name of a fallen city would be on her heart? Well, Dieron would be his scar.

Ivan Sorenson stood to one side of the two generals. Solid, unimaginative, but also loyal. Very unlike Marcus. Perhaps he would do better.

“Generals,” Takashi said quietly. “You were not witnesses to my cousin’s… defeat?”

Toshirov shook his head sharply. “I had been drawn north, hunting some of the Commonwealth’s Jaegers.”

“Another of Frederick Steiner’s innovations. He is proving a most able foe.” The coordinator glanced at General Koutri.

“Steiner’s Seventh Lyran Regulars were contesting the Rock of Genghis,” the officer replied simply, referring to one of the lesser fortifications that dotted Dieron. That one controlled a major pass through the Spine of the Dragon mountains. “I heard too late.”

“Brion’s Legion, smashed by the Lyran Guards,” Takashi summarized. “My cousin’s counter-stroke - his own regiment and Dexter Kingsley, the majority of our lostech machines, against the Lyran Guards.”

“The Lyrans had not employed their own offensively,” Toshirov reported. “And we knew the Kell Hounds had been detached by Hanse Davion to support Frederick Steiner. The goal was to strike before they could get here. There was no way to know they would arrive so soon.”

“Another impressive victory for them.” Takashi frowned. Mercenaries who failed him, mercenaries that thwarted him… “Though it was daring - not only the use of a proximity point but also a high velocity transit to low orbit. The admiralty found it hard to believe the Overlord that dropped their Third Battalion wasn’t lost.”

“Aerobraking in the upper atmosphere - it had almost certainly expended its full fuel load.” Koutri looked reluctantly impressed. “It hadn’t landed when we departed, most likely orbital refueling was waiting until we were too distant to take advantage.”

The Dragon knew ferocity, and daring. Takashi also understood the trust that must exist between the Kell Hounds leaders and their transport crews to carry out such a desperate drop. “The other two battalions were more moderate, not that it helped the Twelfth Sun Zhang.”

“Cadets,” offered Toshirov. “Against proven and deadly warriors. It was well done to see as many of them evacuated.”

“They may be ruined for service.” Sorenson’s voice was distant. Unfeeling.

Both generals looked up, shocked.

The new warlord of Dieron - the district name could not be changed without admitting the extent of the defeat - continued: “We must salvage all we can.” Takashi knew the man and recognised that the tone was one of distraction not dismissal. “Their confidence may be shattered, and other warriors may look poorly upon them.”

The same, of course, was true of two regiments of the Dieron Regulars who had escaped the world from which they took their name. And the handful of the Fifth Sword of Light to join that flight.

Dexter Kingsley and his Third Dieron Regulars had apparently died to the last man, caught between the Fourth Royal Guards and the Eleventh Lyran Guards. There was some consolation that Kingsley had apparently managed to mortally wound the Royals’ commander before he fell.

A Steiner for a Kurita. It was not an equal trade, though Takashi darkly thought that each House would count themselves the more wounded.

“We shall form a new brigade,” he said out loud. “Two regiments: the Dieron Avengers. A statement of purpose, and a home for those veterans of this battle you feel can still be made use of. Those unwilling may, of course, assuage their guilt as they see fit. That is for them to decide, not us.”

And he would need to rebuild the Fifth Sword of Light somehow. That would be an interesting challenge, the number of potential candidates was not all that large. Still, the officer ranks could be filled out by the ambitious in the other four regiments…

He shook his head. “General Koutri. General Toshirov. You understand that you must set an example for your men.” Retreat had been the correct choice, but there had been no orders to do so, and that made the decision their responsibility.

“Sir.” Koutri stepped forwards, causing the Otomo guards to tense up. “General Toshirov has - until now - been unaware that the sealed orders to retreat were of my invention.”

Takashi raised an eyebrow. He saw the other general’s jaw sag in disbelief.

Sorenson’s hand caught Toshirov before he could speak up. “You deceived your comrade, general?”

“Sir, with the supply bases in the hands of the Kell Hounds and your cousin dead, I judged it my duty to save all that could be saved… To retreat without orders is a crime punishable by death, so I informed Simlin that the Tai-Shu had left me sealed orders to retreat off-world if his gambit at Deber City failed.”

Takashi eyed the two men for a moment and then inclined his head. Simlin Toshirov had children and grandchildren. Fassen Koutri’s wife was dead and his sons had both fallen in battle, years ago. “The punishment for falsifying orders is death,” he reminded them both. “In light of your distinguished previous service, I shall permit you to visit the garden, General Koutri, before a firing squad is assembled.” If Koutri elected to apologize to his ancestors while he was out there, well, that was a samurai’s privilege.

“Thank you, lord.”

Toshirov looked mortified.

“For your gullibility, General Toshirov, I reduce you in rank to Brigadier. You will serve with the First Dieron Avengers until you perish or until Dieron is returned to the Dragon.”

The man swallowed and studied the floor. “I am… rightly chastised.”

Sorenson relaxed his grip on the demoted officer and stepped back slightly.

Koutri knelt. “Before I make my last visit to the gardens, lord. I have one further message to convey.”

“Oh?” Takashi leant forwards. In a bad drama, this would mark some suicidal attack on him. Unlikely, given the Otomo guards and if for some reason they failed… Well, the Coordinator bore his swords and Koutri did not. And even if he had, kendo mastery was not among the man’s accomplishments.

“Frederick Steiner transmitted before we jumped,” the disgraced officer reported. “He has the body of Marcus Kurita and offers to exchange it for the body of a comrade of his now in your possession.”

“A comrade of Steiner?” Tai-Shu Sorenson frowned in irritation. “Who do you mean?”

“Davion,” Takashi deduced. “He wants Ian Davion’s body.” The corpse of a defeated First Prince for that of a fallen failure of House Kurita.

“Yes.”

Damn him. That was cunning. Takashi had planned a mausoleum to hold Ian Davion’s body, an honorable burial to a valiant foe… one that would be a constant goad to the Federated Suns simply by its location. A silent boast to all who saw it.

Would he give that up for the body of a man who had plotted to take Takashi’s throne from him?

Takashi grit his teeth. And yet, Marcus had his blood.

A casket containing a few score kilograms of bones, flesh and ash would help reknit the bonds of alliance between the Lyran Commonwealth and the Federated Suns. But if he declined this offer, Marcus’ brood would remember it every time they grieved.

Unity within House Kurita could be bought only by accepting unity among the dragon’s foes.

And yet, enmity at home was always the most deadly. He thought of his son, soon to be bound in marriage to a suitable lady from Rasalhague. An assurance from House Kurita that Rasalhague remained valued alongside New Samarkand and other key worlds. A commitment of Theodore to the future - something that might inspire him to be more dutiful.

Takashi Kurita thought of his wife, far away on peaceful Luthien. How could our son, someone with so much of her grace, be so feckless? But Theodore was his heir. His duty. His responsibility. The dragon’s foes would do what they would, he could not govern them. Only the dragon’s own choices were his… and Takashi would not splinter House Kurita.

He opened his eyes, only then aware he had closed them in thought. Only Sorenson remained, quietly waiting for him.

“Koutri asked Brigadier Toshirov to join in viewing the gardens,” the officer reported with rare delicacy.

“Ah.” So Koutri had chosen not just to spare his comrade but also asked him to be his second. Well enough. “I have messages to send,” Takashi concluded. To Dieron, to accept Frederick’s terms. To Luthien, to have his trophy brought here for the exchange.

Given the transit times, Sorenson’s staff would have to oversee the matter. Takashi and the warlord would be halfway to Rasalhague by the time Ian Davion’s casket reached Ashio, much less Dieron. It would also distance the two of them from the exchange, which would be for the best.

San Martin, Dieron
Federation of Skye, Lyran Commonwealth
12 September 3019

“One of these days, Frederick, you’ll play fast and loose with your orders - or ignore them completely - and it’ll not work out well for the Commonwealth. And on that day you will find me unforgiving.” Katrina Steiner’s gaze was icy in the holographic display. Then she sighed. “But today is not that day.”

A second royal visit to Dieron was out of the question, so this was a recorded message - sent days ago.

“Simon Johnson agrees that Takashi Kurita will not expend more resources when there have already been two major failures on Dieron. No doubt the DCMS will return, but not soon. If nothing else, the ISF cells that were rolled up clearly make up the lion’s share of their presence of Dieron. The Coordinator is no fonder than I am of having to operate blind.”

Frederick paused the replay and turned to Max. “Better than I expected.”

“She can hardly openly condemn you for defending Dieron. Or the Fourth Royal Guards for their part in that.” The balding man made a face. “If she is planning to remove you, which seems unlikely but not impossible…” He broke off.

“I’d suffer an ‘accident’ like uncle Alessandro?”

“No. All evidence would point to an ISF assassin.You’d be a martyr.”

Frederick paused and considered the likely consequences of that. Besides his own death. “And she’d not warn me if that was her intention.”

“Of course not. Then again, it took more than that before she moved against your uncle.”

The  general thought back to his own part in provoking that decision and winced. The Archon’s predecessor was a warning to those who suspected Katrina’s hand, of how ruthless she could be when it was called for. Which was not necessarily a flaw in an Archon. “So I get to live this time, probably.”

“Unless an actual ISF agent gets near you,” Max said with more cheer than was probably wise. He could easily be collateral if an Internal Security Forces assassin took Frederick out in a messy fashion.

That was going to be a security risk on Dieron for a long time. ‘Most’ of the local ISF having been employed against the garrison during the recent invasion didn’t mean all had. Subhash Indrahar was as much of a threat to the Lyran Commonwealth as his master, and he wasn’t one to have bet everything on victory.

Frederick started the message again.

“I have no doubt you’ll find your reward to be a punishing one,” Katrina’s voice continued. “You’re promoted to Kommandant-General and I’m assigning you as Margrave of the new Dieron Theater. Setting up the administration of that  Theater - and establishing what it includes will mire you in more bureautrivia than you can imagine, but much less than you’ve made for me.”

The Archon’s gaze softened slightly. “I wish Pete was still with you to be similarly chastised. Losing his mother’s support on the Commonwealth Council right after Arthur died was a terrible blow, and now another of the Borge-Steiners has fallen in service to the Commonwealth. I had to break the news to Pete’s son personally. He asked me for permission to transfer from the Second Royal Guards to his father’s command and I’ve granted that. He’ll be leading a company of replacements for their casualties, but it’ll be months before they arrive. Soldiers for your other commands will come from closer so the Fourth will likely be last to reach full strength.” She paused. “I won’t currently accept nominations to join the Fourth from line units - only transfers from the First and Second Guards.”

Max frowned and gestured to the remote. Frederick paused the replay and looked at him. “What?”

“Why do you think that she’s specifying that?”

The younger man thought for a moment and then shook his head. “Loyalty screening. She wants the Fourth - and maybe the Third Royal Guards as well - as her own bastion of support. So they’ll only be filled out by those who’ve already proven their loyalty through serving on Tharkad with the two Royal Guards regiments there.”

Max nodded. “It would appear that her concerns about your loyalty are still active, even if she’s not planning to get rid of you. I wonder if she expects you to understand that.”

“She’s within her rights,” Frederick pointed out. “The Archon is the direct commander of the Royal Guards brigade.”

“Just as you’re commanding the rather larger Lyran Regulars.”

“We don’t have the lostech and,” his lips curled into a grimace. “We don’t have the personnel. My soldiers are brave and skilled, but the Royal Guards are highly selective. Besides, the Regulars are scattered across the Commonwealth. We’re no realistic threat to her control of Tharkad.”

Max arched an eyebrow. “And if the Commonwealth Jaegers were counted? They’re intended to be quickly and easily relocated without needing a major transport commitment. That would let you move quite a significant force to join whatever was in range, while the other Regulars stalled Katrina’s loyalists. Then there’s two of the best regiments in the Lyran Guards…”

“I’m not at war with Katrina!” Frederick half-shouted.

They locked gazes and Max smiled slightly. “I know that and you know that, but does she?”

The Steiner lowered his gaze first. “I think so. But I see your point. She can’t afford to fully trust me.”

“Just as her rapid rise fuelled your rivalry, now your own victories are spurring her to take precautions. Neither your rise nor hers was a bad thing, but until you can really trust each other…”

“I’ve taken Dieron for her! And held it! What more can I do?!”

The balding man sat back in his chair. “Good question. She knows you’re an able general, so military victories aren’t going to heal this. Something we’ll need to think about though.”

Frederick scowled at the devil who’d been clinging to his shoulder. “You’re a pain in the ass at times, Max.”

“Better a pain in the ass than a dagger in the back.”

And at least you’re taking my side, not favoring the ‘greatest Archon of all time’, the duke thought as he thumbed the remote to resume the message.

“Morgan tells me that the Kell Hounds took little losses, but I’ve authorized them to replace those they did take from the DCMS supplies they captured. The rest is for you to use - between that and the Suns’ generosity, you shouldn’t be short again for a while.” Katrina shook her head. “But once the Fourth have replaced their equipment losses, all other lostech salvage is to be shipped back to Tharkad. I trust you to understand why I’m asking that, Frederick. I’d love to equip more units in the same way, but this isn’t the time.”

“More distrust?” he asked Max.

The other man hesitated, then shook his head. “With the Fourth still here, you already have a quarter of the LCAF’s lostech-equipped units here. If she was redeploying them as well, it might be…”

“Yes, I thought the same. I guess that production of replacements isn’t going as well as we’d hoped.”

While Katrina was broadly happy with Frederick getting his hands dirty in expanding production of new equipment within the limits of current technology, the reverse-engineering of more advanced systems - even that using the texts Frederick had recovered - was slapped with the highest levels of security and Frederick quite simply had no need to know where those programmes were taking place, or how well they were progressing.

But the proliferation of Battlemech technology, back in the twenty-fifth century, had been mostly the result of Lyran failures in security. Having successfully stolen it from the Terran Hegemony, they’d then been successfully targeted themselves by agents of both of their neighboring realms. And there were carefully covered up hints in some of House Steiner’s most private archives that Max had confirmed, showing that House Davion’s purchase of the data hadn’t been without some degree of espionage in turn. Only House Liao hadn’t obtained the technology from the Steiners.

If that happened again, then the Combine and League would commit everything they had to fielding lostech armies. Sooner or later, that would happen anyway but every year - every day - that they couldn’t do that, was a day that the Lyrans had an advantage.

“Where do you think the Combine got their equipment?” he asked Max. “ComStar?”

“Almost certainly. Not that we can prove it. And I suspect that they offloaded some of the less desirable samples in their stores.”

Frederick nodded, amused slightly that for all their vaunted technology the SLDF had been just as vulnerable to being co-opted by ambitious contractors and greedy supply officers as the LCAF. As a case in point, the Fifth Sword of Light’s armor battalion had been equipped with SLDF Magi heavy tanks and Kanga jump tanks - the latter, an ambitious attempt to fit hovertanks with jump-jets. While both designs could keep up with the fast moving ‘mechs of the Golden Dragon, they’d proven severely lacking in other respects.

While Lyran Condor and Drillson hover tanks had dueled the Scimitar, Saracen and Saladins of the DCMS on the flanks, the heavy tank regiment backing the Tenth Lyran Guards had been free to drive home in support of Salome Ward Kell’s battalion and the other Tenth Guards. The outnumbered DCMS tankers had tried to do the same only to find their undergunned Magi and unreliable Kangas badly outmatched by the older but better designed Manticores.

“I can believe it,” he said out loud. “If only Pete had enjoyed a similar advantage.”

The Third Dieron’s armor battalion had been equipped with slower and more sensible examples of lostech combat vehicles, and slower but generally heavier ‘mechs. Like the King Crab that had closed with and brought down Pete Steiner’s Emperor. The two lostech machines had essentially destroyed each other - a brutal cost since reading between the lines of Katrina’s message suggested that replacing or even rebuilding them might prove impossible.

Frederick hadn’t even learned that his cousin was dead until they’d finished off enough of the Sword of Light forces to break their jamming. Of course, by the same virtue, the Sword of Light hadn’t realized that their allies were being crushed until well after Marcus Kurita was dead.

It had been a very satisfying kill, Frederick thought. Not worth losing Pete, but satisfying. Hopefully Kurita’s body would be worth something in diplomatic terms.

And there was one other pleasant death, if not one that was publicly celebrated the way Marcus Kurita’s was.

Among the insurgents killed trying to disrupt the garrisons at the start of the attack had been a University of Dieron student by the name of Myndo Waterly. The future Primus of ComStar from Max’s visions wouldn't be rising to that role now unless the organization turned to necromancy.

Reykjavik, Rasalhague
Rasalhague District, Draconis Combine
28 November 3019

A fiery sword had been driven into the port control building.

Not literally, but as Theodore Kurita watched the flames rising, his imagination painted the smoke as rippling steel. No doubt the superstitious at court - or those who found the pretense politically valuable - would murmur that this was divine retribution for the shattering of the Fifth Sword of Light.

The young Kurita held himself very still, testing his self-control to the limits. When razor sharp steel hovers at your throat, the undisciplined can kill themselves unless the man holding it has preternatural reflexes and precision.

Let his raging emotions loose, move without thought…

And the glittering arc of steel reflected in the window would open his throat.

The young Kurita had once thought that Sun Zhang Academy was demanding in its discipline. Enough to realize that perhaps his father’s gruff complaints about how much his mother spoiled Theodore weren’t completely in error. Not entirely or mostly, but partly. Now, keeping his grief inside him by sheer will… Now he knew that the academy had only been the beginning. That the additional training arranged for him by the ISF had been a trivial step further.

With every fiber of his soul crying out for the father who had unintentionally - perhaps even unknowingly - ridden the dropship Startreader into the spaceport at supersonic velocity, Theodore Kurita met his own gaze in the windows… and when he was sure there was nothing but darkness beneath his brow, he gestured subtly with the fingers of one hand.

“Tono.” His aide bowed sharply and opened the double doors leading into the grand hall Theodore was standing in.

The advantage of the light of the fires outside and the vast glass wall intended to let onlookers see what happened inside without being able to shoot at those within, was that Theodore got to see the reactions of Jarl Ottar Sjovold and Duke Hassad Ricol to seeing the new Coordinator stood stock still for a barber to shave off his mustache and stubble, a white cloth covering the throat and shoulders of an otherwise immaculate DCMS general’s uniform.

Sjovold didn’t quite hide his bemusement. Ricol had no visible reaction at all.

“Lord Kurita,” the duke greeted him formally, bowing precisely.

The Jarl - governor of Rasalhague military district, second in power only to the warlord and the Coordinator himself - approached Theodore exactly as close as relaxed court protocol allowed and: “Coordinator. I… I regret to inform you that we have found no trace of any survivors from the Startreader. It will be some time before we can enter the wreck to search there for your father.”

“Jarl Sjovold,” Theodore paused intentionally and then lowered his tone slightly. “Ottar, we are to be family from tomorrow. Vasily will advise me if this is the start of a military campaign, but I ask you: what is the mood of the people of Rasalhague?”

The older man blinked at the implicit statement that tomorrow’s wedding ceremony would take place even under these circumstances, then answered: “At the moment there is shock. Your father was not always popular, there are always dissidents unfortunately. But he was respected. There are those who do not know you who may expect… there will be those who will fear that you will retaliate in the manner of your grandfather.”

“I am not Hohiro Kurita. Nor am I Takashi Kurita, or even my great-grandfather Hugai.” Theodore stared at Sjovold for a moment, the older man dropping his gaze first. “But I am the Coordinator. Where I lead, you will follow.” Or die. Father-in-law or not.

“Of course, Tono.” Sjovold backed away, sensing impatience.

Theodore looked back to the window. “See to your family. I realize there are many details to tend to, particularly under these circumstances.”

“It would be possible to rearrange the ceremonies for a later day,” Ricol suggested quietly. “Merely until the court has had a few days to adjust. This may seem hasty.”

Shifting his gaze to the ‘Red Duke’, the Coordinator stared down the nobleman. “This wedding has been planned and scheduled for over a year. There is nothing hasty in maintaining that schedule. The Dragon is not deterred by threats. Or accidents. Or even attacks.”

“But it may adjust to new circumstances.”

“The logic of House Kurita wedding back into the Rasalhague nobility, one that my noted ancestor Siriwan McAllister-Sorenson was born from, remains as politically advisable as it was yesterday.” He didn’t feel particularly strongly about Anastasi Sjovold, but that could grow with time.

It took him the same discipline that held him back from falling over in grief and fear to keep from looking over at his aide. Tomoe Sakade was someone he did feel strongly for. Too strongly, to be honest. He was an obedient son, but… there had been the temptation to refuse Sjovold. If only Tomoe’s background would have met his father’s requirements.

If wishes were horses then beggars would ride. And the Coordinator had more power but far fewer options than a junior officer. Duty demanded that he tie Rasalhague to him. As did survival. Marcus Kurita was not the only member of his House who might see a suddenly vacated throne as an opportunity. It had happened before.

Ricol nodded in acquiescence to Theodore’s decision. “There is also the matter of Ian Davion’s body. Returning it was not a popular decision by your father. It may have contributed to…”

Something in Theodore’s eyes stilled him. “Perhaps you missed when I said that the dragon is not deterred by threats, Ricol?”

“I did not, lord. But the body is symbolic of a great triumph at a time when there have been reverses. Losing Ian Davion to regain Dieron would be well worth it. For the body of Marcus Kurita…” The duke shrugged slightly.

“Ian Davion was my father’s foe. If he judges that the First Prince’s carcass is worth no more than the remains of a warlord then I see no need to second-guess that decision.” Theodore looked at the flames and smoke. “Bring me Hanse Davion’s body and I may decide otherwise.”

“Sir.” Ricol bowed stiffly.

“Don’t let me detain you.” Theodore gestured again, this time at the hall. “I will see you both here in a few hours.”

Both men backed away, just as the barber finished his work and whipped the cloth away from Theodore’s neck and shoulder. Something about the move drew Ricol’s eyes and this time he didn’t entirely hide his shock.

Subhash Indrahar was not smiling but he did incline his head slightly towards the pair as they departed.

Yes, Ricol. Theodore nodded slightly. I do trust my father’s closest advisor to literally hold a knife to my throat. Even if he failed to secure my father’s life this time.

And of course, the Smiling One was his own mentor as well. Eventually they would disagree - just as his father had. But Theodore wouldn’t consider one failure sufficient grounds to discount decades of successes. And there was an implicit statement: while not all the warlords even knew that his father was dead yet, much less had offered their formal pledges of support, the ISF was (on the whole) behind Theodore’s reign.

Vasily Cherenkof, here on Rasalhague, and Ivan Sorenson, whose dropship had been forced to divert when Startreader began to fall, had pledged themselves to Theodore already and they controlled almost the entire Lyran border - a border much less dangerous now that the Wolf’s Dragoons had accepted terms for their next contract. 

“I cannot yet confirm if your father-in-law or Ricol have any part in your father’s death,” Indrahar warned quietly.

“The difficult, I expect quickly. The impossible, I merely expect as soon as it becomes possible,” Theodore told him. “Once I’m married, all honeymoon plans will go to the wayside. I will trust you to ensure travel arrangements to Benjamin first.”

Rasalhague was inconveniently far from the center of power. Theodore needed to get to Luthien, and the nearby Pesht, before anyone acted on ambitious ideas. But that in itself would be predictable.

Benjamin wasn’t on the way, but it was the most central of the military districts and its resources and industries made it critical. Obtain the support of the most experienced of the warlords, Syovo Yorioshi, and Theodore’s position would be almost as secure as his father’s had been.

He looked at the blazing inferno again and allowed himself a very slight shrug. Security was relative.

“Orders are being issued for jumpships,” the spymaster confirmed. “Precise disposition of dropships will be made later, to allow precautions against a repeat of today’s failure.”

“Failure.” Theodore nodded. “A good word for it.”

“I am reminded of a quote from Chancellor Barbara Liao,” mused Indrahar. “‘It was worse than a crime, it was a mistake’.”

The Coordinator smiled grimly. “Teaching me statecraft, sensei?”

“With discretion, sire. But as swiftly as I may. We may have very little time.”

“There is never enough time. War has already taught me that.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 10

San Martin, Dieron
Federation of Skye, Lyran Commonwealth
3 December 3019

Max stared at the reports on Takashi Kurita’s demise. “I would have thought Marcus’ death would have averted this,” he admitted.

Leaning back in his seat, Frederick nodded. “And in your recollections, Takashi would have survived?”

“Ja… Ivan Sorenson was on the same dropship and they escaped in his ‘mech - managed to leap free and survive the fall using its jump jets.”

“More than ten years of changes - Ian Davion lives three years longer and Takashi dies… thirty years sooner?”

“Thirty-five, I think.” Max shook his head. “Yeah, he’d have ruled until 3054.”

“Is this better or worse? You said Theodore was a very able general.”

“I’m not sure.” The balding man rubbed his eyes as he thought. “Could go either way. Takashi was tremendously able politically, but he wasn’t as flexible as his son when it came to military leadership. Fortunately for their enemies, Takashi was almost never willing to work with Theodore. That conflict is gone now, but Theodore wasn’t as politically able and hasn’t had the time to build up his military reputation… or the experience he had in that history. I’ve no idea what sort of Coordinator he’ll make at this point.”

Frederick nodded thoughtfully and Max watched the general think the matter through.

“Well,” the younger man said at last, “We always knew that changing things would make your predictions obsolete. It’s surprising at this point that things are still so close to what you recall.”

“The Inner Sphere is a large place, but even so…” Max shook his head. “I’ll be less use to you in the future, realistically.”

“You’ve been helpful in more ways than just that. If you want to retire back to Duran or somewhere else, you’ve more than earned it.” Frederick ran his hand through his short blond hair. “But I hope you’re willing to keep working with me. You didn’t get the barony because of what you knew, or who you knew. Katrina gave it to you for your contributions to using the data we recovered, and that was entirely your own work.”

“If we hadn’t found it…”

“If someone else had found it, you could have done the same,” the general shut him down. “Face it. You’ve earned everything you received. Including your Orion.”

Max made a face.

“It’ll take a while to replace that,” admitted Frederick. The 'mech had served Max well, but after the battering it had taken, a careful examination had found hundreds of microfractures in the ancient chassis and parts for an Orion that old were hard to come by, particularly since the other ‘mechs from New Dallas would all now have to be checked for the same issues. “Even with all our salvage here, we don’t have quite enough to fill every unit out so I can’t justify giving you another ‘mech. It’d be different if we weren’t sending half the lostech chassis back to Tharkad but…”

“Don’t worry about it.” Max thought back to that battle in the desert and managed to avoid a shiver. “I can live without a working ‘mech until replacement parts can be made.”

“Every mechwarrior dispossessed fighting on Dieron will get their ‘mech replaced,” Frederick pledged. “Even if it has to be sent to their heir.”

“I’m almost sixty,” Max pointed out. “I know that’s not as old for you as my head tells me, but I don’t think I’ll jump into another battle if I can reasonably avoid it.”

“You did well.”

“I survived.” Max sighed. “Maybe I’ll join Duran’s militia when I’m there.”

“That would be traditional for a retiring hero.” Frederick chuckled. “Do you want to go back there now?”

The ‘mech was always more of a loan than a gift, Max thought. I’m not married, I’ve no children. The chances of either changing now weren’t high. When I die - and no one lives forever, even in the thirty-first century... He’d never told Frederick, but his last will and testament gave his worldly wealth back to his friend.

“Not now,” he admitted. “You won’t have to find another wingman for your sports time, but I’m feeling my mortality. Call me a coward if you want, I won’t be offended.”

“You went out to face the Golden Dragon at my side. If anyone calls you a coward, I will be offended,” Frederick snapped. “Only a fool has no fears, and you are one of the furthest from a fool I can think of. Of questionable sanity perhaps, but not a fool.”

“I'm not going to be a priority anyway, you've a lot of mechwarriors needing new ‘mechs or repairs. I note that you turned down upgrading your Zeus, again.”

Frederick snorted. “Katrina’s decision to keep all the lostech in the Royal Guards isn’t just a security measure. It also means it doesn't become a boasting point for every social general to have some for their ‘mechs rather than on that of fighting soldiers. I’m not going to be the first chink in the dam for that.”

“The Dragoons have confirmed they’re not going to renew their contract?” Max asked, changing the subject.

“That’s right. Unfortunate, but not really a surprise. Jaime Wolf is visiting all his regiments on his way back from his mysterious mission, so he won’t be back on Mizar until their contract is almost up. Officially, we don’t know what they’ll be doing next, but we have enough spies to know that Takashi confirmed a contract with their usual condition: the Dragoons won’t be deployed against us.”

“That’s not quite as great as it sounds: with five more regiments on their border with the Suns, Theodore can spare more forces for his border with us,” Max pointed out. “But it’s better than nothing.”

“And there’s every chance they’ll end up at odds with Warlord Samsonov,” Frederick continued, referring to the scar-faced commander of Galedon Military District. While they’d never met, he’d apparently earned his scars fighting on Halstead Station during Frederick’s own raid there. “Who knows how that will turn out?”

“Not I. Could be better, could be worse. But you’re right: Samsonov will want command authority over the Dragoons, he’ll hate having them operate in his district without being under his control,” agreed Max. “On the other hand, Galedon District is only half the Davion border. I doubt Yorioshi or Sorenson will be so picky.”

“Sorrenson in particular. Dieron’s short by four entire ‘mech regiments compared to two years ago, twice that in conventional troops.”

Max sighed. “Either way, it’s not good news for the Draconis March.” He consulted his noteputer. “I guess Duke Sandoval will be putting the Swordsman to use right away - the first production models should be entering service next year, just in time for the Dragoons to arrive.”

“Life’s often like that,” Frederick said philosophically. “And between that and the agreement to return Ian’s body, Hanse will be under pressure to maintain his alliance with us. Which is all to the good. If he’s feeling bold, we’ve had enough of a pause to launch Operation Toledo if he really wants to.”

The pact for the AFFS to launch diversions during the attack on Dieron had included a similar agreement for the LCAF to keep the DCMS’ attention this year, pretending that they were going to try to retake Vega, Buckminster or Kessel. Not because that was realistic without more time to recover, but to keep the Combine’s reserves focused on them.

With that as the case, Ian Davion would have entrusted his brother with the forces to launch a major assault on the Tikonov salient with a goal of seizing the industrial world. The Federated Suns had tried for that several times before, but right now their chances were as good as they were ever likely to be.

Unfortunately, the scramble for the throne meant that Hanse was in no position to take advantage. The political upheaval of carving out a new march from the existing three - and his impending fatherhood - meant he was in no position to directly command such an attack and letting his main political rival do so would have been insane.

“I suppose Tikonov is just as near to the Draconis March, but side-stepping Hasek-Davion that blatantly would be costly for him.” Max shook his head. “Unless he finds a general he can trust to handle such an operation -”

“Yvonne Davion, perhaps?”

“No, she hates the Haseks. Sending her to the Capellan March right now would be incendiary. I can’t see a major attack on the Capellan Confederation in the near future. He might assign the regiments to Aaron Sandoval - launch an attack on the Draconis Combine but the Dragoons would almost certainly be thrown up against them and…” He spread his hands.

It was Frederick’s turn to shake his head. “No, he knows how well they fight, doesn’t he?”

“He served on New Aragon after the Dragoons retook it for the Suns in 3007. I don’t recall if he served in that campaign but I assume he at least saw reports. Still, it might be better than ceding them the initiative.”

“Maybe Al Na’ir.” Frederick looked into the distance for a moment, perhaps recalling his own raid on the world. “Taking that would be another bite out of Dieron District. Still, they don’t call him the Fox for nothing. Chances are, whatever he does it’ll be unexpected.”

“Ask Sortek,” Max suggested. “He’s on his way back here isn’t he?”

Frederick scowled.

“Frederick, Sortek’s pretty much a paladin, what is it you dislike about him?”

The duke clamped his mouth shut.

Max rubbed his face. What the hell was this about? It had only begun when Sortek arrived with Nelitha and…

“Oh for crying out loud. Frederick, are you jealous of the time he spends with Nelitha?”

One disadvantage of the pale coloration that Max shared with the Steiners was that they flushed easily. Frederick’s ears went red with embarrassment.

The older man considered teasing his friend further but instead reached over and slapped the younger man’s shoulder. “You know, even when he’s around, Nelitha is looking at you, not him, right?”

The startled look on Frederick’s face was far more rewarding than the irritation a joke would have provoked.

San Martin, Dieron
Federation of Skye, Lyran Commonwealth
31 December 3019

The pouring rain had boiled off the hull of the dropship after its descent, and off the ferrocrete pad beneath it. The process had cooled both to the point that those aboard could disembark sooner than the schedule had anticipated, so there was a breath of time for Frederick before the formalities continued.

He and Nelitha stood either side of the casket containing Ian Davion’s remains and watched as Ardan Sortek went to meet the disembarking honor guard.

Each of the eight regimental combat teams of the Davion Brigade of Guards had sent a soldier from each and every regiment in their ranks - more than seventy people, some of them pulled directly from war zones. But this was a unique occasion. Never before - never in centuries of war - had a Successor Lord’s body been captured and then returned via a third Successor State.

“I doubt Marcus Kurita’s body will be transported with such ceremony,” Frederick muttered.

“Unlikely. I’d guess that the new Coordinator will want the failure here buried quietly.” Nelitha was at crisp attention, only her eyes turned towards him.

Max was right. How much more had Frederick missed - how much time had he wasted? Because now she was leaving, and he didn’t know what to say.

“I…” “I…” They each began.

Frederick tilted his head fractionally. “Ladies before gentlemen.”

“I’ve enjoyed my time here on Dieron,” she told him. “Although it may be the company rather than the place itself.”

“I’d welcome you back - here or to any other posting I have.”

Nelitha looked away. “Hanse has asked to consider taking a ministerial position. It would mean resigning my commission… and I’d rarely have the chance to leave New Avalon while I serve in that role. At most I could return home to Galax on a semi-regular basis.”

Frederick felt his hands curl into fists and forced himself to relax. What can I say to that? ‘We’ll always have Dieron?’ The idea was appalling. “What sort of position?”

“Administrative Services. It’s something of a catch-all for what other Ministries don’t handle and it wasn’t a byword for competence even before the previous incumbent crawled into Hasek-Davion’s pocket.”

“That sounds like a job that needs doing.” Dammit, he added inside his head. “Even if you take the job, can I tempt you back to Dieron when we unveil the statues?”

To memorialize the battles of the last two years, and remove certain House Kurita monuments, a sizable park in San Martin - previously open only to the social and military elite - was being remodeled and opened up. Once complete, it would boast statues of one hundred heroes that had contributed to the victories. Not all had been there - Katrina Steiner and Ian Davion would both have statues - but all had some supportable claim to say that without their contributions, one or both of the two Battles of Dieron might have been a Combine victory.

Nelitha smiled. “I wouldn’t miss seeing you squirm when your own is revealed. Did Max manage to avoid one being made of him…? What’s so funny?”

Frederick forced back his smile. “Ah, well it’s supposed to be a surprise.”

“What…?” She broke her parade stance and looked at him. “You can’t be serious. No one puts statues up to supply officers.”

“We do. And in this case, I think it’s justified. If you hadn’t arranged those supplies from Addicks, we’d have never been able to risk the pincer movement on Deber City that let us crush Brion’s Legion - and that drew out Marcus Kurita. Without that we might still be fighting, or even have lost Dieron by now.”

She shook her head. “But putting a statue up of me next to, well…?” She gestured towards the casket.

“It’s far too late to complain now. We’ve already commissioned them.”

“...you were keeping it secret in case I objected?”

“That was Max’s idea. Alas, I depend on him for the paperwork so I was unable to keep him from removing his own name from consideration.” To be fair, for all his courage, Max hadn’t played a major role so it would have been hard to get him onto the list of heroes - and counterproductive. The baron preferred a low profile and had managed it surprisingly well.

Nelitha bit back a laugh. “That does sound like him.” She sobered as Ardan led seven other Davion officers towards them, each wearing the badge of a different Regimental Combat Team.

“General Steiner.” Sortek saluted crisply. “Thank you for bringing our Prince home.”

Frederick returned the salute. “Ian was a comrade and he died in support of my campaign. I would no more abandon him than any of my own men.”

The officers behind Sortek made approving noises. One of them took a half-step forwards. “I understand that you plan a memorial to him here?”

“The First Prince has granted permission for his brother’s statue to stand among the heroes of Dieron,” Frederick answered. “We discussed placing him alongside the Archon’s statue, but Hanse asked that Ian be remembered among the soldiers of the invasion, so his statue will share a plinth with that of my cousin, Pete Steiner, who died fighting the commander of the Third Dieron Regulars.”

“I think Ian would have approved,” Sortek agreed. “I know he had hoped that one day our cooperation would reach the point that he could fight alongside you.”

“Perhaps in the future. Prince Ian laid the foundations of a powerful alliance with our Archon. I hope that she and Prince Hanse - as well as others from both the Commonwealth and the Suns - will build upon those foundations for the betterment of both realms.”

“We were just discussing how the Suns contributed to the victories here,” Nelitha picked up smoothly. “I’m sure General Steiner would be glad to provide similar support to efforts against our mutual enemy.”

“Every defeat the Kuritas suffer is a victory for both of us.”

“Well said.” Sortek led his companions up to frame the casket. The eight of them would serve as pallbearers. “I think we’ve caught up now with the schedule.” With effort that might have been smoothly rehearsed on the way here (save Sortek, who hadn’t been on the dropship with the other seven) the little squad lifted the casket up and onto their shoulders.

Frederick and Nelitha adopted parade stances and saluted crisply, something that left them staring at each other once Ian was carried back towards the dropship.

“It’s not really an occasion for dancing,” Nelitha admitted ruefully.

“We’ve danced on New Avalon and now here,” he replied. “Perhaps one day we can do the same on Galax and Duran.”

“Your homeworld and mine?” She gave him a challenging look. “Not Tharkad?”

“There too, if you want. It’s not really my home - I have a house there when business takes me there but…”

Nelitha nodded. “New Avalon is exciting, but it’s not where I grew up or where my family lives.” She paused. “I’m sorry, your parents have both passed away, haven’t they?”

He nodded. “My sister and her son live on Porrima - I think Max has spent more time in the ducal residences on Duran than I have over the last decade. It’s probably why…” No, don’t bring up Donna’s stupid joke!

She smiled in response. “I’ve heard the stories, Frederick. I don’t believe them - anyone who sees the two of you together knows there’s nothing romantic to it. You’re brothers-in-arms.”

“That’s a good way of putting it. I handle the fighting and he handles… the rest.” That sounded unfair, but it wasn’t as if the final decisions weren’t his on the other matters. Max kept things going and made sure he could focus on military affairs, just handling the financial and political issues that absolutely required him.

“Perhaps I’ll find myself suitable deputies and be able to come back to the Commonwealth for more than Prince Ian’s statue… and my own.” She shook her head, disbelieving. “I’m sure Hanse would approve a mission to further good relations between our realms, I’d just have to convince the Minister of Foreign Relations not to steal the chance from me.”

“If you can pull that off, let me know and I’ll have Max clear my schedule - in the interests of better relations.”

“International or personal?” Nelitha asked him with a wink.

“By definition, my relations with you are international. Whatever those relations turn out to be.” Frederick tried to look charming, which from the way her lips curled was a complete failure.

“If that’s the charm of a Tharkad courtier, I should be glad you’re an honest Duranian… Duraite?”

“Durian,” he admitted.

“Isn’t that a fruit?”

Frederick winced. “Yes, a particularly pungent one. But it’s also the commonly used term for a native of Duran.”

“Galaxian doesn’t have such connections,” the blonde said with a smile. “Let’s make a pact then. You’ll introduce me to your homeworld and I’ll give you a tour of mine. In the interest of better relations between us in the future.”

Fort Joshua, Mizar
Federation of Skye, Lyran Commonwealth
13 February 3020

It was the first time Frederick Steiner had visited the Wolf Dragoons on Mizar, and since they were packing up to depart the Commonwealth, it would certainly be the last.

“Given that you’re the one who hired us, I expected to see more of you,” Jaime Wolf noted as the general was admitted to his office. “But, except on Dieron, you’ve not spent much time with the Dragoons.”

The Steiner grimaced. “Katrina was angrier than I thought about my hiring you without telling her. I don’t tweak her nose intentionally so it seemed better to avoid the appearance of conspiring with you. But I doubt she’ll mind if Theodore Kurita thinks you and I have a close friendship.”

The mercenary snorted and gestured towards the chairs. His office looked barer than usual, some of the contents were already aboard the Chieftain, but it was still basically functional. “Trying to sabotage us even when we’re pledged not to fight the Commonwealth for the next five years?”

“Well, that does mean you’ll be fighting our allies.” Frederick accepted the seat. “And then there’s your other allegiance. I respect the Dragoons, but that doesn’t mean I want to see you spearheading an invasion force. I’d like to think we might be better prepared than the Combine was on Dieron but I’m not so foolish as to count on that.”

“Your defense there was excellent.” Jaime sat down and leant back in his own chair. “I don’t know that I could have redeployed more than a token force to support you if I had been available, but Natasha would have jumped at the chance to fight on Dieron again.”

“I’m sure.” The larger man crossed his arms. “Her Black Widows would have been a formidable asset. I suppose having a Kerensky with you to support your report helps with your credibility.”

Jaime couldn’t help but narrow his eyes. How much did he know? “Natasha is a straight shooter. Some people would take my reports less seriously if she didn’t verify them, that’s true.”

“So do you think they’ll be coming?” Frederick asked bluntly.

A chill went down the mercenary’s spine.

“I know Katrina hopes that whoever you answer to will open friendly relations,” the Steiner continued. “She doesn’t believe all the stories out of the coreward periphery.” He paused. “Okay, I don’t believe all of them either, but I believe enough. Your people could have re-established contact a long time ago and been way too far out of reach for any of the Successor Lords to do anything. But they sent you to scout us out when the Inner Sphere was beginning to claw our way back from all the damage we did to each other. That tells me what at least some of your leaders are thinking.”

Jaime closed his eyes. He waited until after I reported. For a moment he considered giving the orders that would mean Frederick Steiner didn’t leave the fort alive. Considered the idea, and then dismissed it. Even if the Dragoons escaped, it would mean a blood feud with House Steiner - that would cripple the new mission Kerlin had given them.

“We have new orders,” he said at last. “But I have to ask: what do you know?”

The larger man met his gaze soberly. After a moment he answered: “General Kerensky’s Exodus settled some worlds ‘a thousand light years from the Inner Sphere’.” (He made air-quotes around the term.) “I don’t know if that’s from Terra, from the edge of the Draconis Combine or just hyperbole. It’s coreward of us, but that covers most of the entire galaxy, so that doesn’t narrow the location down much. Before he died, the general recorded a message to the Inner Sphere and it was transmitted to us by a radio signal that has yet to arrive directly.”

I think he’s telling the truth, Jaime thought. They don’t know where the Homeworlds are. That’s a relief. I didn’t know about a radio message, but that would explain something about his knowledge.

“After his death, the SLDF splintered into their own civil war, roughly around the time of our own First Succession War. However, your war ended with a decisive victory for a confederation rallied around someone claiming to be Kerensky’s son. Since Natasha is verifiably his descendent, I guess that was true.” Frederick smiled ruefully. “Either Kerensky managed to keep children secret from every spy agency in the Inner Sphere, or his son may have been the source of the rumors that your people create children in test tubes.”

“We do that, but it’s not where the Founder came from.” I shouldn’t have said that, he thought too late.

Fortunately, the Steiner didn’t seem to take it poorly. “Anyway, your people have continued to expand slowly, with a few clashes against other colonies in the area or between your own member states. Obviously, you were sent here to try to get an accurate picture of our status, without giving away corresponding information.” He trailed off, and then gave Jaime a challenging look. “And your new orders?”

“You’re not going to ask more about my people?”

“Would you tell me?”

“...no,” Jaime admitted. If he did then he’d be lucky to survive as the Dragoons’ commander, or maybe just to survive. Not all the Dragoons were taking their new instructions well.

“Why waste both our time asking them?”

That forced a laugh from Jaime. “Interest in the Inner Sphere has waned since we were sent, which… is probably for the best. But there are still those who believe we should return and restore the Star League.”

“I think the window for that passed when Kerensky left.”

“By force,” Jaime continued.

Steiner shrugged. “My last point stands. Kerensky had an army and a fleet larger than any of the House Lords, but that was two centuries ago, when almost all of his followers were soldiers. Can a few dozen fairly small colonies support an army that large? For all the deaths caused by the Succession Wars, there are more people in the Inner Sphere now than there were in 2784 - which may say something profound about the reproductive urge - but even if your people grew twice as fast, how many people followed Kerensky? Ten million? Less than that? Are there as many people in all your homeworlds combined as there are on Mizar? Or on Tharkad? Or Terra for that matter?”

I don’t know. But does it change anything? Jaime shook his head, trying to dismiss those thoughts. “Does the Lyran Commonwealth have even a single regiment for every one of its worlds?”

“If you count tanks, yes. If you count infantry, much more,” Frederick replied. “Moving enough garrison units to take control of the worlds we took in the last two years was a pain in the ass. Our control of Dieron is still far more shallow than I like. There are two thousand worlds in the Inner Sphere. You might be able to co-opt their leadership, but to really control those worlds... I can only guess at the number of people you’d need.”

There was a pause as the two of them looked at each other over a gulf of a thousand light years in their thinking.

“Maybe I’m wrong,” Frederick said at last. “But I admit that your people even trying to conquer us would cause a lot of damage. And we’ve gotten away from your point, you were telling me about your orders.”

“For now it’s fairly unlikely that there will be an invasion.” Jaime picked his words carefully. “But there’s no way to know if that will last. My immediate superior believes we have a responsibility to protect you so…”

“...generous of him.” Somewhat predictably, the Lyran officer bristled at the idea that he’d need help to protect the Commonwealth. But he shook his head. “No, that’s ungrateful of me. So what does he want you to do?”

“In general terms, to prepare you to protect yourselves.” Jaime got the distinct impression Frederick found this laughable. “It’s more of a problem than you might think.”

“I assume that this doesn’t include giving us actionable intelligence,” Frederick asked, and when Jaime shook his head, he sighed. “I see at least part of your problem. How do you prepare us without telling us what we need to defend against? And of course, you’re telling me this right as you’re leaving the Lyran Commonwealth. Dare I hope that you’ve the discretion to not prepare the Combine? I could live with them getting steamrollered by your people and you’d be spared five years of trying to keep their hooks out of you.”

Jaime tried to look withering. Could factional politics take a backseat for a moment?

“I didn’t think so,” the Steiner admitted, “But I had to try.” 

“I’m trying to help you, General Steiner. We’ve already trained the cadre for your Commonwealth Jaegers, you’re on an upswing for military production and the Archon has been stamping out the corruption problems. Depending on what things look like in five years we might come back to you, but right now it looks as if the Combine need us more than you do. What more do you want from me?”

Frederick had an expression eerily like the one Joshua had worn when he was fed a straight line. “How about battle armor?” he asked.

Jaime shot to his feet. “Who told you about that?”

“Aha! I thought that you would have it!” The general looked triumphant.

I am really not cut out for this. “Would you please tell me where you heard about battle armor?”

Frederick beamed smugly. “The Cobra people who conquered the Tanis system had it. We were pretty sure they’re part of your little confederation.”

He grit his teeth. Natasha was right about that then. “I’ve no direct connection to them, but yes.” Of all the Clans to do something stupid like this, why did it have to be a Clan that Kerlin wouldn’t move against? If it had been a Clan in the Crusader faction then they could have wound up crippled or even absorbed, removing their votes from the Grand Council. But no, Kerlin wouldn’t risk losing Warden votes… 

Like a thunderbolt he recalled that Frederick and his sidekick Mustermann always called them the Wolf Dragoons, not the Wolf's Dragoons like everyone else. They knew far more than they should... but just as Jaime wouldn't freely hand out data on the Clans, Frederick would likely not say how much he already had.

Jaime sat down slowly. “We do have some of those suits.”

To his surprise, the Lyran shook his head. “That’s probably not a good idea. I’d imagine they’re completed units? If we start just copying them, it’ll be pretty obvious they’re the result of a long development process that there’s no evidence of. Your people’s extremists would know we got them from you and likely panic.”

“We’re their only source of information on the Inner Sphere,” Jaime pointed out.

“Are you sure?”

“...” He was about to confirm it, but if the Lyrans had picked up on the existence of the Clans through monitoring periphery traders’ rumors then it might go the other way. And battle armor was exactly the sort of thing that would be high profile news. “I very much doubt they have any other direct sources, but if you think that it’s too risky then what do you want instead?”

“Can you give me design documents for earlier models?” Frederick leaned forwards. “I assume they started as industrial exoskeletons or SLDF prototypes of some kind? Something I could plausibly have found?”

“Something you could have plausibly found? I don’t think you understand your reputation.” Cranston Snord could not shut up about Frederick. There was a betting pool among those in the know that Snord wanted the man to be Rhonda’s second father.

Frederick shook his head. “If we have some basic data we can set our engineers on, whatever we build will be something we can fully explain and support - not to mention, built for our own needs.”

Jaime nodded. What else could he do? This was not the conversation he’d expected to be having. He’d been ambushed and outmaneuvered by a Lyran of all people. Perhaps it was a good thing they’d be working for the Combine for the next few years. Their warrior ideals were closer to those of the Clans and Theodore Kurita was a young ruler, who would probably be open to new ideas…

Chapter Text

Frederick Steiner
and the Man Who Knew Too Little

Book 3
“My people and I have come to an agreement which satisfied us both.
They are to say what they please, and I am to do what I please.”

- Frederick the Great

Chapter 1

Summit, Duran
Protectorate of Donegal, Lyran Commonwealth
12 December 3022

The deserts of Duran were vast and windblown. The tracks left by the two camels would be lost within an hour or two, and the words of the riders just as easily erased. As a means of discretion, it was lowtech but effective.

“I never thought you’d turn to ranching.” Frederick Steiner was holding his saddle with both hands, the large man looking rather uncomfortable on the back of the camel. His grandfather had died after falling from a horse, and camelback was rather higher.

His companion shrugged. “Camel ranching is good business. You’re the one who gave me the land.”

“Yes, but you always struck me as more of a city dweller.”

“You’re right, but there’s something to be said for being a few hundred miles from the bulk of humanity.”

Frederick laughed suddenly. “Oh, I get it now.”

“You do?”

“You’re fleeing the attention of the unattached ladies. This is a bit of a role reversal!”

He saw Max Mustermann’s lips curl and then the balding man shook his head slightly. “You’re not wrong,” he reluctantly admitted.

Both men laughed, the camels plodding along placidly as the older of the riders shot back: “So how did you get along with Nelitha?”

Frederick stopped laughing, but his eyes were still merry. “You’re reaching, Max. It’s months since I returned from New Avalon and Donna already got her jabs in at me.”

“Yes, but I haven’t seen you since then. You went straight from there to Timbuktu.” Max leaned over in his saddle and punched the duke’s shoulder. “You didn’t just go to New Avalon, you went to Galax too. Meeting the parents, one of the great challenges of a serious relationship.”

Feeling a flush on his cheeks, the younger man reached out and just missed punching Max’s own shoulder in retaliation. “It went well,” he admitted. “I don’t think I’d want to live on Galax, but it’s not a bad place to visit. And she spends a lot of time on New Avalon anyway.”

“That is good to hear.” His friend looked sincere, despite the uncharacteristic sentimentality. “If you bring her here, I’ll try to keep the enthusiasm from boiling over.”

“The way you did last week?” Returning to his homeworld had thrown Frederick back into a whirl of social activity, worse in some ways than the more formal events he had dealt with on the capital of the Federated Suns or even on his cousin’s frozen capital of Tharkad.

Max snickered. “That was with me holding them back. You’re their duke, not to mention the great war hero and the one leading the return to the ‘glory days of the Star League’. If you get married, there will be street parties in every city on the planet.”

Frederick snorted. “I’m hardly loveable.”

“Nelitha thinks otherwise, I hope.”

That was enough of this conversation, he decided. “Now that I’m back from inspections in Timbuktu Theater, bring me up to speed on the things that didn’t get sent by HPG.” Painful experience had proven that communications via ComStar weren’t secure except by one-time pad - and even there, neither was absolutely sure that the religious order that controlled the Inner Sphere’s faster-than-light communications couldn’t crack them. There had been too many coincidental leaks of information to trust anything that passed through ComStar's hands.

It would be crippling not to use the HPGs for most government business, and commercial matters weren’t much better. Frederick was pretty hands off with his blooming economic empire though - he might own it, but Max and other managers did almost all of the real work. There was no need to keep him up to date via HPG, so anything remotely sensitive was allowed to wait for him to at least be in the same star system as someone who was in the loop.

“I’m sure Donna got you updated on Bowie’s progress.” Frederick’s sister, the dowager duchess of Porrima, was spearheading the corporation’s aerospace division. Now that her son was old enough to have enrolled at the Nagelring - (Mein Gott, Frederick thought, he hadn’t even been born when I first met Max!) - Donna had become even more active, targeting sloth and corruption in the Lyran Commonwealth Armed Forces’ aerospace bureaucracy with the same deadly focus she’d once applied to Marik and Kurita aerospace fighters.

“Chapter and verse,” he agreed. “It all sounded good, but she’s not so aware of anything beyond Bowie’s activities.”

Max nodded. “You arrived a little too late for Doctor Banzai to demonstrate the prototypes, but we have the footage recorded so you can watch them in action.”

“They’re that far ahead?”

“Yes. We have a couple here in secure storage if you want to see them, but Team Banzai taking up a garrison post on Coventry isn’t just so they can help out with the full-head revisions to the P-hawk lines there.”

“I’m sure the military academy will appreciate them as guest lecturers,” Frederick muttered. “Duran A&M was certainly unhappy about Banzai leaving. It’s a damn shame we can’t keep the manufacturing here.”

Turning the head of his camel with the reins, Max made a sympathetic noise. “Rastaban can build some of the components, but not all of them. We’re working on it, but contracting Coventry Metal Works for final assembly let us cut at least a year off the production schedule - and it finally convinced the Bradfords to let us buy in. Which means we’re now in the loop for their work on pulse lasers.”

“Oh excellent! They’re going ahead with that?”

“Much further ahead than we thought. The heat of a pulse laser might be a hard-sell until freezers are available, but not needing to resupply machine gun ammunition is too much of an logistical benefit to ignore.”

“And they don’t explode.” It was a detonation in the ammo bin in his Phoenix Hawk that had cost Frederick his first ‘Mech and carved a permanent reminder into his face. “Can we fit one on the Einherjar?”

That got a chuckle from the other man. “Frederick, a small pulse laser weighs more than an entire suit - at least right now. Maybe if we work up something larger, and scale the size of the lasers down. For now that’s just not feasible.”

“Perils of not having seen them yet. Can I try one of the prototypes out?”

“I don’t see any reason why not. That’s one reason we kept some here, after all.”

Frederick nodded, trying to hide how eager he was. Intellectually, he knew the Einherjar would fall far short of the specifications in the data he’d got from Jaime Wolf. “You’ve worked wonders to get them ready so far.”

“It was the Doctor and his team who did the hard work,” the baron said dismissively. “Another reason he’s off to Coventry is that it’s nearer to Twycross. We’re still not sure what we found is harjel or if we’re on the wrong track. Samples are easier to ship to him there.”

“Don’t be so modest. It takes more than just genius to get something like this done.”

“It’s rather cathartic to have the authority to actually force things through. Even if it’s very ‘wait until your father gets home’ at some points.”

“Father?”

“You - the duke, that is. No one wants you to think they’re dragging their feet.”

Frederick smirked… and then they rounded a rise and saw the sun sinking towards the horizon, casting pinkish light across the desert. “Oh…”

“What?”

“That sunset!”

The older man shaded his eyes. “Nice, I suppose,” he said insincerely.

“You have no romance in your soul.”

“None,” he replied with feigned pride. “Speaking of dragging feet…”

“Who?”

Max folded his hands on the pommel of his saddle. “Katrina. It’s eighteen months since I expected her to send the Peace Proposal, Frederick. Have I screwed that up?”

Frederick shrugged. “I’m not sure. I know she’s talking diplomacy with some of her advisors but I’m not in the loop for that. We talked briefly when I passed through Tharkad on my way to Timbuktu and she asked questions about New Avalon and the court there, but if she’s planning to make the offer you described, she didn’t bring it up.”

“...damn.”

“She might just prefer to keep building up the existing work with Hanse Davion rather than a broader offer,” he suggested. The Peace Proposal of 3020 that Max had described had been aiming for a ceasefire between the five Successor States so that all the Great Lords could gather on neutral Terra for the first time since 2781. “And our position is stronger now than the one you described.”

The Lyran economy had always been the most robust of the successor states - since the collapse of the Terran Hegemony, it was axiomatic that the Lyrans were the wealthiest realm of the Inner Sphere, and thus of humanity as a whole. But the military victories of Katrina’s reign - spearheaded by Frederick himself - had given them credibility as a real rival in that field as well.

It’s arguable that we might be the strongest of the five right now, Frederick thought. And I’ve had a lot to do with that. If Katrina is really planning a major diplomatic move like this, why wouldn’t she tell me?

Then he forced his fingers to loosen on the reins. She knows my thoughts already, he reminded himself. And while I get on well with the Davions - the face of one particular Davion crossed his mind’s eye - I’d be a terrible choice for diplomacy with Kurita or Marik.

“Perhaps the time just isn’t right,” Max admitted. “If it isn’t coming, then hopefully we won’t need it when the Clans come.”

When, not if. But he’s right. And however strong we are, we’ll need to be stronger when Kerensky’s descendants decide to return to the Inner Sphere. Because nothing Max or Jaime have said suggests that they’ll come in peace.

Imperial City, Luthien
Pesht District, Draconis Combine
9 January 3023

The Black Room, deep beneath the Imperial Palace, was the most critical nerve center of the Draconis Combine Mustered Soldiery, and thus of the Combine as a whole. Theodore Kurita, in theory the ruler of both, had elected to hear Grieg Samsonov’s grievances here with only the high command, not in open court.

Had that been a mistake? Tomoe Sakade, one of only two guards present, wasn’t sure. She knew from prior conversation with Theodore that neither was the Coordinator but there was no sign of that in the young lord’s posture. He sat at the head of the table, successfully maintaining the image of a master receiving a report from a standing servant and not of a student being loomed over by an instructor.

“The Dragoons’ unruliness should be brought to heel, tono,” the Warlord of Galedon Military District concluded. “A dog can be useful, but it should also be well leashed. Your father was wise in many ways, but his untimely death during the negotiations with these lucre warriors has allowed them too much freedom.”

In front of Tomoe, Theodore let the silence after Samsonov’s declaration drag just a little, to be sure he had heard the man out fully and then moved his hand slightly in dismissal. A studied move, imitating the late Takashi Kurita.

Once the warlord had seated himself again, the Coordinator looked down the table. “Your opinions?”

Samsonov’s rival and certainly the most powerful of the five warlords, Syovo Yorioshi did not rise but he did lower his head slightly towards Theodore before speaking. “I can understand my comrades’ concerns at the latitude given to Colonel Wolf and his regiments. However, I am confident that my own Benjamin Regulars would be able to bring Wolf back in line if that regrettable need were to arise. Surely the Galedon Regulars are similarly prepared.”

“Bringing Wolf down is one thing, doing so without leaving Davion free to take the initiative is another,” snapped Samsonov.

Vladimir Sorenson cleared his throat. “Wolf and his regiments are one reason we currently hold the initiative along that border.” He might not bear the blame for reverses on the other border, but Sorenson was Warlord of Dieron… a district whose capital was now under the rule of the detested Lyrans. And the Dragoons were a key reason for that embarrassment. “If he is providing the desired results, why meddle in current arrangements?”

The answer was known to all and unspoken.

“It is unseemly for a mere hireling to be allowed to act without regard to higher authority.” The Warlord of Galedon scowled. “And he has been allowed to take inexperienced soldiers of the Dragon under his influence, who may expect similar latitude in the future.”

“The Drakon regiments are learning the ways by which Jaime Wolf does war,” Theodore conceded. “They are nonetheless our samurai and operate under the same direction as any other regiment of the DCMS. Wolf’s Dragoons may serve us for now, but they remain mercenaries. They have fought us in the past, and may do so in the future. In that event, with the Drakons in the ranks of our soldiers, we will know their ways and be prepared to defeat them - as has been attempted before.”

Attempted and failed.

“Jumped up militia that are hardly the equals of battle-hardened mercenaries,” grumbled Cherenkoff. “Troops that would be better used keeping control of unruly peasants, not wasted in trying to be frontline soldiers.”

“Are you struggling to control your district?” Samsonov asked with a sneer. Rasalhague should be settling now that Theodore was… Tomoe was careful not to let emotion show on her face. Now that Theodore was married to the daughter of their Jarl, she finished the thought. But Cherenkoff is by far the clumsiest of the five warlords.

“Are you struggling to control your mercenaries?” the portly officer spat the ire back.

“The point is that they are not my mercenaries and have been granted license by the Coordinator to operate with wide discretion. The insurgents you are complaining about have no such rights.”

“If you think you can do better…”

Tomoe saw the shift of Theodore’s shoulders, the tell that he had seen an opening.

“I do believe that Grieg can do better, Vasily.”

The shift to the personal names left the men around the table slightly offguard, hesitating as the Coordinator struck. “You are relieved of command of Rasalhague Military District.”

Tomoe and the other guard moved in on the portly officer, she pulling the man’s chair back while her companion took the warlord’s swords from him.

“Wh-what? Why!?”

Theodore’s eyes were bleak. “Indrahar?”

The spymaster bowed his head. “Fourteen major attempts at subverting planetary, prefectural and district authorities have been brought to the former-Warlord’s attention, requesting DCMS support in detaining the conspirators. In twelve of these cases, individuals under warrant have escaped the initial attempts and only ten have in fact been traced and removed by follow up efforts. On seven occasions, without the opportunity to interrogate them. Of those twelve, all have a common element - direct connections to officers within the Warlord’s staff.”

Vasily Cherenkoff’s eyes flicked around the room for support. “Then arrest them, not me!”

“You are not being removed for treason, Vasily.” Theodore smiled slightly but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Those officers are being treated as traitors deserve, but you are stripped of your rank and titles for a far worse sin: a traitor can be used at least once, but the lazy and the careless have no value.”

Tomoe and her fellow dragged the fallen Warlord to the door and handed him off to a squad of their comrades in the Otomo. No one at the table watched as they did so. Cherenkoff was gone, they knew they would never see him again. What mattered now was what would follow.

“Warlord Samsonov.” Theodore let the cloak of formality fall back over his words. “You are relieved of command of Galedon District in order that you may take up the command of Rasalhague Military District. The Drakons will travel with you, deployed to support you in restoring order there. I am sure you possess the energy and rigor that your predecessor lacked.”

Samsonov stood and bowed. The dismissal of one of his peers had reminded him, for now, of his place. “I am honored by your trust, tono.” Empty words, but at least obedience. “I look forward to working with your esteemed father-in-law to make Rasalhague a bastion of support for the Dragon.”

Such a bastion would be needed. Tomoe was among the few that Theodore had shared Jaime Wolf’s origins with. The mercenary’s admission had shocked her, it was a revelation that would shock the entire Combine when it came out. Something that would need to be handled carefully, and done when Theodore’s rule was on a stronger footing.

But one thing was clear: if the Dragoon’s people did come then it was Rasalhague and Pesht districts that would face the storm.

“An opportunity that I sadly cannot give you,” Theodore told the new Warlord of Rasalhague. “Jarl Sjovold’s role in discovering the conspiracies was not a small one. While it will be detrimental to preparing Rasalhague as a springboard for a renewed offensive against the Lyrans, I believe he will be too much of a target there. And a valued advisor on Luthien, of course. Jarl Sjovold will be announced shortly as the new Minister of Court.”

Tomoe barely bit back her amusement. Sjovold’s part in revealing the conspiracies had been entirely unwitting - Theodore and Indrahar had been carefully unraveling the plotting that had lain behind Takashi’s death and found a network of agents tied to both the Jarl and to the Lyran-backed Tyr movement. Openly condemning the father of the Coordinator’s consort would be unacceptable but promoting him into a post distant from his power base on Rasalhague - and one where he would be under intense scrutiny by the upper nobility of the capital and the Combine would cripple Sjovold’s ability to indulge in such dangerous politics for years to come.

And Anastasi Kurita would be pleased to have her father closer to hand. Happy wife, happy home. Theodore had grasped that fact, and he needed every possible support if he was to battle the many problems of the Combine.

The Order of Five Pillars had many roles. Supporting the Dragon when he was wise, gently advising him when he was not. Sacrificing much, for the greater benefit of the Combine. Tomoe had never expected anything less from her life, and what she was receiving was if anything more than she had hoped.

“Moving along,” Theodore continued. “We have a vacancy among our Warlords now.” Before Samsonov could make any nominations, he turned to Yorioshi. “I will have to deprive you of General Shotugama’s services, Syovo.” The intimate tone held a warning it might not have had earlier.

Yorioshi’s eyes flickered as he digested the move. One of his trusted officers, taking over his rival’s previous post. Shotugama would have to win support from officers with ties to Samsonov. If he succeeded, then the Warlord of Benjamin might be able to look for more cooperation along the Davion border than had been the case before. Or he might find his former lieutenant to be a new and even more dangerous rival. “I am pleased that you see the same promise that I do in General Shotugama,” the Warlord said quietly. “I assume that tono will wish to instruct him of his elevation personally?”

“You perceive my thoughts very well,” Theodore’s smile was predatory. “An invitation has been issued for him to dine with me this evening.”

“Yes, I believed at the time that you were considering granting him command of the Fifth Sword of Light.” Reformed after their shattering defeat on Dieron. The possibility of retiring their honors and building an entirely new regiment had been considered and only rejected after a great deal of debate in this very chamber.

“He will receive that as well. The Fifth will hone their claws fighting Davion, well away from their previous reversals,” Theodore informed them. “I am, after all, removing the Drakons from Galedon District. Someone must replace them and Shotugama will require reliable troops to consolidate his position until the Galedon Regulars are used to him.”

So the Fifth Sword of Light would be both Shotugama’s sword against Samsonov’s loyalists, and a blade against the new Warlord’s throat.

“You mentioned a new offensive against the Lyrans?” Elija Kurita, a distant cousin of the Coordinator and the current Warlord of Pesht district, had not spoken so far.

Theodore nodded. “Dieron requires a reply, and striking there again would be predictable. Plans are being developed, but naturally much awaits decisions to be made by the Warlord of Rasalhague. Cherenkoff’s ineptitude has at least bought time for preparations to be made elsewhere. Perhaps you would like to inform the council of the progress made by Luthien Armor Works, cousin?”

Elija beamed. “Of course, tono.” He looked around the table. “You may recall Wells Technologies were acquired by LAW following the disgraceful discovery that they were selling Charger battlemechs to Lyran black marketeers.”

“Something of limited benefit to the Lyrans,” muttered Sorenson.

Tomoe couldn't help but agree. The Charger was a notoriously useless design. Twenty tons of fight in an eighty-ton sack, she'd heard it called.

“Indeed. Production has been ceased not only to prevent that trade but also to reconstruct the factory using data gathered by the ISF.” Elija tipped his head slightly to Director Indrahar. “The new battlemech produced at the factory has been designated the Hatamoto and is constructed in five variants. By using a much smaller fusion reactor than that of the Charger, the mech uses a pair of PPCs in every case.”

Tomoe saw Samsonov’s look of interest. The Warlord had infamously modified his Atlas to use such an armament, even if it hadn’t stopped him from being defeated by Frederick Steiner on Halstead Station many years ago.

“The variants differ in their secondary armament,” the Pesht warlord continued. “The first of each is awaiting us outside the Imperial Palace at this time.”

“An inspection?” asked Yorioshi. “While I am not uninterested -”

“Gifts,” Theodore corrected him. “After I have informed General Shotugama of his promotion, it will please me to present each of my warlords with one of the new Battlemechs. Elija, please show them specifications. I will allow you to decide amongst yourselves who receives which particular model…”

The Triad, Tharkad
Protectorate of Donegal, Lyran Commonwealth
31 August 3023

Ardan Sortek thought Katrina Steiner looked relieved to see him as he was ushered into the informal audience chamber adjoining her office, and said as much: “Am I rescuing you from something?”

“Internal politics.”

He nodded, familiar with similar sentiments from Hanse. “You’re welcome.”

The Archon laughed, some of the years dropping off her. Ardan had seen how the burdens of rule had aged Hanse and hoped that his friend would be able to relax from the strain when he was Katrina’s age, in a decade or so. God willing, without losing Dana the way Katrina had lost her husband Arthur. Most of the time, the Steiner matriarch looked her natural mid-forties, but relaxed she could have passed for younger.

“Congratulations on your victory,” she told him, gesturing to a seat.

“Even if it comes at the expense of the Boys of Summer?” Ardan was freshly arrived from New Earth, where the third Alliance Games had been fought. In simulated combat, his Davion Heavy Guards had bested the similarly elite Seventeenth Skye Rangers.

“Humility is a virtue they needed to be reminded of.” Katrina opened the bottle of wine on the table between them. “I think you’ll find this vintage to your liking, Colonel.”

“I have no doubts.” The wine cellars of a Great House had few rivals, after all.

The blonde poured two glasses of white and Ardan sniffed at the contents before nodding and raising his glass. “House Steiner.”

She returned the salute. “House Davion.” Both drank, and Ardan was unsurprised that the wine lived up to her prediction. “Your victory was deserved, even if it did add to my current headache,” Katrina confided, setting her half-empty glass on the table.

“Oh? I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Skye,” the Archon said - in much the same tones that Hanse might have used when speaking of New Syrtis.

“I heard that Duke Grethar had passed away,” Ardan admitted diplomatically. “But his daughter struck me as capable when we met. Young, but she was well prepared to succeed.”

“That’s my own feeling,” Katrina murmured. “Unfortunately, Grethar’s nephew disagrees - not least because Margaret is adopted, rather than being his blood cousin.”

As much as Ardan would have liked to stay out of politics, he’d had to read up on Lyran politics before the ambassador allowed him anywhere near the royal court. “That would be… the Duke of Summer?”

“Exactly. And Aldo is a particular patron of the Seventeenth, given their association with his world. If I’d known this was coming then I’d have pulled the Seventeenth from the Games in favor of another unit; win or lose, their having being sent up against an AFFS regiment right when this was going down would have given him angles.”

Ardan shrugged. It wasn’t as if he’d have thrown the fight. “Is it alright for you to discuss this with me?”

“I’d rather Hanse hear it at only one remove,” she told him frankly. “Skye is right on the route between our realms so any conflict there has to be considered from both sides. And this will hit the media sooner rather than later: Duke Lestrade has challenged the legitimacy of Duchess Aten’s succession in the courts.”

“Ouch.”

“Ouch indeed.” Katrina picked up her glass again and sipped. “The Skye Provincial Court saw the case and threw it up to the Chief Justice right away. Whatever they ruled, it was going to go to appeals so they saw no point taking it on themselves. Besides, they have to live with whoever wins the case.”

The Lyran judiciary was usually quite independent minded, even if it meant disagreeing with the sitting Archon. “Is this a legal matter or a political one?”

“Yes.”

“Ah.”

“I’m fairly sure that Grethar covered every possible legal angle when he decided to adopt Margaret, but she is young and you know how much snobbery can affect the aristocracy of Skye.”

“Any aristocracy,” the son of a gentleman-farmer pointed out. He'd grown up almost within view of Mount Davion, given the way the mountain loomed over the rich agricultural plains that New Avalon had been settled for.

“Most of them, at any rate,” Katrina agreed. “And Margaret grew up in poverty. Whatever the legal ruling, the Skye political actors have to be convinced to accept it. Some of them won’t look past her birth to her ancestry, or the fact she’s genuinely very able and loyal. Which means I can’t just stay hands off.” She finished her wine. “It’s pulling attention from what I wanted to discuss, the real reason I asked you to visit Tharkad.”

“I don’t follow.”

The Archon opened a folder on the table and extracted the documents within. Two pages, neither especially lengthy. “I’ve been waiting for the right moment to send this to my peers. Your prince and his brother both had what could be termed as a ‘special relationship’ with the Lyran Commonwealth. I wanted your informal opinion of how he will take this.”

Ardan put his almost empty glass down and took the first sheet. His eyebrows arched almost immediately. It was a letter addressed, as Katrina had said, to the heads of the other four Great Houses. That in and of itself would be almost unprecedented. But then there were the contents.

“A general ceasefire and a face to face meeting on Terra to try to formulate mutually acceptable peace treaties?” he asked. “Should you ask ComStar to open up the Court of the Star League while you’re at it?” The long vacant throne of the Star League was the theoretical goal of the Succession Wars - the prize fought over for almost two and a half centuries. General Kerensky had sealed the throne room personally the same day he executed Stefan Amaris and the entire court complex from which the Star League had once been governed had been effectively abandoned since his Exodus.

“That would probably be a distraction from other issues,” Katrina murmured. “But if they are interested…” She indicated the second page.

Reading it, Ardan shook his head slightly. “You might be able to get the first part done,” he admitted. “I think Hanse would be willing to meet with you on Terra, but I can’t see him agreeing to deciding the fate of worlds on an economic basis. It is rather one-sidedly in favor of the Commonwealth.”

“It might incentivise the other lords to focus on bettering their people’s lot,” the Archon observed crisply, “Rather than conquest. It’s just a suggestion though. I am open to alternatives if we can just get them talking.”

“Janos Marik is on decent terms with New Avalon,” he said slowly. “But not your greatest admirer. Maximilian Liao is a snake, pure and simple. And speaking of snakes…”

“Takashi Kurita hid a certain amount of pragmatism behind his obligatory samurai posturing. I have some hopes that his son is the same.”

Ardan wasn’t as convinced that Takashi Kurita had been posturing - he’d never met the man, but the Combine’s elite seemed to take those traditions deadly seriously. “Theodore… well, he’s new to the throne. I can see why you didn’t offer this to him earlier.” It was entirely possible that a young and inexperienced Coordinator might be deposed if he proposed peace. How much power lay in the hands of the Coordinator and how much in the DCMS High Command was a question that engaged deep analysis on New Avalon, on Tharkad and - most of all - on Luthien itself. “I don’t see it as happening, but I suppose he’s not been directly tied to any of his family’s traditional excesses.”

Katrina nodded. “I’d say there’s perhaps a one in ten chance of him at least attending such a meeting. Maybe a little better if everyone else agrees. It’s a unique chance for us to take each other’s measure in person, and he could argue that if he doesn’t attend then the rest of us might unite against the Draconis Combine.”

“There would be some who see that as a selling point.”

“I wouldn’t be quick to disagree with that either, but my first obligation is to the people I currently rule. If I can preserve them from the Combine’s aggression through diplomacy, then I have to prioritize that over liberating those they’re oppressing on their own worlds.”

Ardan lifted his glass and finished the contents. “I see your point. Of course, some of those worlds were once Lyran, or Suns… or Terran Hegemony.”

“If he doesn’t attend, which I admit is likely, I doubt I’d have difficulty securing political support to attempt another offensive such as Frederick’s Dieron attack,” Katrina told him. “Whether or not that’s feasible for other reasons… well, that depends who else is willing to talk peace.”

“It has the virtue of never having been tried before. Hanse will be interested, just not in economic competition. We just don’t have the shipping to compete.” He paused and then reluctantly added. “You know that some will want a share of your lostech research as the price of admission.”

“I might be willing to disclose some of it if they do attend and if they do negotiate in good faith,” Katrina allowed. “Some of it, not all of it. Even under the Star League, intellectual property was respected.”

Ardan reached for the bottle and refilled their glasses. “That sounds good to me. To the hope of peace?”

Katrina lifted her own glass. “The hope of peace.” They clinked the glasses again and sipped. “Thank you for giving me your opinion of it, Colonel Sortek. There aren’t many people outside of the Lyran court I can ask, and an outside view is sometimes the most valuable.”

“I’m glad to help,” he told her sincerely.

“Then if I may impose further on you, do you have plans for this evening?”

“My schedule is open.” It had the virtue of being true - and Katrina was one of the only two Successor Lords that Ardan would have expected to accept if he’d had other commitments. Perhaps he’d think better of the others if he’d met them? That might be another reason behind the idea of a face-to-face meeting.

“Excellent.” Katrina’s smile was warm. “I have a formal engagement - the Nagelring’s graduation dinner is this evening. I’m sure one more guest won’t complicate the event for them and I’ll give you a look at the vaults. Frederick gave Ian some data as a prize for winning the first Alliance Games, so perhaps by tradition I should send a gift back to Hanse with you.”

“Only a fool denies a dinner invitation from a lovely lady,” Ardan said gallantly. Then he paused. “Ah… is Melissa attending?” The Archon’s daughter was fond of teasing him. Or at least, he hoped she was teasing.

“It’s a little too late in the evening for her,” the Archon told him cheerfully. “Still, if you don’t want her measuring you for a wedding ceremony then you should consider finding a wife before she’s of age. You’ve only got five years before she’s legal and I’m sure Hanse would find it politically acceptable since Frederick is courting his own cousin.”

Ardan sighed heavily. “As if it’s that easy?”

“Don’t you like my daughter, Colonel?”

“I didn’t fall for the Seventeenth’s traps, I won’t fall for that. I’m twice her age.”

“And I trust in your restraint. Boys closer to her age, not so much.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 2

Castle Davion, New Avalon
Crucis March, Federated Suns
3 September 3023

“Welcome, Ambassador!” Hanse Davion, First Prince of the Federated Suns, had come to the door of his office to greet Gregor Eisner warmly.

Despite the crisis around his accession to the throne, relations between his realm and the Lyran Commonwealth were better than they had been since the fall of the Star League. Ambassador Eisner had been an inspired choice to represent his nation: a native of Arcturus and veteran of the Arcturan Guards, he’d left military service for a diplomatic role after losing his leg fighting the DCMS. His natural good humor had made him a popular guest on holovid shows and he’d even played celebrity soccer one-on-one against Duke Aaron Sandoval (himself a double-amputee) for charity last year.

Eisner accepted the offered hand and shook it, but he did so stiffly and his face was far from its usual warmth. “Your Highness. Thank you for seeing me on short notice.”

“You said it was important,” Hanse replied, gesturing to the seats. “Coffee?” Behind a veneer of bonhomie, the prince’s mind was working furiously. Was something wrong - some crisis on Tharkad?

“I think that that would be inappropriate.” Eisner accepted the seat, leaning forwards. He opened his attache case and produced an envelope. “I have been instructed to deliver the following note with all due urgency.”

Hanse stared at him and then accepted the envelope. “I only sent my reply to your Archon’s Peace Proposal last night,” he mused. “Unless ComStar have broken with their usual inefficiencies, I’d be amazed if it’s arrived on Tharkad by now. Much less for there to be a response.”

“This message follows from the Peace Proposal, your highness.”

“...should I ask, or should I simply read it, ambassador?”

Eisner swallowed. “Since you have asked, I believe I am free to interpret my instructions with some latitude.”

“Well spit it out! Whatever it is, surely we can deal with it with the same goodwill our nations have shared for years now!” Hanse was opening the envelope as he spoke though.

“On the evening of the thirty-first, only a few hours after the Peace Proposal was sent,” the ambassador began, “Colonel Sortek of your armed forces was the Archon’s guest at the graduation dinner of the Nagelring.”

“Late in the year… ah, yes I forgot that your academic year doesn’t quite match ours.” Hanse shook his head. “Has something happened to Ardan? Is that what this is about?” His friend - almost his younger brother! If he’d come to harm, then Katrina might well send a personal message. But a formal note?

Eisner shook his head. “I regret to inform you that Colonel Sortek was apprehended attempting to access the Nagelring’s vaults, sir.”

“What?! That’s ridiculous!” Hanse forced himself to remain seated, but Eisner sat back sharply at the force of the denial.

“I cannot claim direct knowledge of the events. I can confirm, as a graduate, that the vaults hold not only valuable and historical artifacts of the academy, but also serve as a back-up data center for sensitive information.”

“I’m aware,” the prince said sharply. “Including back-ups of the Star League computers recovered by Duke Frederick Steiner over the last few years, or so I have been told.”

“Correct, your highness. I don’t believe that there is any way that the Colonel could have tried to enter them by accident.”

“Ardan isn’t a spy!”

“Having met Colonel Sortek, I would not make such an accusation, sir. Nonetheless, he was found there under suspicious circumstances and the Archon was present in person. I believe she was angered considerably.”

Hanse opened the letter sharply and started scanning it impatiently. The ambassador remained diplomatically silent, watching as the First Prince felt his cheeks flush with anger…

When Hanse Davion looked up again, it was only after he had fought to keep that fury under control. “I read here, ambassador, that my good and trusted friend Ardan Sortek has been detained for questioning at the Archon’s pleasure.” He raised one hand when Eisner started to reply. “My good friend who has diplomatic credentials has been detained, one might even say arrested.”

The Lyran exhaled slowly. “Yes, your highness.”

“This treads very closely towards the line of exceeding diplomatic practices, ambassador.”

“I am aware, your highess.”

For a very long moment, the two men stared at each other.

Hanse broke the silence. “I understand this to be a preliminary message. I obviously have no firsthand knowledge of what may have happened at the Nagelring, but please relay to Archon Steiner that I expect a full account once one is available to her - as she would expect of me if the situation were reversed.”

“I will do so, your highness,” Eisner said in relief.

“For now I will refrain from issuing anything that could be construed as a threat. We may, after all, very soon receive news that this is all some terrible misunderstanding. And I am sure that once Colonel Sortek is back at the Federated Suns embassy, I will receive notification and his own account. However, if he is not back in the embassy - intact and unharmed, and within a reasonable span of time - then I may find it necessary to circumscribe the movements of Lyran diplomatic personnel.”

“That, uh…”

Hanse shook his head. “I devoutly hope that this is no more than a misplaced overreaction by the Archon to a perceived betrayal of trust. And if I have completely misunderstood Ardan and he has in fact attempted something so outrageous, then I will accept responsibility for him as my officer. But as you must understand, ambassador, when one’s diplomats are used poorly by the host nation it is the obligation of a ruler to reciprocate, lest other diplomats be similarly mistreated.”

Eisner dipped his head. “I am sure that, were the situation reversed, that you would not exceed the exact limits of diplomatic practises and that the Archon would be similarly disciplined.”

The prince sighed. “Is there anything else, ambassador?”

The man pushed himself back onto his feet. “Only my deep regrets that this situation has arisen and my hope that it will, as you say, quickly be proven to be a misunderstanding.”

“Thank you, Gregor. Don’t let me detain you.”

It was only when the ambassador paled that Hanse realized that the words had been poorly chosen. It was too late to take them back though, and he watched Eisner walk out.

God, poor Ardan! Whatever had happened? The First Prince slumped back in his chair. What could he do? What should he do? Tharkad and New Avalon were separated by over five hundred light years, direct action was out of the question… What insanity would have Ardan try to access a Lyran secure vault? He knew that the alliance was the most valued diplomatic asset the Suns had!

Straightening, Hanse checked the clock and saw that he had twenty minutes before the appointments pushed back to make time for Eisner needed to be dealt with. He stalked to his desk and thumbed his intercom. “I need to speak to Olivia Fenlon before my next appointment. And Nelitha Green-Davion in the same timeframe.”

The secretary was on the ball. “I’m alerting their staffs now, your highness. Do you wish to speak to them separately, together or does it not matter?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Understood.” Hanse could almost see the secretary’s face focused in concentration. “Countess Fenlon is in a meeting and being contacted. Countess Green-Davion is currently in transit from Brunswick, a call is being patched through to her now.”

“Thank you.” Hanse released the intercom, recovered the diplomatic note and was back in his chair right before the vid-phone lit up and displayed his distant cousin’s face.

“Hanse?” she asked. “Is something the matter?”

“Yes.” He paused. “I need to get a back-channel message to Frederick Steiner. I hate to use your personal relationship for state business, but Ardan’s in trouble on Tharkad.”

Nelitha blinked. “In trouble that the Archon isn’t willing to help him with? You know they get on like a house on fire.”

“Right now, the house is on fire and Katrina appears to be pouring oil on it. It’s… uncharacteristic. I’ll get you the details and if anyone can get through to the Archon and fight Ardan’s corner, it’s your boyfriend.”

“I’ll certainly ask,” she said slowly, “But I don’t believe he’s on Tharkad at the moment. According to his last letter, he was heading back out to the Periphery - one of his industrial investments paid off. I’d be amazed if word gets to him in less than a week. It could be longer, you know what ComStar’s like for the further fringes of the Inner Sphere.”

Of all the times! “Please let him know anyway. I’m going through formal channels but I have a bad feeling about this. Ardan’s been accused of espionage and Katrina’s handling, at least so far, has been… clumsy. I might even go so far as inflammatory.”

“Can you tell me more?”

“She invited him to the Nagelring and he allegedly tried to access their secure vaults.”

“...that doesn’t sound like Ardan at all,” Nelitha admitted. She frowned in thought. “Katrina doesn’t take betrayal well. She might be taking this personally… I don’t know her as well as he does.”

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. Is this the diplomatic equivalent? I hope our ambassador has a handle on this by now. “Thank you, Nelitha. Just ask Frederick to do what he can.”

With the call ended, Hanse turned and looked out over the city below Castle Davion as he waited for his foreign minister to become available. Did Ardan blunder into someone else’s plot? he wondered. Something incidental to him… or was he framed by someone who knew exactly how Katrina would react? He didn’t know, but his gut told him that this wouldn’t end quickly or cleanly.

The Lost Sea, Kwangjong-ni
Protectorate of Donegal, Lyran Commonwealth
7 October 3023

Max knew that the creaking above him was water in the ancient plumbing of the Weigel Armory and Munitions factory, not the dome separating them from the ocean. That wasn’t enough to keep him from looking up nervously at every sound.

For once, Frederick seemed to share his unease with the situation. The younger man was hunching his shoulders and had the fixed expression of mild irritation that Max knew was his default when hiding discomfort with a situation. “It’s in better condition that I’d hoped,” he said out loud.

“I wasn’t sure myself. My guess is that the SLDF never found it so no one’s shot it up, stripped it or done anything but abandon the place.”

Official records claimed that Weigel Armory and Munitions’s factory on Kwangjong-ni had been destroyed by the SLDF in 2767, early in their occupation of the Rim Worlds Republic. That had seemed odd - the factory had supplied Amaris’ forces for the coup, but it could have also been used to build equipment for Kerensky’s drive to liberate the Hegemony. It could have been that the factory was razed by the defenders to prevent it from being used by Kerensky, and no one had found anything to suggest it still existed for centuries… but Max’s memories told him that something would have been discovered someday.

It had taken over a decade of underwater surveying, but now there was proof that the factory had just been lost, not destroyed. Built under the planet’s oceans, it wasn’t going to be found by accident. Only a few workers had probably known where it was and most likely they’d died in the chaos of that era, or lived out their lives without telling. Others, brought in and out without being told that it was underwater rather than the more common underground, might have simply had no way of finding it again.

Whatever the truth, here it was.

“It’s a self-contained factory,” Max reported. “Raw materials come in, ‘mechs come out. We’re still checking the tooling but it looks as if we’d only need modest repairs to be able to build Rampages again. Assuming we want them.”

“On the one hand, they’re pretty decent assault ‘Mechs,” Frederick observed, “But on the other, it’d be rather obvious we found a factory for them. No one builds them, but they’re recognisable. And the association with Amaris…”

“Mmmm.” Max shrugged. “How bad an impression would it make?”

“A ‘mech is a ‘mech. I don’t think it would be too bad in the Commonwealth, but the SLDF made a point of getting rid of Rim Worlds exclusive designs. The hatred lives on. And from what you say about the Clans…”

“Ah.”

Frederick looked at some of the tooling. “It’s pretty similar to the Zeus structurally.”

“Ja, there’s a suspicion that Defiance Industries used the design as a basis when they developed the Zeus during the First Succession War. If they’d found the place they could convert it to build them rather than Rampages.” He didn’t say that he was talking about what would have happened in that future history. They had practise talking around that detail, rather than possibly be overheard discussing such politically inappropriate things as visions and dreams. “We don’t have a license though.”

“And Defiance would send armies of lawyers after us. I’d be nibbled to death. Can we buy one?”

Max spread his hands. “We can ask. It’d take time unless we use the HPGs, but…”

“Basic security, we’ll want this to be face to face,” decided Frederick. “It’ll take time to reactivate this place anyway.”

“We can start by putting the component lines back in service.” Max opened his noteputer. “The Royal Guards only have a trickle of replacement parts to add to what we found on Helm. The lines here don’t build everything, but what they do build will be welcome.”

“Good thinking. And it’ll score points with Katrina, which is never a bad thing. That’s probably more valuable than more ‘Mechs.” The general shook his head. “I never thought I’d be saying that. More valuable than ‘Mechs. Still, if Defiance Industries decide they don’t want to license the Zeus at a reasonable cost, what can we do with this?”

“There’s the Striker, I suppose. We have the design data and no one’s building it. Or both Red Devil and Trellshire Heavy Industries have licenses for the Battlemaster, which is the right weight to use the reactors built here. If we partner with one of them, we could start building a lostech version.”

Frederick grinned. “And play them off against each other for the best deal.”

“You’re sounding like a businessman,” Max said and then flinched at another groan from the plumbing.

“I’m a proud Lyran patriot,” his boss told him. “There’s nothing shameful in understanding business. Anyway, the Battlemaster process sounds better than the Zeus, but Defiance may get shirty if we don’t at least make them an offer.”

“There’s more than one assembly line, so we might be able to do both.”

“That sounds…” Frederick’s comm pinged and he reached down to pull it off his belt. “Both is good,” he finished quickly before accepting the call. “Steiner here.”

There was a crackle of someone speaking, too distant and tinny for Max to overhear.

“Right,” the general said crisply. “Retransmit down to our ship. It’ll take us hours to get back, there’s no point waiting.” He cut the comm. “Apparently I have mail.”

“Who from?”

“Tharkad and New Avalon. The former is official, but that’s all the new boy knows.” Frederick had taken on a new secretary, since Max was no longer available on a day to day basis.

“I think d’Alembert is about the same age you were when we first met,” Max told him wryly. “If that makes him a boy in your eyes, how old am I?”

“About a thousand years, give or take.”

They both laughed as they retraced their steps to the factory’s dock. The small cargo submarine that had brought them was floating in the dock, dwarfed by the infrastructure that was clearly intended to deal with bulk shipments in and out. At least the yellow paint was cheerful in comparison to the industrial grey.

The two men climbed the gangway and entered the cramped control room, where Jules d’Alembert was sitting at the communications panel, being pointedly ignored by the young woman who was monitoring the submarine’s status - most of the crew were resting or had joined in exploring the factory.

“Two messages, sir.” The heavyset young man held up a headset. “ComStar want your voiceprint authorization to retransmit. The one from Tharkad is official LCAF, the other they probably don’t need the authoriziation but the adept is being shirty.”

Frederick sighed. “Bureaucrats.” He donned the headset. “This is General Steiner. Are you ready to check my authorization?”

Max crossed to the printer and waited as Frederick mildly roasted the officious ComStar representative. Sure enough, the messages were released and the printer came to life, clicking and whirring before spitting out several pages. Checking the top page of the first, Max saw it was indeed from New Avalon and who had sent it. “Message from Nelitha,” he reported and handed the papers over to Frederick.

It took him a moment for the second message to finish printing and when he looked up he saw that his friend’s face had gone from eager anticipation to confusion. “Is something wrong?”

“Perhaps,” Frederick admitted. “This has been on the way for over a month, but apparently Ardan Sortek’s been detained on Tharkad. Arrested or as near as you can with diplomats.”

“Why?” Sortek was fairly inoffensive, and on good terms with two Successor Lords. That made him pretty bulletproof against accusations of anything.

“He’s accused of espionage. Hopefully that’s been cleared up, but it’s still a scandal. If we weren’t on the far end of the Commonwealth I’d have thought we’d have heard something in the time it took this to catch up.”

“It may have come in with the same batch of messages as this,” Max muttered thoughtfully. “Or there could be something here.” He quickly and shamelessly started reading Frederick’s other message.

“Do you want me to check if there’s anything in the media, sir?” asked d’Alembert.

“Go ahead, Jules.” Frederick went back to reading Nelitha’s message. “It could have blown over, but I’d better head for Tharkad in case it hasn’t. Something’s wrong here.”

Max grunted. “You can’t.” He handed the other letter over. “You’re officially recalled to active duty - orders from Mount Asgard. Not Katrina’s signature but Regis signed them so she can’t be unaware. Jumpships are being arranged to get you to Wyatt by command circuit.”

“Wyatt?”

The world was well known to Max and Frederick, it was where he’d taken command of his first regiment, the Seventh Lyran Regulars. But few worlds in the Commonwealth were further from Kwangjong-ni: Wyatt was in the Isle of Skye, on the border with the Free Worlds League while they were currently in Coventry province, near the Periphery.

“A five hundred light year command circuit?” Frederick continued. “For just one man? If it’s that urgent, surely someone else is closer!” Dozens of jumpships would be delaying or altering their schedules to get him from one ship to another, letting a single dropship (or more probably a small shuttle) cross vast distances with multiple jumps each day. The expense was prodigious, as other shipments were delayed.

Max shrugged. “No details I can see, I guess it’s too important to send via ComStar.”

D’Alembert looked up. “I just got a DBC update from Tharkad, sir.” Donegal Broadcasting Company was one of the major news networks. “Relationships with the Federated Suns are collapsing - apparently the Federated Suns have confined our diplomats on New Avalon to their embassy.”

“Reasons?” Frederick demanded.

“Nothing official, sir. But apparently a high level Feddie representative tried something at the Nagelring.”

Frederick and Max exchanged looks. “Katrina can’t possibly want you in the area in case of war with the Suns, can she?” asked Max incredulously.

“Wyatt’s not that far from the Terran corridor, but she’d probably send me to Dieron if that was it.” The general shook his head. “I don’t have any choice though.” He looked at the submariner, who was trying to pretend that she wasn’t listening. “Recall your captain please. We need to get back to the surface as fast as possible.”

“It’ll take a day or so for the decompression,” she reminded him, reaching for her own comm. “We’re rather deep.”

“I’m aware, so we should start right away.” Frederick turned back to Max. “None of this makes sense, but someone has to get this fixed. Nelitha asked me to look into this and see if Ardan’s being framed. She doesn’t say so, but that has to come from the First Prince.”

Max nodded. “And you can’t chase it up when you’re on Wyatt.”

“I know. It’s a tough job, but you’re going to have to go to the richest, most luxurious and sophisticated court in the Inner Sphere and try to talk sense into the Archon before this gets further out of hand.”

The older man sighed. “I would rather face a thousand deaths.”

D’Alembert’s face showed that he thought they were joking. Perhaps calling him a boy wasn’t unfair.

Castle Roark, Wyatt
Federation of Skye, Lyran Commonwealth
13 November 3023

Dozens of jumps would have been a strain for anyone, and Frederick was self-aware enough to realize that it was hitting him harder than it would have a decade ago. I’m getting older, he thought. Is this how Max felt chasing me around?

At least official instructions had been waiting for him and he wasn’t going into this meeting entirely unprepared. Otherwise the man waiting for him in the drawing room at Castle Roark would have been a complete shock.

“General Steiner!” The man in CCAF dress greens clicked his heels as he saluted him. “It is a delight to meet such a highly reputed soldier.”

Frederick returned the salute. “Senior Colonel Ridzik. Your own name is hardly unknown to me.” For competence, but also for a certain brutality. And while the ranks might seem disparate, there was no higher rank than Senior Colonel in the Capellan Confederation Armed Forces. Pavel Ridzik was the Chancellor’s most trusted general, so far as such things went - closer to being Edward Regis’ counterpart than Frederick’s.

The servant who’d guided Frederick here withdrew, leaving the two men in privacy. Hopefully meeting here in the stronghold of House Roark rather than Wyatt City would translate to some degree of security for the meeting. It wasn’t a worthless precaution, but Frederick doubted it would hold up for all that long.

“I never expected to be standing here for this conversation,” Pavel Ridzik continued, “But it’s my honor to work with you upon this joint enterprise our lords have set us upon.”

“That’s our duty.” Frederick’s words weren’t precisely agreement, and he thought the other man was canny enough to notice. “Let’s get down to business.”

“Of course.” Ridzik had been here long enough to familiarize himself with the holo-display. Less charitably put, he’d made himself at home. He activated it, bringing up a map of the central regions of the Inner Sphere. Five pie wedges radiating from the Terran system, the neutral hub where ComStar was headquartered. The red wedge marking the Draconis Combine didn’t quite reach the center though, the tip replaced by Lyran blue as a result of Dieron and neighboring worlds changing hands.

Ridzik indicated the other side of the Commonwealth, where it bordered the purple of the Free Worlds League. “The Chancellor and your Archon have agreed on a joint operation to repeat your success in pushing the Combine away from Terra. Driving our mutual enemy, House Marik, back will create a secure corridor between our realms.”

“As if we didn’t already have multiple worlds within a jump of each other’s,” grumbled Frederick, pointing at Dieron and New Earth - Lyran worlds in easy reach from Capellan worlds like New Home.

“Only a few worlds would need to change hands to remove those links,” the Capellan pointed out placatingly. “You’ve done it yourself, you know how quickly such things can change. Pushing the League back gives us much more security.”

“Those are our orders, anyway.” Looking at the map, Frederick indicated the four worlds of the Sirian Concordance, right at the tip of the Free Worlds League. “That means taking these worlds - a province with three regiments of their own. I believe the Third Sirian Lancers are away on federal service.”

Ridzik nodded. “The current government of the province are not supporters of the Captain-General. My understanding is that the ruler, Louis Grise, has concentrated his resources on the First and Second Lancers, so two well supplied regiments will defend the province. Sending the Third Lancers back would change the balance of forces very little - they’re short of supplies and don’t contain the best warriors. The main concern is that Janos Marik could send substantial reinforcements if Grise makes concessions and switches factions within their Parliament.”

That seemed like an accurate assessment to Frederick. Ridzik was no fool. “Either of us could crush the Lancers, given the time. Working together we could even do so quickly - unless your available forces are much weaker than I’ve been led to believe. But federal reinforcements are another matter.”

Spreading his hands, the bearded Capellan sat back in his seat. “Let us clear up any confusion in our forces first then. See what tools we have at our disposal?”

Frederick nodded curtly. Calling troops tools rankled with him but for now he'd let it pass. “The Eleventh Lyran Regulars are here on Wyatt and the 32nd Lyran Guards are stationed on Denebola and free for this operation. In addition, two reinforced battalions from the Commonwealth Jaegers are being quietly moved into the area. Close to three regiments of ‘Mechs and a dozen conventional regiments to support them. We have about as many more second line conventional regiments available for use as garrisons, but they’re not suited for invasions.”

“I would say about the same for conventional forces,” Ridzik offered. “In battlemech forces, my own regiment - Stapelton’s Iron Hands - are in position with Lothar’s Fusiliers on Outreach. The Second Kearny Fusiliers regiment will be moved up to support us once we have a plan in place - eight battalions, about the same forces that you are contributing.”

That was more or less what Frederick had expected. The Kearny Fusiliers were long-time mercenaries and very good, even if they were understrength - part of the famous Northwind Highlanders. While they might number less than the available Commonwealth Jaegers, in effectiveness they were probably about equal.

“If we don’t want Lord Marik to commit to defending the Sirians then we should present a separate threat that he has to respond to,” he said out loud. “He might appreciate picking up Sirian votes in Parliament, but he’s too canny to do so if it means losing votes from one of his existing supporters.”

“I see,” Ridzik stroked his beard. “So attack another province, one nearby, so that the available federal reserves go there. Zion and Ohrenson provinces were carved out of Capellan space recently and lack strong provincial forces, but they are not reliable allies to House Marik.”

Frederick nodded and indicated another pair of Marik worlds, clinging to the Lyran border. “The Border Protectorate are under tight military control by a pro-Marik government. They have two ‘Mech regiments of their own and would likely make them available to respond to an attack on Sirius if the Captain-General asked. But if I launch an attack on their own worlds, then they’d almost certainly receive support. We took Denebola off them recently, they’d not want to lose the rest of their territory.” He’d personally led that campaign.

“I see. And it makes for an easy division of any worlds taken,” the Capellan observed. “We take the Sirian worlds and you take the Border Protectorate, easy to understand and no cause for confusion.”

“Counting prizes before we’ve even begun operations is optimistic.” And it would mean four worlds for the Capellans, if they could take them, compared to two for the Lyrans. “But for us to quarrel over conquests we haven’t made would hardly be what the Archon wants out of this co-operation.”

And what was Katrina thinking by accepting Chancellor Liao’s proposed joint invasion of the Free Worlds League? Maximilian Liao was widely known as a treacherous snake, he’d backed Anton Marik’s revolt against the sitting Captain-General and from what Max told Frederick, was also reaching out to Michael Hasek-Davion - the allegedly-loyal opposition to Hanse Davion.

Frederick forced himself to try to be objective. The Capellans were the weakest of the five Successor States, keeping their neighbors off balance with internal strife was a valid strategy for survival in the crab-pit of the Succession Wars. It was possible they might be a reliable ally for the Lyrans… but it could cost Katrina the alliance with the far stronger Federated Suns.

“You make good points,” Ridzik agreed calmly. “If we cannot take the worlds then arguing over who holds them is foolish, but if we each have our own targets then there is less cause for… frictions, shall we say.”

“Well said.” Frederick studied the map again. “I believe that we have a broad outline of how to proceed, and that would match our master’s goals. Do you agree?”

The Capellan nodded. “I look forward to our cooperation. Perhaps this will be the first of many glorious victories for Lyran and Capellan forces.”

He nodded slowly. “Perhaps. I think we can hold Zosma, Alula Australis… perhaps take Oliver as well.” That world wasn’t part of any larger province but it would be essentially cut off if the Border Protectorate and the Sirian Concordance fell - and it was a valuable industrial world. “The Border Protectorate’s population aren’t supportive of their own leaders or of House Marik - and we’ve governed them before. That’s something you may wish to learn from.”

Ridzik’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t follow your point, general.”

“Worlds that leave the Capellan Confederation have an… unfortunate habit of becoming strongly loyal to their new rulers after a generation or two. And while you’ve taken worlds back, they’re almost always slow to fall in line.”

“We know how to deal with insurgencies,” Ridzik said flatly.

With atrocities, Frederick didn’t say. “If you’re having to put them down behind you, that will slow your advance. I’m confident I can take our targets unless Janos Marik throws a major portion of his strategic reserves at me, stripping other border regions. But if I do that and you’re bogged down fighting for every town then the Concordance could hold out and the corridor you want to create won’t be formed.”

“And you feel better able to keep restive civilians under control than I am?”

“I managed quite well on Dieron,” he replied coolly. “And I did so without using the heavy-handed tactics you’ve had to employ in your own career. I strongly suggest that you consider why so many people who’ve known Capellan rule are reluctant to return to it.”

“We are allies now, General Steiner. Perhaps you are unfamiliar with such relationships? What you say could be considered an insult to patriotic Capellan Citizens.”

Frederick glared at Ridzik. “We are allies because my cousin and your Chancellor have agreed to try to work together. My past experience of working with allies is that being forthright avoids later misunderstandings.”

“I see.” Ridzik visibly forced himself to lean back. “Please, share your wisdom.” His voice was edged in sarcasm.

“You mentioned Capellan citizens, but a large portion of your population aren’t citizens. The people you’re conquering know that they can only expect servitor status - which is close enough to slavery.”

“And you find that offensive?”

“Slaveowners are like cannibals, Colonel Ridzik. Both reduce the value of others from people to property. I find that deeply offensive and I really don’t understand why anyone wouldn’t feel the same way.”

Ridzik nodded slowly. “Obviously, I don’t agree with that comparison. And I find it deeply offensive. But, as you say, we are now not going to misunderstand each other. You will work with us despite that.”

“I am loyal to my Archon and she has ordered me to. Just don’t imagine I’m doing this out of any fondness for the Capellan state.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 3

Hilton Head, North America
Terra, Solar System
28 November 3023

Julian Tiepolo would have really preferred it if the First Circuit could meet around a table. Standing for this long wasn’t doing his back any favors. But that would probably be too corporate, abandoning traditions that went back to Jerome Blake or at least Conrad Toyama. That was what the conservatives would say if he suggested they relocate to a conference room.

Tempting as the idea was, that probably wasn’t a fight he wanted to expend political capital on. Even if possibly every Primus and likely every other member of the First Circuit going back two hundred years had felt the same way and made the same decision. Not today.

“Precentor Everson, could we begin with an update on the Lyran situation?” There was always a Lyran situation. They were by far the most irritating of the Successor States, edging gradually upwards on every metric except compliance with Blake’s vision since Katrina Steiner took office. Things were a little more serious right now.

Ulthar Everson stepped forwards slightly. “Ambassador Davidson has once again failed to secure the release of Colonel Sortek. After his vocal protests that two months is far in excess of any reasonable interpretation of diplomatic custody, we believe he is likely to be asked to leave the Lyran Commonwealth.”

Everson’s counterpart from New Avalon arched an eyebrow. “I hadn’t heard that.”

“Given the time needed for diplomatic pouches to cross the Inner Sphere, I imagine the news will take some time to arrive, Huthrin.” Everson shrugged wryly. “It’s not my fault they don’t trust our Blessed Order with such communications.”

“I think we’re all glad that relations between the Suns and the Commonwealth are collapsing,” Tiepolo interjected before Huthrin Vandel could speak further on the matter. The diplomatic issues were somehow leading to similar quarrels between the two Precentors, even though they couldn’t have happened at a better time. “Katrina Steiner’s Peace Proposal would have been a disaster for us if Hanse Davion had been able to take it up. A pairing of Lyran technology and industry to the Suns’ raw materials and military might would have been calamitous.”

“I’m not sure the Capellans stepping into that void is an improvement,” muttered Pedrigo Aliz.

The Primus sighed. “It’s certainly not ideal. I would have preferred that Chancellor Liao shoot himself in the foot the way that Captain-General Marik did with his own response.”

All eyes turned to Villius Tejh, who buried his hands in his sleeves. “Two years ago I’d have expected the same gaffe from him: proposing a dynastic marriage between his heir and Katrina’s,” Precentor Sian admitted. “The Archon would never accept using her daughter as a diplomatic counter in that way, at least by my read of her.”

“Certainly not in the way that Marik did it,” Everson agreed. “He didn’t even specify which of his potential heirs would marry the girl.”

Tejh shrugged. “The Chancellor’s position is essentially the reverse: his son’s illicit marriage and disinheritance meant he had no male heir to offer and he apparently wasn’t open to the idea of suggesting one of his daughters marry young Melissa. Since he couldn’t offer that, he apparently decided it would be better to be inside the tent if the plan somehow succeeded and agreed to the ceasefire and talks if at least one other Successor Lord was open to the idea.”

“The Blessed Blake’s guidance thankfully sparing us that,” the last of the First Circuit murmured. “Without the Sortek Scandal, Davion’s response might have led to a tripartite conference.”

“I think we could have reasonably hoped that Davion-Liao antipathy could have spoiled that, but better we don’t have to find out,” admitted Huthrin.

“Quite.” Tejh shook his head. “In any case, he did suggest that if no other House Lord was amenable then it might be possible to bring Marik to the negotiating table via a joint invasion: faced with the alternative of coordinated attacks on both fronts, his Parliament might press him to come to terms. From their point of view, if they have binding peace treaties with the Commonwealth and the Confederation then they can sit back and rebuild while the Lyrans and Capellans fight the other Successor States.”

Tiepolo frowned and looked at Aliz. “Is that realistic, do you think?”

“Twenty or thirty years ago, Marik might have backed the idea. Today it might have to be done over the Captain-General’s dead body. Then again, there may be people willing to arrange that.” Tiepolo’s successor on Atreus shook his head. “On balance I don’t think it will work, but I can’t rule it out.”

The Primus nodded in understanding. “I cannot disagree with your assessment. Let us finish our update on the Lyran situation before we discuss responses.”

“I understand that Demi-Precentor Rachan has been active,” Everson observed. “Perhaps it would be best if he reported directly on his activities.”

There was no dissent and Tiepolo gave orders to call in the head of ROM’s activities within the Lyran Commonwealth. His former aide had been summoned ahead of time, the need having been anticipated, so he was brought in without any wait.

“Demi-Precentor, I hope that you have better news to report about your activities than we’ve received over the last few years,” Vandel greeted him.

“I at least have more to report than previously,” Rachan replied confidently. “We’ve been working for a long time to obtain access to records held by the Tharkad Institute for Research On Lostech and since my last report, one of our agents has managed to enter the Nagelring vaults and view some of the back-up data the Institute stores there.”

“Is this related to the Sortek matter?” enquired Tejh.

“Unintentionally. The colonel’s presence was unexpected, but fortunately he provided a useful distraction. I wish I could claim credit for the resulting impact on relations with the Suns, but that was our good fortune rather than a planned part of the operation.”

“So what have you discovered?” Aliz demanded. “Do the Lyrans have a Prometheus core, as we feared?”

“It isn’t quite that bad, but if the summaries our agent extracted are correct then they do have an extensive collection of texts. Enough to pose a very serious threat to our Order’s monopoly on advanced technology, if they are able to fully exploit it. Fortunately, the challenges of this are something that they are struggling with.”

The face of Precentor Aliz paled. “Primus, surely we should reconsider the previous decision not to take direct action. Destroying this Tharkad Institute for Research On Lostech and their back-ups must be our highest priority.”

Rachan raised one hand. “Your pardon, Precentor, but that wouldn’t seriously hamper the Lyrans. Our analysts have established that while TIROL is a functional agency, it’s primarily administrative. Destroying their facilities and even the back-ups of their files would be a strictly temporary set-back. The actual research is being carried out at many different locations, few if any of them on Tharkad itself.”

“But there have been many announcements of laboratories and research bases on the Lyran capital,” Everson protested.

“Decoys, Precentor.” Rachan dismissed the criticism coolly. “Those sites are attacked with almost predictable frequency by other intelligence agencies, and even when they succeed they are wasting their efforts. We know that at least one entire DEST team has been lost chasing false leads on Tharkad. Lyran Intelligence is playing a very clever game. The only nation who we haven’t identified as making utter fools of themselves are the Canopians, and that’s because their only presence we’ve identified is the Tharkad Institute of Technology and Science.”

There was a pause as the First Circuit collectively translated that into an acronym.

“I refuse to believe that that’s a serious scientific establishment,” Vandel objected. “Is this a joke, Rachan?”

“Not my joke, sir. It’s the name of a bar outside Tharkad University, the Canopians have been collecting intelligence there for at least forty years. If the Lyrans are aware, they’re allowing it to exist as a way to feed data to the Magistracy. We do monitor their messages home, there’s occasionally useful information.”

“I trust that you can also exclude ROM from embarrassing themselves as well?” asked Tiepolo.

Rachan shook his head. “We haven’t lost any agents, but we did waste some time following up on failed raids before we realized what we were dealing with. I’ve assigned a few Delta agents to continue the investigation just in case LIC suspect that we’ve caught on to their deception.”

“I’ve no intention of questioning your methods, not being an expert in that field,” Tiepolo declared, hoping to deter his colleagues from doing that. “You’ve said that the Lyrans are struggling, could you expand on that?”

“Dispersing their efforts has made it much harder to decisively shut down their progress, but it also hinders communication between their scientists. At the moment, the majority of their projects are working to bridge the gap between what they know, the data in various texts that may or may not be applicable, and a functional application of that data to their goals. It would be grossly optimistic to say that they haven’t had successes already, and in the long run they can expect to make a great deal of progress but in the short term each breakthrough is isolated and even if it might help with other goals there’s a good chance that it will be missed. For example, while they’re working to understand the principles behind HPGs, these efforts are being handled entirely independently of other research into hyperphysics such as jump drives.”

“Which would you say is most advanced there?” asked Tiepolo warily. If the Lyrans had their own HPGs then it would be a disaster he’d not survive, at least politically.

Rachan shook his head. “As you might imagine, we prioritized evaluating that, sir. From what I can tell, they’re running down dead-ends that the Star League thoroughly explored back in the Twenty-Sixth Century.”

“That’s certainly a relief. I think we’d like to see a more detailed report on your discoveries, Demi-Precentor. Please have the data prepared for us to review independently and thank you for your hard work.”

“Yes Primus. Blake’s will be done.” Rachan bowed and retreated.

“The Lyrans are getting more and more dangerous,” Vandel muttered.

“Agreed. I’d appreciate you and Everson doing everything you can to see that the current rift with the Federated Suns has as much knock-on effect as possible on their commercial dealings. Sooner or later Sortek will have to be released, however angry the Archon is. The harder it is to recover from the current quarrel, the better it is.”

Both Everson and Vandel nodded in agreement. “And the Capellans?” asked Precentor New Avalon.

“Ideally the invasion will simply fail, but we can’t count on that. I believe that both nations have sent their best generals?” Tiepolo asked.

“Ridzik has many flaws but incompetence is not one of them,” agreed Tejh. “And we all know how dangerous Frederick Steiner is. We can only hope he suffers a fatal injury.”

Everson shook his head. “He’s survived this long. The good news is that our sources indicate that the two of them don’t get on, but neither’s willing to see the invasion fail because of it so they’ve simply arranged a plan that limits their need to directly interact. The details are being kept hidden but it’s fairly clear that each has their own targets and they don’t plan on requiring their forces to closely cooperate.”

“I see.” Tiepolo frowned. “So ideally their invasion should fail, but even if it succeeds we must assure that a defeat at their hands doesn’t force the Free Worlds League to make peace with their neighbors.” He looked at Precentor Luthien. “I believe the solution is obvious, Thomas.”

Precentor Thomas Marik nodded solemnly. “Hanse Davion must be aware that actively attacking the Capellans in support of the League would destroy any hope of rebuilding his relations with House Steiner. Therefore the only prospective ally my father can look to is Theodore Kurita.”

“Correct. As Precentor Luthien, you are ideally placed to act as an intermediary between them. Under the circumstances, do you believe that you can bring them together to the point of cooperating against the Lyrans?”

Marik considered the matter. “I believe that correspondence would not suffice in the timeframe we’re considering, Primus. However, if you would be willing to allow them the privilege of meeting directly upon neutral ground here on Terra, things could move much more quickly.”

Aliz made a face. “Anton Marik met with Maximilian Liao here on Terra and the Captain-General knows it.”

“Present it to him as an opportunity for revenge,” recommended the Captain-General’s son.

Tiepolo nodded in approval. “Will a foreign negotiation cause Kurita problems with his warlords?”

“Not directly, I believe. There is a long term concern that Warlord Yorioshi may have too much influence over the new Warlord Galedon; but, so far, he is supporting the Coordinator.”

Vandel nodded. “I am surprised that Kurita was willing to promote Shotugama to replace Samsonov under those circumstances.”

“It may have been a tradeoff for previous support. The young Coordinator cannot afford to be seen as someone who the high command cannot work with. If that happened, a more accommodating Kurita could be elevated - it has happened before,” pointed out Everson.

“The Combine has hardly been a friend to ComStar,” Tiepolo murmured, thinking back to the clashes between the Order and House Kurita in the late thirtieth century. “However, at the moment they are needed as a balance against the Lyran Commonwealth. I think that allowing the Warlord of Benjamin enough influence to cause a power struggle would only undermine those efforts.”

“I believe we can arrange for messages between Yorioshi and Shotugama to be… detrimental to a smooth cooperation,” Marik agreed smoothly. “Yorioshi is a proud man and it would be easy for him to seem overbearing. Not to the point of destructive rivalry, but certainly to the point Shotugama resents him.”

“Good.” Tiepolo looked around the room. “I’m no more comfortable than anyone is with the Lyran renaissance, but that isn’t a problem we can solve quickly or easily. Please take the time to review the data that Rachan has recovered and see if you can come up with suggestions to address the issue. Hosting two Successor Lords on Terra will require my personal involvement, but please don’t hesitate to bring any proposals to me.”

There were nods from the Precentors.

The Primus focused on Huthrin Vandel. “Hanse Davion is not going to risk his friend’s safety by targeting the Capellans while they’re allied with the Lyrans, however tentatively. However, I believe that the Duke of New Syrtis is less solicitous of Lyran feeling and of Colonel Sortek. It may not be possible to push him to action, but encouraging more ill-feeling towards his brother-in-law should be feasible.”

“In the Duke and in others within the Capellan March,” the other man agreed. “Should I arrange leaks of potential raiding targets to independently minded officers?”

“Yes, and if you have suitable targets for the Capellans, please let Villius know. If absolutely necessary, a small ComGuards detachment might be freed up for a deniable attack to get things rolling but I’d rather not risk that if we can get them to start without such intervention.”

“Probably not necessary,” Tejh agreed. “It’s not as if they’re at peace. Davion can order no invasions but stopping raiding would be as likely as stopping the tides outside.”

“And if he tries, he looks ineffectual,” confirmed Vandel. “He’s not such a fool as to issue an order that won’t be obeyed.”

“Alright. Things aren’t going as well as they could be, but with Blake’s blessing we’ve avoided what could have been a serious crisis. I think we can count on Maximilian Liao to be his own worst enemy in negotiations with Katrina Steiner, so if we can prevent any victories this will hopefully bring the entire matter to a close. In the best case, it might even lead to a downfall as dramatic as her uncle’s.”

Buenos Aires, South America
Terra, Solar System
17 December 3023

The vast sprawling city on the shore of the Atlantic rivaled the cities of Luthien, but it was far older. Theodore Kurita felt the urge to take time to cross the globe and visit Japan, the ancestral home of his family. Alas, there would be no such opportunity. Just visiting Terra was riskier than it ought to be, after the fall of Dieron. He’d had to arrive via a ComStar jumpship and if news got out of his presence then even ComStar’s neutrality might not protect him. If a jumpship went missing, who was to say if it fell prey to the Steiners, the Davions or just mischance?

And so he stood quietly in the penthouse, lamps out as he admired the night-time illumination of a city that had been old before the world of his birth was first colonized. The bright, artificial lights contrasted against the darkness but could not push it back except locally. His father might have managed a poem on that topic and Theodore felt a pang of loss, of never getting to know Takashi on a more equal footing - man to man, not son to father.

The lights of the suite lit slowly, an attentive hand giving him warning that he was no longer alone. Theodore turned and let his eyes adjust. When the door opened he was unsurprised to see the Captain-General enter first and unescorted.

Janos Marik was tall and his long white hair marked his age and dignitas, just as the eagle tattooed across his forehead marked his allegiance. His eyes locked onto Theodore’s, taking his measure and perhaps jostling for dominance.

The Coordinator of the Draconis Combine smiled and did not yield. He might not be equal to Marik in age, but he was his peer in power. And what bird was feared by the dragon? Only the yellow bird, and that wasn’t a color associated with House Marik.

Instead, without shifting his gaze, he swept one hand towards the waiting table and the three chairs. “Lord Marik.”

“Lord Kurita.” Janos’ voice was dry and he crossed to the table, taking one seat without waiting.

Theodore seated himself facing the other House Lord and both looked with one accord as the robed figure of Julian Tiepolo entered. Neither stood or gave him any sign of respect.

“Gentlemen,” the cultist murmured. “I am here merely to mediate.” He sat and folded his hands before him, watching in silence.

Was the one who spoke first yielding advantage? It could be said. And yet, that would also be timidity. “Your son said that you wished to speak with me directly,” Theodore told Janos. “He claims that we have a mutual interest, which can be only one thing.”

“Steiner,” the aged ruler confirmed tersely. And then, as if it pained him to admit it. “She is able.”

“Some of my people find it hard to believe a woman can be dangerous.” The younger of the pair shook his head slightly. “That is foolishness. Even arrogance. She has yet to fail at anything of significance.”

“Ha. Negotiating with Diablo and expecting him to keep his word may be her fatal error.”

Theodore shrugged slightly.

“Her officers have beaten mine, particularly her cousin. And he also defeated your father’s generals. Together, we may be able to get a better result,” Janos offered cautiously.

Ah. “Captain-General.” He allowed a hint of reproach in his voice. “I know that she has sent Frederick Steiner to plan an invasion of the League, with Capellan aid. And I know that you know this as well as I do. The Hammer is coming for you first.”

For a moment he thought that Janos would strike the table but the older man controlled himself. “First, yes. But he will come for you as well. And as someone once said, if we do not hang together we will assuredly hang separately.”

“I have time to prepare, but yours is running out,” Theodore pointed out. “I recognise the logic of your argument, but the survival of the Free Worlds League is not my concern. If you would like my support, tell me why I should fight Steiner now and not when I have built up my forces. Losing Dieron cost my father precious regiments.”

“And you have the Dragoons on contract.”

Theodore blinked. “Are you asking me to transfer their contract?” They had cut short one contract before to work for a Marik and Janos could not possibly be ignorant of that.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” the Captain-General snorted. “But it more than makes up the troops you lost. I imagine they demanded not to fight against the Lyrans, but it frees up more regiments. And you have those Drakon regiments you created…”

“Let us say that I have the option of acting now… or not.” He leant forwards slightly. “I am not ashamed to act the merchant here, Lord Marik. If you want my support, it will not be without a cost.”

The Captain-General closed his eyes. Took a deep breath. “I remember being that young. That sure.”

“I may one day look back on now as you look back on your own youth.”

“What are you prepared to offer?” Janos ground out as if it pained him. “And what are you demanding in exchange?”

Well now. That wasn’t a blank cheque - he was sure that Janos would refuse if he asked for too much - but it was yielding the initiative. The old man was worried. Very worried. And Theodore was not sure he was wrong to be. “As you say, I do have regiments available for service. I can deploy them to strike at the Commonwealth, drawing their reserves and resources to fight me. It would mean striking sooner than I am comfortable with and it could cost me those regiments if Katrina Steiner decides that it is worth pulling away from the invasion to counter me.”

“You would have to strike at something of value, something she could not lightly lose.”

Theodore let his lips shape the name of a world, barely breathing it. “Tamar.”

Janos paused. “Yes,” he admitted. “That might do it.”

“You would still be facing the Capellans and I cannot assure that she would decide to fully abandon the invasion. Frederick Steiner has caused you significant reverses with only a single regiment, and he will have at least three.”

The Captain-General’s eyes narrowed. “I do not expect you to predict her actions. Yes, an attack on Tamar would serve my needs. If she ignores it, she would be weakening herself against her internal foes. I would begrudgingly accept her being bled like that even if I lose worlds to her and Diablo.”

“Very well,” Theodore agreed. “In exchange though, I am aware that you have made a recent find of lostech equipment, at around the same time that my father did.”

“True,” Janos admitted.

“Much of ours was lost on Dieron,” Theodore told him. That was hardly a secret.

The older man shook his head. “I won’t replace it. You know I’ll need it if the Royal Guards are deployed against me.”

“I understand. But since you’re no fool, you must be studying them. Looking to put them back into production.”

Both of them were very careful not to look at Tiepolo. There were only so many places the lostech could have come from but if they acknowledged that then a price might be demanded. And neither wanted to be indebted to ComStar. They needed the organization but they would never love it.

“As you say,” Janos replied. “I am no fool. You want to exchange research data.”

“I would like to have your research data.” Theodore paused. “But an exchange is acceptable.”

“Because you expect it to be advantageous to you.”

He shrugged at the accusation. “You didn’t expend much of your material fighting the Steiners, and I will admit that my people are more renowned for our soldiers than for our scientists.”

“For destroying, rather than building.” The Captain-General made a face. “But I am asking for the former from you, so it is unfair of me to complain. Very well, would you rather exchange the data by ship or by HPG?”

By ship, Theodore thought. “Both,” he said instead.

“To facilitate your alliance, ComStar will relay the messages without charge,” Tiepolo offered. He didn’t sound entirely pleased - the implication that there would also be a back-up data package by ship to cross-check what was sent could be construed as a challenge to his organization’s integrity.

But how could one challenge what didn’t exist?

Theodore had been tempted to simply ask for a shipment but that could be lost. The HPG communication would remove one possible cause for sabotage and the risk of the ships being captured was acceptable.

Janos nodded sharply. “Done.” He steepled his own hands. “I have considered coming to some arrangement with Hanse Davion - he must surely be infuriated by Steiner’s recent actions. Would you consider a three-way alliance with him?”

Theodore hadn’t expected that to be asked. Wasn’t the answer obvious? Or was this a test? “I have nothing personally against Hanse Davion, but that would be politically impossible for me to agree to,” he said out loud. “You saw how poorly an alliance with Liao was seen when your late brother attempted it - if anything, the hatred between my people and Davion’s is greater.”

“Unfortunate, but not unexpected,” sighed the older man.

Theodore raised his hand. “However,” he qualified. “If he is willing to assist you then, informally, I could order a cessation of offensive actions - to funnel supplies towards an attack on Tamar. The Wolf Dragoons would be restless, but if halting their raids on the Draconis March is a coin of value to you in negotiations, I am willing to extend it.”

Janos paused and then smiled coldly. “You are suddenly generous?”

“Doing nothing costs me very little, Captain-General.”

Besides, I have secured a healthy reward here already - a look at the League’s scientific advances at the cost of an offensive that is already being prepared is a great profit and it is unwise to be too greedy. If Davion can be persuaded to give me a free flank while I tear the heart out of Tamar and humiliate Katrina Steiner, so much the better. If he doesn’t, well it will give Yorioshi something to focus on other than any ambitions he may have towards my throne.

Theodore smiled coolly at Janos. “I believe that your custom is to shake hands on the matter.”

Tiepolo looked pleased as they did so. Theodore found the Captain-General’s hand sinewy and strong despite his age. He wondered what insights Janos might be drawing about him. This had been an interesting opportunity… almost enough to make him regret that he wouldn’t meet the other three Successor Lords in the summit that Katrina Steiner had proposed. Almost.

Gordon, Oliver
Free Worlds League
12 January 3024

“Keep going!”

The Awesome was visibly steaming, rivulets of coolant escaping from ruptured piping and out through broken armor plating, where it sizzled and vaporized.

Three lighter ‘mechs had fallen around the Awesome. A Phoenix Hawk and a Griffin in the green-and-khaki of the Lyran Regulars, but also a Hunchback in the same purple-red-blue that could be seen on the Awesome.

The assault ‘mech’s PPCs blazed again, only two out of three but the blackened crater above its left hip showed that it was a choice forced by battle damage rather than a decision intended to bleed off some of the heat burden.

Only one shot struck home, scarring the armor of another of the Lyran Regulars. It was a Starslayer, a ‘mech not seen in centuries, but this was all too real and it weathered the hit, firing back with a pair of large lasers.

The Awesome twisted, the mechwarrior within somehow managing to find intact armor to shield itself with. The turn showed that one of the legs had taken damage, forcing a limp.

The turn preserved the Marik Militia ‘mech against the Starslayer’s fire, but the Lyran was not alone. A Chameleon bounded forwards on its jump jets and landed behind the blocky Awesome, opening up on it with everything it had. Lasers flayed away the plating and sparks flew as machineguns chattered.

Even that wasn’t enough to break the Awesome - the mighty ‘Mech had as much armor on its rear as some light and medium designs boasted on their front. But then the Chameleon slammed one fist into the battered armor plating and its target lurched, the mark of damage to its gyro.

The mechwarrior kept his eighty-ton upright and even whirled, returning the blow with the battlefist mounted on its left arm.

The Chameleon was struck in the shoulder and took a step back, but the Starslayer closed up and this time it fired more than just the large lasers. SRMs exploded against the Awesome and its left arm went limp. Key actuators must have been damaged, leaving the limb out of control.

Lurching, the Awesome brought its PPCs to bear and fired them at point blank range into the Starslayer. The salvo was as destructive as could have been hoped, but it proved to be too much for the giant’s remaining heatsinks. The Slarslayer fell to the ground, crushing a groundcar in the parking lot where the battle was taking place, but the Awesome froze, the reactor safeties kicking in and leaving it unable to move or fight.

It couldn’t have happened at a worse moment. LRMs must have already been in flight, because volley after volley from what must have been an entire lance of LRM carriers struck it around the head and shoulders.

When the explosions cleared, it was obvious that the cockpit had been struck multiple times.

The holodisplay ceased the recording, the image of the defeated Awesome fading away slowly.

“We were ordered away,” Major Ernesto Cates reported shamefacedly. “The colonel said his Awesome couldn’t keep up.”

Azi Ochombo nodded in understanding. “Both of you were right.” He reached over and patted the battalion commander on his shoulder. “It’s never easy to lose an officer, much less your commanding officer. But you couldn’t have held Gordon without the rest of the regiment and we were too far away.”

“We’ve regrouped now.” Major Alexia Stevens clenched her fists. “If we hit Gordon now, we can catch them before they’re dug in.”

“That is one option, Major.” Ochombo pulled up a tactical map, showing the city of Gordon and the Brigadier ‘mech factory, the most important surviving element of Oliver’s once massive military production.

Cates looked thoughtful. “The Lyran commander transmitted that Colonel Garibaldi was mortally wounded and offered a twenty-four ceasefire to recover wounded and exchange prisoners. He might be trying to buy time.”

“I don’t think we can risk another urban combat,” Ochombo concluded. He indicated the outlying districts. “Our scouts report some of the Lyrans’ new heavy tanks are positioned here, in the west of the city. Unless we want to ram our faces right up against them - and reports are they have heavy autocannon, ideal for city fighting - we’d have to circle around and hit the east, which would cost us that day anyway.”

Stevens snorted. “Our ‘mechs can handle their tanks, sir. I know it’s Frederick Steiner over there, but he’s not invincible.”

“He isn’t,” Ochombo agreed. “But tell me, Major. Can our ‘mechs handle his tanks and his mechs? Because our armored support comes from militia regiments and their gear is not going to hold up in that sort of brawl.”

“Are you sure you’re not being a little overcautious, Azi?” Cates looked sympathetic, not skeptical. “I know our regiment has lost to him twice before, but this could be our chance to turn it around.”

Ochombo looked at the other two battalion commanders and hid a grimace. They were younger than him, junior to him… but he’d been demoted twice and only narrowly remained with the Twenty-Fifth Marik Militia rather than be sent to a punishment posting in a planetary garrison on the periphery. If they refused to accept him as a commander, then they might be able to make it stick with the troops. High command might not like it, but victory would excuse any irregularity - if they could win.

“I have faced him before, and I can’t call either of them a victory,” he admitted. “But I managed to get the regiment through those defeats intact, which is more than most can claim. Right now, he wants us to bet everything on a decisive battle. I’m sure he doesn’t have a mountain to explode on us, but people who charge right at Frederick Steiner are just giving him a target to hammer. If we do that we might win, but we don’t have any advantage in numbers, and he definitely has more firepower. And if we lose then he’ll be able to get Oliver fully secured before reinforcements can reach us.”

The other two majors exchanged looks, before Cates pointed out: “And, if we don’t, he has a solid grip on the factory complex, sooner or later we have to go at him there. Isn’t it better now than when he’s got it secured?”

“You know as well as I do that if you want to hit a fortification, you want to be sending at least twice as many troops as you know are defending it. And less than three times the troops is a gamble. We don’t have that.”

“Alright,” conceded Stevens. “But if we can’t fight him, what do we do?”

They were listening, at least. Ochombo widened the map. “We’ll hit him obliquely. Right now our strategy is to buy time for reinforcements. The Sirian Lancers are only a jump away, the Protectorate Guards not much further away. Or if this is a major offensive we might be able to look at federal or Oriente reinforcements. We don’t know the larger picture. So we’ll take the ceasefire, if nothing else it gives us time for First Battalion to pull back to Warez and repair the damage you’ve taken. In the meantime, Stevens and I will take our battalions and feign an attack on his dropships. He’ll have to either shift focus to protect them or give up his dropsite.”

“He can move them to the dropport in Gordon,” she pointed out.

“Indeed. And that leaves him basically bottled up in the city. Which means he’ll have to come out because he can’t let us turn it into a siege. He needs to maintain his momentum.”

Cates frowned. “In which case he’ll push for our repair facilities at Warez.”

“I think you’re right,” agreed Ochombo. “So if we know that, we can bleed his advance - hit and run with small detachments, while other elements keep enough pressure around Gordon that he has to keep part of his force there to maintain his hold on the factory.”

“If we lose Warez then we’ll start running into problems maintaining our forces.” Cates grimaced. “We’ll have to stop him short of that.”

“Not if we evacuate the supplies and facilities from the city - slow his advance, buy time for that and even if he takes Warez we’re still a force-in-being and now he has another city to secure.” Ochombo clenched one fist and flicked it back and forth. “Leave him fighting ghosts. Spending his supplies, spending lives, spending time… and never giving him the concentrated target he wants, the one he can land a decisive blow against.”

“An attritional strategy,” observed Stevens. “We’re not trying to win, we’re just trying not to lose.”

“It’s not the usual approach to fighting the Lyrans,” pointed out Cates. “Normal doctrine is to pin them in place, then pick them apart.”

“Normal tactics assume they’ll have heavier, slower forces.” He moved the display back to Garibaldi’s last stand. “Look at what we’re seeing from the Eleventh Regulars: Phoenix Hawk, Griffin, Chameleon, Starslayer. All of them are fast mediums. He’s not going to stay pinned in place, so we need to be more mobile than usual if we’re going to keep him from being the one who has us pinned.”

The two majors looked at each other again, but this time it was Stevens who spoke. “What do we do if reinforcements don’t arrive? The scuttlebutt was that the Lyrans were looking at a wide offensive.”

“Then we keep Steiner and his command pinned down as long as possible, and hope the Captain-General can turn the tide on other worlds and free up reinforcements. We’re in this for the long haul - it’s a marathon, not a sprint.” Ochombo looked at the younger officers with an unspoken question: are you with me?

The nod from Stevens told him he’d won this point. “I’ll get my battalion ready to move on the Lyran landing zone, sir.”

Great. Now that he’d beaten his internal opposition, he might have a chance to beat the Lyrans. Colonel Garibaldi had been as good an officer as Ochombo had ever met - he was no Jarreau-Stewart. He’d lost anyway, so now it all depended on whether he’d read Frederick Steiner correctly.

Chapter Text

Chapter 4

Nagelring, Tharkad
Protectorate of Donegal, Lyran Commonwealth
20 January 3024

Sitting in a coffee shop, hands wrapped around a mug of hot chocolate, Max was staring into the middle-distance when he was greeted. He hadn’t been this stressed since Frederick recruited him in 3007. Dieron hadn’t been this bad. Helm hadn’t been this bad, even when Donna was pointing a gun at him!

“Uncle Max.” The face of the young man who dropped into the chair facing him reminded him very much of Donna Steiner. “What’s wrong?”

“A whole heaping lot of everything,” Max responded. “It shows?”

“You look like hell,” Ryan Steiner told him bluntly. The young man poured some sweetener into his coffee. “Not that I’m not glad to see you.”

Ryan was Frederick’s nephew, not Max’s, but they’d known each other off and on since the young Steiner was a toddler. Max still had a sneaking suspicion that Donna had coached her young son to call Max his uncle as part of her long-running claim that Max and Frederick were the next best thing to a married couple.

“How’s the Nagelring treating you?” he asked. Ryan wasn’t wearing his cadet uniform, since he was on one of his few breaks from the intensive training as an aerospace pilot, but he was wearing academy branded sportsgear. There were a fair number of other young people in the coffee shop wearing the same sort of thing - some with the physique of people who were being put through the wringer by academy DIs and some that were obviously hoping for the same mystique without putting in the work.

The young man shrugged. “I preferred Sanglamore. The classes weren’t any easier, but there were fewer people wanting to latch onto the Steiner name.”

“Really?”

Ryan held his thumb and forefinger a few millimeters apart. “About this much difference. Plus I’ve a friend there I can only talk to by HPG now. It’s kind of mean to expect her to pay the ComStar bills for regular contact.” A trivial expense for a duke-in-waiting, but Skye to Tharkad costs would stack up, even for plain text messages, if the young lady in question didn’t have the same deep pockets. “What brings you to Tharkad? I thought you’d pretty much settled down on Duran. On your way to join Uncle Frederick?”

“No, I’m busy beating my head against the stone walls of the Triad.” Max rubbed his eyes. “I’m looking into something for him, but no one is willing to talk to me. Most of my clearances got yanked when I stopped following Frederick into combat zones.”

“That sucks.” The younger blond sipped from his coffee. “I wish I could help, but I can’t even put you in touch with Mom - she’s off touring border worlds shilling aerospace fighters to their militias. A favor for Aunt Katrina.”

“...well that explains why she wasn’t answering my calls,” Max grumbled. “I didn’t know that and her house staff wouldn’t tell me.”

Ryan snorted. “You’re kidding? Who did you speak to?”

“Ge-something. I want to say Jeeves but I know that’s not it…”

“Gerrold,” the cadet concluded. “He’s new and he’s kind of stuck up. I’ll have a word with him. He’s probably never heard of you.”

“My low profile coming back to bite me.” Max sighed and sipped on his chocolate. “I didn’t just set up meeting you for the pleasure of your company, Ryan. Or to try contacting your mother.”

“Don’t worry.” Ryan looked him up and down. “You’re not my ideal date either.”

Catching sight of himself in one of the mirrors on the wall, Max smirked. At Ryan’s age, a balding man in a rumpled suit wouldn’t have been his first choice either. “Would that be the lady friend at Sanglamore?”

“Shut up,” Ryan hissed, but the tips of his ears were red. “Jeana’s a good friend.”

“I’m glad you have one. Unfortunately, I’m going to try leaning on you for inside information.”

“Ah, a Class C threat. You’re not out to kill me and you’re not out to become duchess of Porrima. I feel so much safer.”

“In this case,” Max admitted, “You’re pretty much the only Nagelring cadet I know since Caesar graduated.”

“Yeah, he’s got a lance with the Donegal Guards.” Ryan leant forwards. “Seriously, I know you wouldn’t ask if this wasn’t serious. What can I do for you?”

“You were at Caesar’s graduation dinner, right?”

“Yeah, I was just back from Skye. Why?”

Max put his mug down and folded his fingers. “I’m trying to find out what the hell happened with Ardan Sortek.”

Ryan winced. “Oh yeah. I don’t know what Aunt Katrina is thinking.”

“But you were at the Nagelring when it happened. I can’t get any details, can you tell me anything?”

“Well, I was there but I wasn’t there exactly… I mean, I was at the dinner but I wasn’t anywhere near the vaults.” The young pilot shook his head. “I… Okay, what I saw for myself was that Sortek was her escort for the dinner. You know, the way she usually has some in-favor dignitary escort her since uncle Arthur died. So he was sitting with her and the commandant. She’d welcomed me back from Skye the day before so I wasn’t getting pulled up close. You know how she is about appearances.”

He nodded. “You were sat with continuing cadets, not the graduating class.”

“Exactly. Down the far end of the hall.” Ryan scratched his chin. “Anyway, they seemed to get on pretty well. I don’t know Sortek, but he’d just crushed the Seventeeth Skye. He wasn’t gloating or anything, very respectful. He made a toast to the graduates… made a little joke about how he wished them better luck if they wound up facing whoever Hanse Davion sends to the fourth games.”

“And afterwards?”

“I didn’t see any of it. There was a lockdown called part way through the after dinner reception,” Ryan told him. “Alarms had gone off at the vaults, but I didn’t know that. Everything else I know is second-hand.”

“That would still be more information than I’ve managed to get so far.”

“...you’re really out of the loop.”

“I had noticed,” Max said, trying not to sound bitter.

“Am I going to be in trouble for talking to you? I know Mom trusts you. Uncle Frederick obviously does and Aunt Katrina made you a baron, but there was a sort of low key directive not to talk about this.”

“And yet here we are.” Max gave him a sympathetic look.

The teenager took a swallow of coffee. “Mom always said she didn’t care for politics, but it’s kind of like following a radar contact when you don’t know if it’s friendly or not.”

“I’ll take your word for that.”

“What I heard,” Ryan said in a low voice, “Is that the alarm was from the biolocks. Sortek had the codes and when they caught him, he had an accomplice dressed up as the Archon. She was good enough to fool the guards, but the DNA scanner tripped her up. They were actually trying to argue that the lock must be broken when Aunt Katrina arrived and everything went pear-shaped… Are you okay?”

Max stared at him. “There were two of them?!”

“Uncle Max!”

He was about to ask what and then his mind alerted him to the sting of hot chocolate on his left hand. He swore and grabbed a napkin, having knocked his mug over and spilled the thankfully only lukewarm contents over his fingers. “Sorry, but there were two Katrinas?”

“Yes.” Ryan looked around guiltily, but no LIC agents sprang out to detain him for telling Max this. “What I heard was that Davion surgeons had created an imposter who could stand up to close scrutiny. For Aunt Katrina, that is. Sortek had a briefcase sized data-core with him, if they’d managed to get in then he could have walked away with ridiculous amounts of classified data.”

Doppelganger, Max thought numbly. It had been decades but he remembered something of the scenario. There it had been Davion scientists captured by the Capellans and used to create an imposter who replaced Hanse Davion. Was this why the Capellans were now making such progress in negotiations with Katrina? Or was this a Davion agent, having retained the technology and willing to risk the entire alliance with the Lyran Commonwealth for access to their lostech data?

As much as he wanted to assume the former, which would be a disaster, Max couldn’t rule the latter out. Hanse Davion was called ‘the Fox’ with good reason, and obtaining the data to rebuild his realm’s losses was a core goal of his. For years the Lyran court had essentially paid for Davion support with a regulated flow of data, it wasn’t inconceivable that someone might have suggested taking the whole pie.

Sortek wouldn’t have stood for that, but if the biolocks hadn’t triggered, he’d have had little reason to doubt Katrina making him a gift of more data than expected. He was too honest to doubt it. On the other hand, if it was the real Katrina captured, the locks changed to match the imposter…

Ryan reached over and shook his shoulder. “Uncle?”

Max focused on the younger man. “You’re sure about this.”

“It’s gossip,” Frederick’s nephew told him with a helpless shrug. “It’s what I heard, but I didn’t see it myself. I’m sorry, that’s all I can tell you.”

He nodded, still shaken. “You’ve been a huge help. If this is… if this is any of what I think it is, then things are pretty bad.”

“Is there anything more I can do? I can ask Aunt Katrina to meet you - family channels.”

Max considered it… dismissed it. If it was the real Archon then it would do little good and if it wasn’t, he’d be putting himself in her hands. “No offense, Ryan, but I think this is going to need someone more high power than either of us.”

Ryan made a face. “Aunt Nondi isn’t around, or Mom or Uncle Frederick. Are you thinking of Uncle Hermann.”

“No. Someone Katrina trusts even more than anyone you just mentioned.” Max pulled out his wallet and dropped some kroner on the plate that had held a serving of cake for while he waited for Ryan. Something to compensate the shop staff for the spill. “Keep your head down, Ryan. And good luck with your girl at Sanglamore.”

A protest of “It’s not like that!” followed him out of the coffee shop as he headed for his rented groundcar.

Mount Ripchuk, Sevren
Tamar Pact, Lyran Commonwealth
3 February 3024

The ground shook as hundreds of Battlemechs fought each other for control of Mount Ripchuck. Theodore Kurita could feel the vibrations even through the legs of his Hatamoto-Chi.

The Coordinator had considered going to war in the Orion he’d been given on his graduation, the same ‘mech that had carried him through his short military career… the ‘mech of Aleksandr Kerensky. But after Jaime Wolf had suggested - in jest, he hoped - trading Natasha Kerensky for the Orion, Theodore had decided the historical value outweighed the military use of the ‘mech. Besides, leading the operation in it would invite comparisons between himself and the SLDF’s greatest general… and he hadn’t quite the hubris to think he would match up to the legend.

He hadn’t taken Wolf’s offer either. If nothing else, he already had one lethally competent woman in his household and Natasha lacked Tomoe’s discretion. He’d left the Orion on Luthien, in trust for his son Martin when the boy grew up and instead taken another Hatamoto from the same production run that had yielded his gifts to the Warlords. It made him distinctive among the Otomo ‘mechs, but three other officers had been assigned Hatamoto-Chi so that he was less of a target.

Ahead of him, the First Drakons were heavily engaged with the Third Regiment of the Twelfth Star Guards. The mercenaries had little choice but to stand and fight against Aldus Bergen’s command - their base of operations was the LCAF base at the foot of the mountain. For all the traditional disdain for mercenaries, they were fighting fiercely against the former militia Theodore had assigned to learn from the Wolf Dragoons.

“I feared you would win no glory here, tono,” General Yodetobo offered from his Dragon, the general’s command company marching alongside Theodore’s Otomo escort. “But the Star Guards are managing well against the Drakons. It seems Bergen’s command has much to learn.”

Theodore’s eyes narrowed at the criticism. “He who ceases to learn has begun to die,” he observed, falling back on aphorisms. His father had done that with great effect, but he wasn’t confident of having the same impact.

Yotetobo hesitated at his response. “I see, tono. And the Drakons do not lack discipline or courage.”

In fact, Theodore thought that morale among the Drakons was high. They were drawn largely from Rasalhague natives, so returning to their home district with all expectations that they would be given the respect and opportunities long denied to the Rasalhague Regulars was fine motivation.

“All victories are to the glory of the Dragon,” he added as they closed to the weapons range of the melee between the other two regiments. “If I joined the deployment to Tamar, Warlord Samsonov might see that as a lack of confidence in him.”

The general was politically astute enough to see the logic of that… and not to comment on the fact that landing on Tamar might leave Theodore needing to take the blame for a failure there. He was untested as a commander, and would be up against the formidable Nondi Steiner. As glorious as defeating her would be, a loss would be problematic. Sevren was a good compromise: a chance for Theodore to gain some credit as a commander, without taking undue risks with the prospects of the Kurita dynasty.

And then there was no more time for conversation as the four battalions of the Seventh Sword of Light and Theodore’s own Otomo battalion crashed into the battle.

The Twelfth Star Guards had seen them coming, of course, but with the Drakons engaging them closely, it was impossible for most of them to withdraw without exposing their rear armor to punishing fire.

Theodore centered his cross-hairs on a battered looking Rifleman and fired off one PPC and then the second an instant later.

Both shots hit home and blasted away panels of armor on the chest of the lighter ‘mech. Before he could finish it, a pair of Drakon Jenners saw the opportunity and closed in on the Rifleman, lasers and SRMs exploiting the battle damage.

There was a burst of cursing on the Sword of Light radio channels, and Theodore saw a crimson Quickdraw moving as if to drive the two Jenners away.

Idiot! He bit back the curse. This wasn’t the time for screaming at his own officer. Swinging one arm around he fired a PPC across the field, the shot passing in front of the Quickdraw to score a hit on an Archer that was at the extreme end of the weapon’s range - most likely doing little more than burning paint off it.

The Quickdraw stutter stepped and he could almost see the occupant prepare to deliver a diatribe at the source of the shot, only to cut off at the realization it was from one of the Otomo’s black ranks.

“General Yodetobo, have your warriors focus on the enemy, not on their fellow samurai,” Theodore snapped on the private channel. “We are here to take this world, not to bicker over scoring kills.”

“Yes, tono.”

The Rifleman fell before Theodore could take another shot at it, but a Thunderbolt peppered him with LRMs as it backed away. He sidestepped an obviously telegraphed shot from the mercenary’s large laser and triggered both PPCs. Unlike his previous staggered shots, this built up heat enough to leave him sweating.

It did more to the Thunderbolt though. The heavy ‘mech had already been battered by the Drakons and the PPCs hit the left chest hard enough to visibly smash one of the lasers mounted there.

Closing in, Theodore took hits from the remaining lasers but in exchange he landed another PPC hit on the damaged side of the Thunderbolt’s torso and followed it up with salvos from both his SRM launchers. The Thunderbolt fell and while it wasn’t out of action, Theodore was comfortable leaving it to be finished off by lighter ‘mechs, staying at the forefront of the advance, where his heavy armor could soak up the fire from the retreating mercenaries.

There was no chance that three battalions were going to hold back eight and the Star Guards knew it. Within minutes the leading elements of the Seventh Sword of Light had broken through the rear ranks and Theodore was about to do the same when the mercenaries abruptly split and retreated, all but a scattering of those too damaged, bravely dying to buy time for their comrades to try to escape.

General Bergen cut into the command channel. “Tono, the Star Guards are making for their dropships.”

“Hunt them down!” demanded Yodetobo.

“Indeed, General Yodetobo,” Theodore inserted his instructions. “Take command of the pursuit while General Bergen’s Drakons secure the base.”

“...hai,” Yodetobo agreed stiffly.

The Coordinator hid a sigh. “The Teak Dragon fought well, general. But the dragon has both fangs and claws. In this case the Drakons served as the claws holding the enemy in place so that you could devour them. Each of you deserves credit for this victory.”

“Indeed,” Bergen added. “The Drakons are honored that the guardians of the Combine’s culture share in our first battle honor.”

Yobetobo brought his Dragon to a halt and Theodore saw him turn the ‘mech to face the Goliath that Bergen commanded the Drakons from - distinctive since quadrupedal ‘mechs were very rare in the DCMS. The commander of the Seventh Sword of Light bent his ‘mech’s torso forward in a bow.

“No, General Bergen,” the Sword of Light officer declared. “It is we who are honored to fight alongside the Dragon’s newest heroes.”

He was either entirely sincere, or he was one hell of a liar, Theodore thought. Either way, he had spoken on the general channel and the Drakons spontaneously cheered the Seventh Sword of Light as the red-painted ‘mechs broke off to pursue the retreating Lyran mercenaries.

Wytheville, Donegal
Protectorate of Donegal, Lyran Commonwealth
14 February 3024

Even with access to military codes, Max didn’t think this was something he could trust to a comm call, but it would be rude to arrive unannounced, so he’d called ahead to request a meeting.

As he entered the drop-port concourse he was going to look for a taxi but someone was holding up a sign saying ‘Mustermann’. Paranoia told him that it could be a trap, but the man holding it when he gave it a second look was evidence to the contrary.

“Colonel Kell,” he greeted him, offering his hand.

Patrick Kell, little changed from when they’d met on Helm, shook his hand briskly. “Good to see you, Baron Mustermann. My brother’s eager to speak to you, so I thought I’d save you the trouble of arranging your own transport and quarters.”

“It’s appreciated.”

Max followed him to the car park, talking only of inconsequential matters until they reached a repainted military-grade staff-car - complete with a driver with a discreet Kell Hounds badge on his collar. They were taking this seriously, he realized. Good.

Patrick opened the door and climbed into the back with him. “No problems, Jones?”

“No sir, we should still be secure.”

The younger of the Kell brothers turned to Max. “You just came from Tharkad. I’m guessing that you or Duke Frederick think there’s something off there.”

“He asked me to look into the Sortek business. I think that might be just the tip of the iceberg.”

Patrick nodded. “I don’t know Katrina as well as Morgan does, but the way she’s handled that isn’t like her. And then there’s Aldo Lestrade’s bid to claim Skye… I’ve met the man. Katrina wouldn’t even consider him unless there was something going on.”

“I’m not rushing to disagree with you.” Max looked out of the window and saw they were driving to the edge of the city. “The sudden alliance with Liao puzzles me as well.”

“I’m not an admirer of House Liao, but I can’t deny that Maximilian Liao is effective,” the Kell Hound’s second-in-command admitted. “And there’s a certain amount of realpolitik in working with him against Marik the way we’ve co-operated against Kurita with the Davions.”

“They say that when a Liao is born the gods toss a coin - if it lands on one side they get a genius, on the other it’s a madman. I think with Maximilian it must have landed on the edge.”

Patrick snorted. “I could believe it. He’s reigned the longest out of the current Successor Lords though. Genius or madman, he’s not incompetent.”

Max grunted. “I heard that Theodore Kurita is hitting Tamar, is that true?”

“I don’t think he’s on Tamar himself, but the DCMS has landed three regiments, and they’re hitting the worlds around it as well. Sevren fell in less than a week and if we lose Laurent as well, just reaching Tamar will mean running a gauntlet of hostile systems.”

“Are you being sent there?” he asked. Donegal was an important world, but it was deep inside the Commonwealth and could be covered by less elite units. The Kell Hounds were stationed here for six months of rebuilding after a series of raids on the bandit kingdoms along the coreward edge of the Commonwealth, but such deployments were also a matter of keeping a few crack regiments available to respond to situations like this one.

Patrick shook his head. “No. Trellshire and Ryde Theater are taking enough hits that they can’t really spare reinforcements, but Katrina’s last comment before she left Tharkad was that she had every confidence Nondi had enough regiments in Tamar Theater to deal with this.”

“Wait…” The incongruity of that statement was enough that Max needed a moment to process every part of it. “She’s left Tharkad? And she’s not reinforcing her sister?”

“Yes to the first, no to the second.”

“Nondi must be peeling paint.” Max muttered. “Where is Katrina going? What could be more important than potentially losing the capital of the Tamar Domains?”

The Lyran Commonwealth had been founded by three trading federations, the Federation of Skye, the Protectorate of Donegal and the Tamar Domains. Never as large as Donegal (which now formed four distinct provinces) or as wealthy as Skye, Tamar had been shrinking for generations under pressure from the Draconis Combine, but it was still important politically and industrially. Losing control of Tamar itself would be a military disaster and a serious blow to Katrina’s credibility. The acquisition of Dieron and the impact it had had on the Draconis Combine had only recently demonstrated how serious such a loss could be to a Successor State.

Patrick ran one hand through his hair. “You’re not saying anything Morgan and I haven’t said. She’s decided to relocate to Skye to settle the succession personally. If Tamar wasn’t being assaulted, I could almost see the logic. Whatever’s stopping her from dismissing Lestrade’s claims with prejudice, if going to Skye solidifies Aten’s position then it would make sense. But Selwin Kelswa will never forgive her for not sending him reinforcements and you’re not wrong about Nondi’s likely reaction.”

Selwin Kelswa was the Duke of Tamar and not the brightest spark in Max’s opinion, but he also loathed the Draconis Combine on a visceral level after seeing firsthand how they dealt with conquered populations. “Did she say anything to justify not sending more troops?”

“Third party analysis says she’s worried about deep raids like the ones that followed from Alessandro stripping the interior worlds to launch his offensives.” Patrick shook his head. “But it makes no sense. The periphery border is tying up more regiments than it really needs to at the moment. She could pull a couple of second or third rate units back and cut us loose - or send the Third or Fourth Royal Guards out. After the losses on Dieron, I doubt the DCMS has any units with equipment like that.”

The car slowed as they reached a checkpoint and Max looked out at the signs, realizing they were entering the Kell Hounds’ current base of operations.

“Do you have any ideas what’s going on?” Patrick asked him.

“I do. It’s not such a happy one that I want to go through it more than once though.”

The groundcar stopped outside a utilitarian looking building and they exited. In the distance, Max could see the Kell Hounds’ own dropships, and beyond them the same outline of dropships he’d seen at the commercial port. The Hounds must be based next to the drop-port, sharing the support facilities he supposed.

Patrick ushered him inside and through a series of bustling offices where the familiar paperwork of managing the hundreds of soldiers and thousands of support staff that made up a military regiment was handled.

Morgan Kell was waiting in an office that had been personalized with a wall of pictures. Some were of Morgan in the company of various notables - Katrina herself, Frederick Steiner and Cranston Snord in another, but some were simple groups of Kell Hounds or of LCAF personnel. A few were discreetly edged in black.

The colonel himself was as dynamic as ever, leaping up from behind his desk to walk over and shake Max’s hand. Salome Ward Kell was quieter with her own greeting, the redhead visibly pregnant, with the result that her uniform jacket visibly couldn’t be closed up over the bump.

“Congratulations,” Max greeted her. “You’re expanding the family of one of the finest men in the Commonwealth.” He paused. “Granted, you’re married to his brother, but I guess they’re a package deal…”

Salome laughed and grabbed Morgan’s arm while the Colonel tried to look offended. “Hey…” the elder Kell said at last.

“Sorry, but Patrick covered my escape from the Stewart Home Guards on Helm. You were just kind of there.”

“Thank you, Max,” Patrick managed to choke out around his laughter. “But I’m afraid I’m strictly butter-side up.”

Max shrugged. “It’s a platonic admiration.”

“More seriously, you said in the car that you had some idea what was going on with Katrina.”

“I’ve got a theory. It’s kind of out there though.”

Morgan leant against his desk, one arm around Salome’s shoulders. “Go on.”

“When Ardan Sortek was arrested at the Nagelring it was because he was trying to enter the vaults, with a woman who claimed to be the Archon.”

The Kells nodded. “The biological security didn’t match her though.”

“I have to wonder if a biological check of the woman against Melissa would have confirmed a maternal relationship.”

Morgan frowned. “You think that was really Katrina?”

“I don’t know what checks were done,” Max admitted. “But if I wanted to insert an imposter in the place of the real Archon, I’d want her to pass every possible check - and if the data stored for the Nagelring’s bio-locks and other such checks was swapped out for an imposter’s, then it would automatically reject the real Katrina.”

“Is that even possible?” the elder Kell asked his brother.

Patrick shrugged. “The security is supposed to be airtight, but nothing made by human hands is beyond being altered if someone knows how. It has to be possible to update the data so if someone knew exactly what they were doing and had the right security. Simon Johnson’s very good though, it’d be incredibly difficult to get something like that past him.”

“I find it hard to believe that she could fool the people around her for months,” Morgan said thoughtfully. “Hermann’s known her his entire life and she’d have to fool Melissa! No one knows her better than Melissa, since Arthur died.”

“I really hope I’m wrong,” Max admitted. “But if she’s been replaced, it would explain why some of her decisions have been uncharacteristic.”

“And who would be behind this?” asked Patrick. “There would have to be a reason. And I refuse to believe that anyone could pull off an act like that without slipping. There are too many people around Katrina who know her.”

“As to the first, there are two people who have profited directly from her decisions,” Salome observed.

“Aldo Lestrade and Maximilian Liao,” her husband agreed, pulling a face. “I could believe either of them thinking something like this up. As for the execution, I wouldn’t have the slightest idea how such an imposter could be created, but I imagine Liao has the resources. And Lestrade’s not exactly poor.”

“Or there’s ComStar.”

All three of the other people in the room gave Max a look. “ComStar?” asked Salome.

“They have their own factions and some of them are seriously upset that the Commonwealth is making progress in recovering lostech. They see that as their own Blake-given right. I’m not saying the Primus himself would try this, but if one of their radical factions got involved, they’d certainly have the computer and medical expertise.”

The three all looked skeptical and Max shrugged. “There were some suspicious intel leaks about both New Dallas and Helm,” he added. “But I’m speculating.”

“If - and I do mean if - you’re right, that leaves one other question,” Patrick said quietly. “Where is the real Katrina Steiner?”

Salome winced and rested one hand on her belly. “And someone has to get the answers. Someone named Kell, or am I wrong?”

Morgan looked down at her, conflicted. “Patrick can go back to Tharkad, Melissa would talk to him. And Hermann…”

“I hate to say it, but I don’t have the same level of respect there that you do,” his brother admitted reluctantly. “I know that you don’t want to leave Salome but you can cut through the bureaucracy and I can’t.”

“And if this isn’t Katrina then the Tamar situation is probably being neglected intentionally,” Salome added. “It could be an ISF plot as well. That being the case, can we really wait for orders?”

Morgan groaned. “I can’t go both ways. And we do have a contractual obligation to stay here. Even Katrina can’t cover for us playing fast and loose on that.”

“Our exact orders require at least one battalion to be here in Wytheville,” Salome corrected him. “The rest of the Kell Hounds can deploy for training anywhere we need to.”

“On Donegal,” Morgan pointed out.

“It doesn’t say that,” his wife corrected him. “Presumably in case we wanted to go handle Zero-G training, but as long as we keep three companies here, the rest of the Kell Hounds can deploy to Tamar. Live fire training against real Draconians.”

Patrick blinked. “I think you’re right. It’s not in line with the spirit of the contract, but it's the letter that matters.”

“You’re not going,” Morgan told Salome flatly.

“I know.” She rubbed her belly again. “Scott Bradley can take your battalion with Patrick to Tamar. And maybe a company from my battalion as well. I’ll stay here with two companies of ‘mechs and one of our jump infantry companies - that ticks the legal boxes. And you can go to Tharkad with Baron Mustermann and another infantry company.”

“...why do you want me to take an infantry company to Tharkad?”

“Because this might not end on Tharkad,” Salome warned him. “And I’d rather you have armed guards around you and not need them, than the other way around.”

Max nodded. “It’s sound reasoning. If there really is an imposter on the throne then Katrina is either dead -”

Both Kells tensed and Salome flinched as her husband’s hand gripped her tightly.

“- or she’s guarded somewhere. And in the latter case, Morgan and I probably won’t be enough to rescue her. This isn’t an Immortal Warrior holovid.”

Morgan looked down at Salome. “One reason for taking this post was so I could be here for the happy day we become three.”

“I know. And if this wraps up on Tharkad, you might be back in a month or two.” She set her jaw. “But if it needs more, make sure that you fix this. I want our child to grow up in a Commonwealth we can believe in.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 5

Shore of the Shallow Sea, Zosma
Border Protectorate, Free Worlds League
8 March 3024

“We have an ID on the inbound forces, sir.”

Frederick sat up from where he’d been resting his eyes at the back of the command van. Not napping - the difference was that if he was going to do that he’d go somewhere his snoring wouldn’t disturb the men at work. Sleeping when he could was a long practiced habit on campaign but eyestrain was a new issue. Maybe the holotank in the van needed tuning, he thought. Some of his staff had been rubbing their eyes a lot and it was a new unit.

“Talk to me,” he grunted as he shuffled past two of the techs to look over the shoulder of the man at the aerospace ‘desk’ (actually a console built into one wall of the van).

The man indicated a still shot of two dropships, poor quality and blurry. “A recon flight got close enough to take this.” He tapped a control and brought up a second image. “Markings match and there’s a disabled autocannon turret on this Overlord. Unless someone’s deliberately faking that, it’s the same dropship.”

“And that would be…?” Frederick led him.

“Ah, sorry sir.” The man must have been tired. “It’s Smithson’s Chinese Bandits.”

“Could be worse,” Frederick thought. Hansen’s Roughriders had been sent to take over the work of garrisoning Oliver, something that was well within their capabilities now that the Twenty-Fifth Marik Militia had been bottled up on just one of the planet’s three continents. That had let Frederick shift focus to Alula Australis and then push on to Zosma with the Eleventh Lyran Regulars and the Commonwealth Jaegers. Given the enthusiasm for the removal of the provincial government by those they had ruled, the Thirty-Second Lyran Guards weren’t going to need much longer to finish mopping up resistance on Alula Australis.

That made Zosma the critical point of the campaign - the Iron Guard and Steel Guard regiments were clinging to the last world of the Border Protectorate and the numbers were about even. The Chinese Bandits were mercs, a regiment that had fought for Janos Marik against his brother and more recently had been under contract with House Davion. Their arrival on Zosma would swing the balance of numbers against Frederick’s offensive, but not disastrously.

“Good work. When did you last get any sleep, son?” he asked the tech.

“I caught some zees yesterday, sir.”

Frederick patted his shoulder. “Make sure you get a good six-to-eight. We might be running ragged until the Red Arrows arrive.”

The general went over to his own seat and started drafting instructions to the Jaegers. It was pretty much guaranteed that the Protectorate Guards would push for a counter-offensive as soon as the Bandits tipped the numbers back in their favor. While the Eleventh Regulars could stall that, he’d need the Jaegers’ mobility to prop up the tanks and infantry so that they could prevent the League from bringing their ‘Mechs fully to bear.

That meant less raiding and it would let the Protectorate get their defenses back in order, but that was inevitable. And while the forces were slowing him down, they weren’t reinforcing the Sirians. That was good for the alliance.

“Sir?”

He looked up at the questioning tone and saw Kommandant Clark Alexander, his supply officer, had entered the command van. Usually the bearded officer occupied his own van, tackling the complex logistics of the task force. “Ah, I was going to visit you shortly,” he admitted. “Is something wrong?”

“It could be better, sir.” Alexander glanced around. “This is probably best discussed privately.”

Frederick could almost imagine Max muttering, ‘Well, that wasn’t ominous.’ Alexander wouldn’t be asking for privacy if he was delivering good news. “Alright, let’s step outside.”

It was late winter on Zosma - at least in this hemisphere - but it was still hot and dry. The planet wasn’t any great prize - two small oceans on a world continent, with large rocky deserts dotted with mining sites old and new. Frequent earthquakes and other volcanic activity allegedly brought fresh mineral wealth to the surface, or that was what the summaries had claimed. It sounded fishy to Frederick, but he wasn’t a geologist.

“What’s on your mind, Kommandant?” he asked.

Alexander folded his arms defensively. “Our next supply shipment is only going to be around sixty percent of our requests in some categories.”

Biting back the urge to snap at the man, Frederick gave him a searching look and made a ‘go on’ gesture.

“We’re getting the armor and munitions, but Wyatt report they’re low on spare parts our techs need for various repairs. It’s going to mean some ‘mechs and tanks won’t be fully operational until at least the next shipment, and putting salvaged gear back into service will be significantly impaired.”

Frederick hissed between his teeth. That was definitely not going to do morale good. “Is that the only category?”

“A little lower on medical supplies than I like, but we’re not low in that regard. And if we don’t hang on to the diesel refinery, they warned that it’ll be a month until they can send a tanker dropship.”

Shipping fuel interstellar wasn’t really very efficient, Frederick noted. Sometimes it was necessary, but thankfully the Pattons and Rommels that made up the bulk of his armored punch had fusion reactors. “What happened, did the parts get shipped to Tamar?” As little as he liked losing supplies, he’d not begrudge them to Nondi Steiner. The LCAF was barely clinging to Laurent and, while Tamar was holding well against Warlord Samsonov, if Theodore Kurita cut the supply lines through Laurent the situation would be dire.

But Alexander shook his head. “Colonel Ridzik requested use of some of our stores, sir.”

“Ridzik?!” Frederick clenched his teeth. “That…” He forced himself not to curse out the Capellan in front of Alexander. Privacy only went so far. “Doesn’t he have his own supplies?”

“For most things, yes. I believe he’s primarily requested parts for designs that the Capellan Confederation no longer builds.” The supply officer shook his head. “Shadow Hawks, for example. They’re fielded by everyone but there are only a couple of places that build them. My guess is that even the Capellans are also building fewer parts for them that we thought.”

“That or someone in the Capellan supply chain is shorting him.” I don’t know enough about Capellan service politics, Frederick thought. Ridzik’s ambitious - Max said he seduced the Chancellor’s wife and was considering a coup a few years from now. Or maybe I’m overthinking it: Ridzik might not need the parts, he just wants them. “Who authorized the shipment? It’s hard enough to get supplies for us at times, and we’re in the same service. How did Ridzik manage it?” A stern letter to whoever authorized it might prevent any repetition.

The supply officer shrugged. “The orders to release supplies to him came from the top.”

“Mount Asgard?”

“No sir. The very top.”

Frederick felt a chill. Katrina and he had their differences, but for her to stint her own soldiers… Max may be onto something. The message he’d received was short - it had to be to get past ComStar - but the suggestion that Katrina might have been replaced was nightmarish.

For a moment, Frederick considered withdrawing from Zosma and heading for Skye. If he confronted Katrina… but there was no evidence. And yielding the initiative to the FWLM would let them unravel all the progress made - abandoning people who’d accepted Lyran citizenship and his offers of protection from the provincial authorities. And the CCAF offensive would be left hanging, which might not be his first concern but if Max was wrong he could be offending the only ally that the Lyran Commonwealth had right now, just as Marik and Kurita were acting in concert.

One step at a time, he thought and forced himself to take long, slow breaths.

“Alright, there’s nothing we can do about that,” he decided. “Look at sending salvage we can’t repair back home in supply ships - they may be able to do more on Wyatt than we can here and it at least frees up techs for handling ongoing battle damage. Munitions and armor are the biggest users and we’re not being shorted there?” The lifeblood of any campaign, if those ran out then he’d have no choice but to retreat.

“No sir,” Alexander confirmed. “At least so far, that’s coming through.”

“That’ll do for now. However, I don’t think we should let Colonel Ridzik think that he can have things all his own way.” Frederick rubbed at the scar on his forehead. “The Capellans do build some things we don’t, right?”

“Yes sir. The Vindicator, for example.”

“Right, they’re pretty restrictive on exporting spare parts for those.” It wasn’t quite the Company Store approach, that mercs detested, but mercenary units which had salvaged Vindicators or been given the mechs as compensation for losses generally found themselves needing to strike sharp bargains with Capellan authorities or have the parts custom-made at a sharp mark-up in cost. Frederick remembered a few years ago that a merc unit departing Lyran space had received barely functional Vindicators as the replacements they were entitled to under their contract - getting the units off LCAF inventory but essentially forcing the company to sign up with the Capellans just to get their ‘new’ ‘mechs working.

“Notoriously so, sir. And while they’re not the only source of parts for the Locust or the Wolverine, we don’t build those domestically.”

“Alright, Alexander. Get in touch with some of your colleagues and get a feel for how many ‘mechs and tanks are sitting around in militia hands, needing repairs, that the Capellans could provide parts for when we can’t. And then write up a request to Ridzik that the Capellans match our generosity by providing those parts. I’ll sign it and we’ll forward it to him and to the Chancellor and Archon. If they come up with those parts, at least we’re getting paid for supporting the offensive. If not, it should at least let us know that the Capellans aren’t going to hold up their end of the alliance.”

Alexander nodded. “It may take a week or two just to get numbers together, via HPG.”

“It’s not as if we’ll get those supplies soon anyway. It’ll let Ridzik know we’re not a soft touch though, and that’s the best we can get out of this.” Frederick rubbed his eyes and looked around the headquarter encampment. They were getting pretty dug in - better relocate before Marik figures out where I am and sends headhunters, he thought. “How are we holding up otherwise?”

“Pretty well, sir. We’re sourcing locally for food and quality of life goods. Checking them for sabotage is a pain, but it’s saving us space in shipping and putting money into the local economy isn’t hurting relations.”

“Good. We’re going to be fighting here for a while, so good relations are going to be important.” Most border worlds had changed hands a few times - the Border Protectorate had effectively been carved out of worlds gained from the Lyran Commonwealth over the Third Succession War so it was no wonder they functioned as a provincial army that happened to have a civilian population attached.

Frederick saluted Alexander - improper protocol, but good for morale. “Thank you for telling me this, Kommandant. And thank you for your hard work. Enjoy the usual reward for a job well done.”

The junior officer returned the salute. “Yes sir.”

They headed back to their respective vans and their respective wars, Frederick musing that adding allies to a war really did add a third front to the fighting - now there were two high commands out to get you, besides the actual enemy.

The Triad, Tharkad
Protectorate of Donegal, Lyran Commonwealth
13 March 3024

The sound of the door being unlocked broke Ardan out of his rhythm. He’d no reference for time but his own activities, but he was sure it couldn’t be that long since his last meal. He’d established a routine of exercise to follow from each time he was fed, not wanting to get too far out of shape. His best estimate was that it took about two hours to complete the routine and he wasn’t quite done yet.

Climbing to his feet, he mopped his brow with his shirt and waited for the instructions to stand against the far wall.

The familiar words (he had a feeling it was a recording) didn’t come though and the door cracked open without any further preparations.

There was a muffled complaint and a small woman walked in, shading her eyes from the bright lights that were never turned off. “Ardan? Are you alright?”

Not a small woman, he realized, a girl. A familiar one. “Melissa? What are you doing here?” Why would the Archon send her daughter in here…? Was she a prisoner now? Or was this not even the real Melissa?

“Getting you out of here.” She uncovered her eyes and then went crimson, looking away. “Oh my god! Put your shirt on!”

With an embarrassed grunt, Ardan complied, the sleeveless singlet providing some decency. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting any visitors.”

“Good grief, have you been working out the entire time you’ve been here?” another voice asked, Melissa joined by a middle-aged man. It took Ardan a moment to recognise Frederick Steiner’s right-hand man, Max Mustermann. The baron looked him up and down. “I know who to ask if I can’t get a jar open.”

“I’ve not had a lot of options for entertainment,” Ardan told him. “If I’m allowed out of here, let’s go now.”

“We’re not completely done,” a third voice clarified as Max backed up to let Ardan leave the cell.

The man outside was slightly more familiar than Mustermann - Morgan Kell had made the headlines more than once in his career as a mercenary. He was holding a heavy case.

“No guards?” Ardan asked, looking around.

“LIC security assumes that if anyone gets out of a cell, it’s better to lock the block down and bring in a response team than have people here with weapons that could be taken off them,” Melissa told him as she also left the cell. “Seriously, they didn’t even give you anything to do in there?”

Ardan shook his head. “I don’t even know how long I was there, months obviously. Don’t get me wrong, getting out is as good as a Christmas present but I haven’t exactly been getting newspapers or holovids.” He’d actually looked forwards to the occasional interrogations once it became clear that there would be no violence involved in them - at least it was someone to speak to. The intervals between them had become longer and longer though, at least by count of meals and laundry visits.

“Solitary for this long.” Max shook his head. “If Hanse wasn’t already furious about this…”

“What’s even going on? Why am I being released now? That’s not a complaint, but…”

“Morgan demanded that Hermann and Simon transfer custody to him,” Melissa explained as they went down the corridor to another door, Max checking the numbers which followed no sequence that Ardan could recognise.

“And they listened?”

Morgan shrugged. “I had the Archon’s ear once.”

“Once?” That sounded like a summary of a long story. “And Archon Steiner is…”

“That’s what we’re hoping to find out.” Max tapped one of the doors. “This is the cell on the paperwork, and for what it’s worth, the occupant should be the only other prisoner down here.”

“And who’s that?”

“The woman who was arrested with you.” Melissa looked up at him. “There’s something very wrong.”

Ardan rubbed his chin. He’d had no choice but to grow a beard in the cell. “You don’t say.”

The girl looked away. “I don’t know what happened. Even if you were guilty of what they said, you’re a diplomat -”

He winced.

“Here as a diplomat, anyway,” she said as Max unlocked the door. “There are rules!”

Morgan looked through the doorway and then turned sharply on Max. “Are you sure this is the cell?”

“It’s the number.” All four of them stared into an unoccupied cell. “We can check the others.”

“Do it,” the mercenary said flatly. Then he raised his hand. “No, I’ll check them. You and Melissa bring Ardan up to speed.”

Max accepted the case that Morgan passed him. “You’ve been here six months and diplomatic relations with New Avalon are in tatters.”

Six months? “I’d lost track of time, between chemical interrogation and… I think they went out of their way to vary meal times so I couldn’t keep count of days. They never turned the lights out and…” Ardan turned away, not wanting them to see the tears forming at the corners of his eyes.

A small hand took his own. “I’m sorry, Ardan. This prison was made by Claudius the Cruel, almost two centuries ago. Alessandro was the last one to use them, I never thought that mother would.”

He took a deep breath. “I wouldn’t have believed it either.”

“Can you tell us what happened?” Max asked him gently. “I have a third-hand claim that you were trying to enter the Nagelring vaults.”

“Well… I was, but it wasn’t espionage! Katrina said she wanted to send Hanse some data as a prize for winning the Third Alliance Games. But the locks didn’t open for her and then another Katrina arrived and claimed I’d brought an imposter in.” He’d relived that encounter over and over, during and between questionings. The one thing he’d been sure of was that there were two Katrinas and that he had no idea why. “She could open the door, so the guards believed her.”

“And they both looked like mother?”

“Exactly alike…” he admitted. “Same face, same clothes… A mirror image would have been less alike.”

Max raked one hand through the loose locks of what remained of his thin blond hair. “And now we can’t find one of them. That’s not good…”

Ardan snorted. “Is anything good about this?”

“Theodore Kurita has cut off Tamar,” Melissa told him, face pale. “Uncle Frederick’s been sent to help the Capellans invade the Free Worlds League… and mother’s gone to Skye. There’s a disputed succession there that could tear one of the richest parts of the Commonwealth apart. No, there’s nothing good about it.”

“We’re pretty damn sure that Melissa is who she says she is,” Max interjected. “Besides getting you out of here, we wanted to do a blood test comparing her and Hermann to the woman captured with you, because if she’s who she claimed then the Archon’s been replaced by an imposter.”

“Is that even possible?”

Max shrugged. “Medical researchers inside the Suns have been working on surgical reconstruction intended for those disfigured by war. The same techniques could be used to turn someone into a duplicate - a doppelganger, if you will - of someone else.”

“Hanse would never order that!”

That seemed to amuse the Lyran. “I don’t think he’d do that in this case. He’s not stupid. But to get a volunteer past security in the Combine or the Confederation? I doubt he’d rule it out. As a frame up, it’s exactly the sort of audacious scheme he might endorse as a prince.”

Ardan was about to protest but Max raised his hand.

“As a prince, and against an enemy. But as a man, I don’t believe he’d do so to an ally. Particularly when one of his closest friends was left dangling as a result. Whether the imposter is the prisoner or the Archon, someone else is behind this. And we need to find them, because if this isn’t cleared up we may be looking at war between the Suns and the Commonwealth. AFFS strategic reserves are moving into the Terran Corridor and I’d be surprised if MIIO wasn’t at least considering whether they could get someone in here to release you without getting you killed in the process.”

As they spoke, door after door had been flung open. Morgan opened the last and swore at the results. “We’re alone,” he reported. “Wherever the imposter is, she’s not here.”

“Do you think Simon’s hidden her somewhere?” asked Melissa, eyes wide.

The mercenary shook his head. “No. But this might be sufficient proof to get him to act on our behalf.”

Max looked at Ardan. “I can get you on a dropship off Tharkad tonight, but I can’t be sure you’ll make it back to the Suns without someone arresting you. Right now, nothing short of Katrina herself can get you away from Morgan’s protection. Your call.”

Ardan met the baron’s gaze and then nodded. “Whoever did this used me like a weapon against our alliance. Let me send a message to Hanse - and I’m with you. I want answers.”

“That makes four of us.” There was a steely determination in Melissa Steiner’s eyes, the teenager looking much more like her mother than usual.

Hilton Head, North America
Terra, Solar System
13 March 3024

“This time last year I wouldn’t have believed this could happen,” Huthrin Vandel observed as the update from the Skye HPG station concluded. “The Chancellor of the Capellan Confederation visiting the Lyran Commonwealth for personal negotiations with the Archon?”

“I wouldn’t have believed it six months ago,” Ulthan Everson murmured. Precentor Tharkad had spoken less and less at meetings of the First Circuit, of late. Julian Tiepolo suspected that he was struggling to keep his supporters in line. The status of the capital Precentors tended to vary with the strength of the state they were advocates to and the Lyrans’ sudden rise now seemed to be about to reverse.

The Primus glanced over at Villius Tejh. “Is the Chancellor’s absence likely to cause issues on Sian?”

“I don’t believe so. The House of Scions is quite enthusiastic about this diplomatic opportunity and the Chancellor’s wife is generally their spokesperson on the Prefectorate.” Precentor Sian hesitated for a moment. “His elder daughter is not enthused, but it seems unlikely she’ll endanger her standing in Liao’s eyes by acting. She’s only the Heir Presumptive, after all.”

“My understanding is that Hanse Davion has sent a personal emissary to Skye since Katrina is avoiding the new ambassador by leaving Tharkad for these talks,” Vandel noted. “I don’t have any information to suggest how well that’s working out.”

“Not well.” Tiepolo folded his hands behind his back. “Green-Davion has met the Archon before but she is closer to Duke Frederick and without him she lacks a personal connection. And now that the negotiations with the Chancellor are beginning, security concerns and time demands for the talks are going to further limit her chances to make contact.”

“However damning this may be for the Davion alliance, a Capellan partnership for the Lyrans still isn’t something we should encourage.” Thomas Marik managed to make it look almost as if he wasn’t discussing his family’s hereditary enemies making common cause.

Precentor Sian grimaced. “It would be a mistake to imagine that Maximilian Liao is lacking in personal charisma.”

“You think that this alliance could work?” Pedrigo Aliz asked, looking at Tejh.

“I hesitate to rule it out,” the man continued. “He asked for a joint invasion of the Free Worlds League and that’s happened. His other proposal for advancing an alliance was permanent high level representation in Katrina Steiner’s advisors. And as I understand it, that’s at least being considered?”

“In principle yes, although the details of how that would work in their respective governments is yet to be decided,” Tiepolo advised. “Steiner’s own interests are less clearly expressed but I believe economic interests are, somewhat predictably, foremost in her negotiator’s minds.”

“I don’t know how well they’ll do in Capellan markets,” admitted Tejh. “They are much more heavily regulated, although perhaps not any more corrupt.”

“In an ideal universe we’ll never need to find out.” Marik’s voice was calm, trying to present himself as objective perhaps? He’d risen as far as he reasonably could, Tiepolo thought. What were his ambitions now? Promoting him to head Luthien had set up the Kurita-Marik alliance, but he would never be acceptable as Primus so what else was there for the man?

“I think we can rely on the Chancellor to follow his nature and betray the Archon once he’s extracted as much value as he can from the arrangement,” he said out loud. “In addition, Romano Liao is apparently very enthusiastic about the potential for crushing the Mariks between her nation and the Archon’s. My understanding is that she can be easily encouraged to overreach, Villius?”

“I wouldn’t go so far as to say she’s an utter fool,” the Precentor said after a moment’s thought. “But I don’t believe she has any real understanding of how different Lyran society is from what she’s used to. If the alliance progresses to the point she has close contact with Lyran officials, some gaffes wouldn’t be hard to arrange. If anything, they might be harder to prevent.”

“As Thomas says, better we don’t need to. But having the option to use such incidents is worthwhile,” Tiepolo agreed.

“Unfortunately, arrogance doesn’t preclude real ability,” Marik warned. “If she survives mistakes, she might learn enough to be a capable leader. I’d love to say she’ll self-destruct, but if she was that easily disposed of then her sister Candace would have removed her long ago.”

“I yield to your knowledge of dynastic politics,” Aliz said sarcastically. “Can we be sure that the worst case scenario doesn’t arise? If this Green-Davion woman manages to win Katrina over then Davion might join the talks and Liao was in theory open to such discussions. I believe his original response to the Peace Proposal was that he’d only participate in talks if at least one other Successor Lord was involved.”

“The Federated Suns and the Capellan Confederation hate each other,” Tiepolo mused, “But Hanse Davion himself has had little direct contact with the Capellans…”

“And the longest single peace along any border since the fall of the Star League was between Davion and Liao,” Tejh added. “Granted, it was a century ago but there was a lengthy ceasefire at one point so that they could each focus on their other neighbor. It lasted over twenty years.”

“Who broke it?” asked Everson curiously.

“Davion.”

“Mm,” Precentor Tharkad said with a nod suggesting he’d expected as much.

“I would very much doubt that the Archon could act as a mediator between Hanse Davion and Maximilian Liao at the moment,” Tiepolo observed. “She’s thoroughly alienated from the First Prince of late. And if anyone believes that Maximilian Liao would play peacemaker between the other two, I would have to question your qualifications to be on this council.”

“If anything, it would suggest wilful refusal to read briefings on him,” Marik agreed.

“That leaves Hanse Davion.” Vandel observed. “I am not quite willing to say that he couldn’t mediate the other two but I’m hesitant to say he would.”

“In the unlikely event,” the Primus said, “We will provide as much assistance as we can to Candace Liao and Michael Hasek-Davion who are not only natural enemies, but have immense personal hatreds towards Romano Liao and Hanse Davion that would predispose them to oppose such an alliance.”

Aliz nodded. “So, does anyone have more serious thoughts about the negotiations on Skye?”

“I am puzzled that Katrina Steiner has yet to make a clear ruling on the matter of Skye’s succession,” Everson noted. He looked over at Tiepolo suspiciously. “Do we have any clues as to why she’s making such… questionable choices over the last few months? It’s convenient, but if she continues to act like this then she may go the way of her uncle. She did set a precedent for an ineffectual Archon being deposed, after all.”

“ROM has a number of theories,” Tiepolo answered carefully. “House Steiner does have a record of hereditary mental conditions and it’s possible that the Sortek scandal has pushed her into some degree of paranoia with regard to the Federated Suns.”

“Could such a thing be chemically induced? If Lestrade had dosed her with something to improve his chances of securing the throne of Skye then that would give us a great deal of leverage on him.”

“I’m fairly sure that chemically compromising someone in such a specific manner is beyond even the Star League,” he said lightly. “And the Archon’s security is formidable. I suppose there could be some degree of blackmail but I find it hard to believe that Steiner has any dark secrets so vital that she’d be willing to hand over a quarter of the Lyran economy to preserve it.”

Everson continued to study the Primus for a moment and then shrugged. “I remain curious. If nothing else, if Katrina self-destructs then it’s likely there would be a regency in her daughter’s name - most likely with Frederick Steiner as regent. If nothing else, he would almost certainly move decisively to restore relations with the Davions.”

“That is a troubling prospect.” Tiepolo considered that for a moment. “I will ask Emilio Rachan to see if there’s anything else we can do to investigate the matter, but I doubt he can guarantee any results. We’re well informed but alas even ROM can’t answer every question.”

“That’s all I can ask I suppose,” Everson agreed and then he retreated from the conversation, declining to be drawn into discussions of what impact Lyran merchants might have on the long sluggish Capellan economy.

Chapter Text

Chapter 6

The Triad, Tharkad
Protectorate of Donegal, Lyran Commonwealth
14 March 3024

Max had spent little time with Simon Johnson before and the head of LIC was notoriously hard to read - an excellent quality in a spy. Today he had no doubt that the man was furious, and he was quite glad not to be the target.

“Whatever else is going on, losing a prisoner from the Triad’s own detention center is unacceptable,” Johnson grated.

There was a distressed sound from Melissa, who was still rubbing her arm where blood had been drawn earlier.

“If that is indeed the Archon, that is much worse,” he admitted, blue eyes a little apologetic as he glanced at the girl. “At least we can be reasonably sure that you and your cousins have not been compromised.” The first orders that Johnson had given were to identify and detain everyone who had had access to the cells since Ardan was locked up there, and to have fresh blood samples taken from Melissa, from Ryan and from their mutual cousin Ivan who was currently serving in the Second Royal Guards as a junior officer. “I’ll arrange a blood test for Hermann as well, but that will require more discretion as he isn’t under my authority.”

Melissa’s great-uncle had been deputized to carry out the ceremonial duties of the Archon during Katrina’s absence. Together with acting command of the Royal Guard, that left him in a position of considerable power. While Max didn’t think a man who would have renounced his titles and rank entirely to avoid a power struggle in the other timeline would yield to temptation in this one, he’d also been resistant to Morgan’s persuasion over Sortek. Either he’d been compromised or he was so blindly loyal to Katrina’s orders that he was a liability right now.

“That’s all very well, but until we can test the current Archon we don’t know if the Commonwealth is in the hands of an imposter,” he pointed out.

“And if she refuses to be tested?” Johnson asked. “Oh, it would be suspicious, but short of force we can’t make her. She could claim a mismatch meant that her daughter had been abducted and replaced. Alessandro had many failings as an Archon but even he had enough support that he could have forced a civil war rather than abdicating. Sparing us that was perhaps his wisest decision, but Katrina is far more trusted and if you’re right that she’s been replaced by an enemy agent that could be a goal.”

Ardan leant forwards. “So you need absolute proof to act.”

“I am acting.” The spymaster glared at Sortek. “You have my sincere apologies that the Tamar situation led to my negligence over your care. I will do everything in my power to resolve this, but we can’t afford a civil war. As we speak, the Norns are combing every record we have about the detention wing and interrogating the staff. More people are digging into this than are investigating Tamar right now.”

“My brother is taking the bulk of the Kell Hounds there,” Morgan informed him.

Johnson nodded. “I’m aware.” He paused. “And given the deep trust that Katrina has in you, unless the Archon asks specifically, I won’t volunteer that information.”

“You already had suspicions?” Max asked speculatively.

“The Archon and I have disagreed more than once over the years. Sometimes she has been proven right, sometimes not. I won’t directly disobey her, but since she isn’t on Tharkad I’m acting on the basis that forgiveness will count for more than permission in providing support to her sister.” Pain flickered in Johnson’s blue eyes. “Dozens of Bondians have paid with their lives and I’m going to expend more in the weeks to come to buy time for Nondi Steiner. And now, to buy you time as well.”

“Bondians?” Ardan asked in a low voice.

“Active agents outside the Commonwealth,” Melissa told him, equally quietly.

“You knew there was an imposter,” Morgan pointed out, ignoring the byplay. “Even if you thought she’d been caught, you must have explored where she came from.”

“The Federated Suns research program was an obvious lead - perhaps too obvious.” Johnson spread his hands. “Outside of that, the Canopians could likely do the same.”

Max grunted. “Or Terran medicine.”

The spymaster gave him a dry look. “You have a reason to suspect ComStar?”

“It isn’t paranoia if they really are out to get you,” he replied. “But I have nothing specific here.”

Eyes narrowed in thought, Johnson continued: “Investigating the Suns’ scientists has only muddied the waters - someone has compromised their security already. Both the Maskirova or the ISF would target anything in the Suns and I can’t say that their parent realms aren’t benefiting from the current situation.”

Max closed his own eyes for a moment in thought. There had been another Capellan doppelganger beside Hanse - a short story had detailed an attempt by the Maskirova to replace Tormano Liao with one of their agents, to allow the appearance that Maximilian Liao had a more compliant son. While the agent had claimed Maxmilian had ordered it, that meant nothing - it could have just as easily been a power play by Chandra Ling, director of the Maskirova to create a puppet heir.

But the Capellans were definitely a possibility.

“So we don’t know anything?!” Melissa exclaimed.

“We know that…” The comm on Johnson’s desk cut him off and he picked it up sharply. “Johnson.”

The four of them watched with silent frustration as the head of LIC responded to the caller with nothing more than faint encouraging noises, giving them no clue as to what was being said on the other end. The discretion of a life-long spy, Max thought.

“Alright, good work.” Having tripled the number of words he’d contributed to that conversation, Johnson lowered the handset. “And now we know more. Since the detention wing was not being used, sometimes the associated storage was made available for other purposes. Not the cells themselves, but it’s close enough.”

“And?” demanded Melissa.

“And a cryocapsule was being stored there prior to Colonel Sortek’s arrest, a capsule large enough that someone could have been placed inside it. With the facility now being used, it was removed and the storage cleared for use supporting your detention.”

“What the hell was a cryocapsule doing in the Triad?” Ardan asked, gesturing to one of the windows of the office. Outside, snow was visibly coming down.

“Duke Aldo Lestrade was a guest in the Triad as he made his appeal against Margaret Aten’s succession to the throne of Skye,” Johnson told them. “He’d supposedly brought it to ensure his beer stayed cold as he travelled from Summer.”

“He needed a cryocapsule for that? Did he think there was no beer on Tharkad?”

Melissa rubbed her hands together nervously. “That’s not the craziest thing people have brought here, Ardan. One of mother’s guests had a pet elephant.”

Johnson sighed heavily.

“In this climate?” Max asked, incredulously.

“Many of the Lyran nobility have the wealth to take eccentricities to extremes,” the spymaster said heavily. “The Triad staff tries to be accommodating. As Lady Melissa says, bringing your own beer is hardly the most extreme behavior they’ve dealt with.”

“If we’re looking from someone who is benefitting from the current situation, Aldo Lestrade is on the list,” Morgan said grimly. “Did he take the cryocapsule to Skye?”

“To Summer. Even if he then took it to Skye, he went via Lestrade Castle.” Johnson drummed his fingers on his desk. “The capsule wasn’t intended for a human occupant but it could have been used that way. Other than medical monitoring equipment, the technology is the same.”

“And Lestrade could keep a prisoner at Lestrade Castle easily,” Max murmured. “It’s the center of his power.”

Johnson nodded. “It’s not much of a lead, but it’s all I have.”

“Then we need to follow it,” Max decided. “Unless anything else turns up.”

Morgan nodded. “And we need to be discreet. A Kell Hounds dropship arriving would raise flags so we’ll have to lean on you to arrange an alternative, Simon.”

“I can help with that.”

“Will there be room in your transport plans for my Victor?” asked Ardan. “You didn’t take that apart or anything, did you?” he enquired, looking suddenly at Simon Johnson.

“It was stored at the Suns embassy,” the spymaster replied. “I believe it was returned to the Suns when the ambassador was replaced though.”

“They took my ‘mech home without me?” The mechwarrior seemed appalled.

“And all your personal effects, I would assume.”

Ardan groaned. “So we’re on a rescue mission to save the Archon and I don’t have so much as a toothbrush to my name.”

“I can lend you my week’s allowance to get kitted out,” Melissa offered impishly.

Max was fairly sure that the Archon-Designate’s weekly allowance would have paid for Ardan to get a commercial ticket all the way home, never mind bought him a toothbrush. It probably wouldn’t cover getting him a ‘mech though.

“When do we leave?” the girl added.

“You aren’t going,” Max and Morgan said in unison, then exchanged amused looks.

“We’re talking about my mother!” she protested.

Johnson cleared his throat. “I can’t cover for your absence, Landgravine Steiner,” he pointed out. “I’m afraid that staying on Tharkad while others act in your name is one of the burdens you’re going to have to get used to.”

“But…”

Max cleared his throat and broached the topic no one had voiced yet: “Lady Melissa, if something permanent has happened to your mother… then you are the Archon now.” He felt bad about saying that, and worse when the teenager started to cry.

Imperial City, Luthien
Pesht Military District, Draconis Combine
2 April 3024

It was the silence that alerted Tomoe that something was wrong.

All of the Otomo were hand-picked by the Coordinator, which was the only formal requirement. However, most had proven themselves in the ranks for five years before being vetted by the ISF and having their names submitted to Takashi as potential candidates. Theodore’s first selections had been to replace the Otomo members killed alongside his father in the dropship crash on Rasalhague and he’d brought his entire command lance in.

No one questioned the Coordinator’s right to do this, but at the same time there was a degree of friction expressed in hazing from the veterans and a drive to prove themselves by the new recruits. In Tomoe’s case, she had been assigned quarters near the entrance used for infantry patrols and the sentries made a point of stamping their feet briskly outside her room - disturbing her sleep.

She’d gotten used to it though, and instinct brought her to wakefulness when it didn’t happen. It wasn’t until she heard the sound of boots shuffling past her room in the same quiet steps that the Otomo infantry used in other parts of the palace that she was able to put her finger on why.

Slipping out from under her bedcovers, she had the pistol kept under her pillow ready before her feet were under her. As a mechwarrior she didn’t keep body-armor ready, but her cooling vest was kevlar lined and it slipped on almost silently.

Drawing the wakizashi from the scabbard on the stand, Tomoe used her right hand to carefully slide the bolt on her door. She found herself wishing for a third hand - she was holding her pistol in the same hand, but might need every weapon she could carry if this was what it might be.

The door was as well-oiled as the bolt, opening silently and Tomoe saw two soldiers right outside her door, eyes looking further down the corridor. It took them a critical heart-beat to register that the door next to them had opened - the last heart-beats of two lives, because she didn’t recognise the faces beneath the stylised helmets of the Otomo and drove her wakizashi into one, the sharp blade finding the gap between chinstrap and upper jaw.

The sharp retort of her pistol blowing the brains out of the other soldier woke the entire dorm but there were other soldiers at every door on the corridor. Her comrades woke, unwarned and all of them outnumbered two to one.

Still, they were Otomo and when doors crashed open, screams mixed with gunfire as the Coordinator’s elite guards went from sleep to violence in the blink of an eye.

Tomoe emptied the magazine of her pistol down the corridor, landing four of the six shots in men a fraction too late to enter their target rooms.

Then two more soldiers turned from the barracks entrance and she flung the pistol into the face of the second before side-stepping the bayonet of the leader.

Her wakizashi, still slick with blood from her first target was just a fraction off target, the edge striking the edge of the helmet and snapping the blade. What was left didn’t strike as deeply as she wanted, but it was enough to open his eyes and the bridge of the man’s nose.

Screaming in agony, he plowed into her and knocked the young woman to the floor, her cooling vest muting the impact only slightly.

Seizing the rifle, Tomoe coiled her legs beneath her burden and kicked out, heaving the man aside and giving his back-up a clean shot at point blank range.

She should have died in that moment but a shot from further down the hall went over her head a moment before the soldier’s finger could tighten his trigger. Chu-i Sebastian Monroe used a needler as his side arm and razor sharp flechettes made a nonsense of the flexible armor covering the soldier’s throat, almost decapitating him.

Tomoe rolled over in time to see Monroe, perhaps the most vicious of the hazing participants, lurch forwards, blood and fragmented bullets bursting through him as battle rifles chattered at fully automatic rates.

Her own fingers confirmed her captured rifle was in semi-automatic before she pulled the trigger twice and both of Monroe’s killers hit the ground.

Scrambling up, bare feet finding slippery blood on the floor, Tomoe jabbed the bayonet into the thigh of the man she’d blinded, ripping open his femoral artery. He’d be dead quickly, but as sounds died down along the corridor, she might follow if more of the attackers had survived than her comrades.

Bounding from door to door, she fired again and again at anyone wearing armor, taking advantage of the momentary disorientation natural to soldiers who had expected a slaughter of helpless sleeping men and women. There were a dozen rooms on either side of the corridor, though some had not been opened - their occupants absent and presumably this was known to the attackers - and only two of the open rooms had both of the intruding soldiers still standing before she corrected that… but none had Otomo fit to join her either.

At the second to last doors she had to duck inside for cover when another of the attackers opened up down the corridor with his rifle.

Dropping her own almost empty rifle, Tomoe lifted one from one of the soldiers on the floor (a knife in his throat, thrown by Mechwarrior Omi Suhasi before she was gunned down by the second soldier through the door, a part of her mind noted, automatically deciphering the map of combat). Dropping to one knee, she waited a instant and heard the telltale of a magazine emptying.

Rolling out, she was about to fire, but with a twang, a yard of steel-tipped wood drove itself through both her target and the second soldier about to point his own rifle down at her.

Tomoe stared at the arrow that was connecting both men for an instant and then traced it back to the door facing the one that these soldiers had used.

A black shape emerged, carrying a bow and already nocking a second arrow. “Chu-i Sakade,” the voice of Tai-i Minobu Tetsuhara greeted her as politely as if this was just another day of guard duty.

“Tai-i.” Tomoe rolled to her feet. “This can’t be the only attack.”

The black man nodded sharply. He was also barefoot, wearing only exercise pants. “Your warning was timely. We need boots and information.”

Tomoe nodded and half-ran, half-scrambled down the corridor cluttered with bodies back to her own room. As much as she wanted to run onwards, Tetsuhara was correct. WIthout footwear she might render herself useless for further battle.

Besides her boots, she picked up her radio but the Otomo channels were full only of static - jammed.

Hopping down the corridor as she pulled first one boot on and then the other, she found Tetsuhara had also taken the time to don his sword belt. “Nothing on the radio,” she reported.

He nodded thoughtfully. “Our first priority is the consort and the young lord.” He pointed out the window. “If we go across the roof, we have less chance of being intercepted before we reach the imperial apartments.”

“Hai.”

The windows weren’t really intended to allow someone to enter or exit, but a little more property damage didn’t matter now and Tomoe shattered one with the butt of her rifle before climbing out onto the slanting tiles outside. Fortunately it hadn’t been raining, so they weren’t slick beneath her boots, and the curved lip at the bottom of the roof gave slightly better footing. Tetsuhara followed, still carrying his bow and a quiver of arrows.

Tomoe gave him a questioning look and the older officer held one finger against his lips. She grasped his point - while a bow wasn’t silent, it would certainly be quieter than her borrowed rifle.

The two Otomo crossed the roof at a trot, not fast enough to make significant noise or to risk their footing, but they weren’t taking their time either. The Otomo occupied barracks attached to the main residence by covered walkways, and the duo were able to use the roof of the walkway as a route directly to the second floor of the main palace.

Ahead, Tomoe could hear the sound of gunshots, suggesting that the attack had reached the guards around the imperial apartments. As much as she hoped that their comrades would be able to hold off the attack, the fact that the enemy had got so far suggested that they would send as many men after the heir and his mother as they felt would be necessary.

Minobu was about to try opening the window facing them but Tomoe caught his shoulder. “Give me a leg up to reach the lip of the roof above us,” she asked. “It’s the level we need to be on.”

The Tai-i nodded and set down his bow, cupping his hands. She put her foot on it and as he heaved her up, she was able to get both hands on the edge of the roof above them. With practiced effort she got her elbows over, swung and then managed to hook a leg over the edge as well.

Pushing her rifle over, she caught the bow and quiver, pushing the weapons along and out of the way before Tetsuhara also leapt up, catching her hand and - once she pulled with all her might - getting his own grip up on the roof.

A moment later and they were up and armed again. The windows would be harder to break open from the outside, but Tomoe knew of a balcony and they reached it right as the rattles of gunfire ended and the lights went on in the room behind it.

Illuminated obviously by the electric lights, Tomoe prayed that the door was unlatched and gave it a kick.

Her prayer was answered and the armored glass panels swung open, giving Tetsuhara a clean shot at the nearest soldier, the arrow punching through chest armor intended to resist lighter and less archaic projectiles.

There was a cry of pain - a child’s, she thought - as someone fell to the ground and out of sight behind a couch, then Tomoe opened up - short bursts at anyone in body armor. If the attack had got this far then every Otomo on guard was dead.

Two rounds hit her in the chest, distinct impacts, and sent her sprawling, head very nearly smacking into the rail of the balcony. She saw Tetsuhara bound inside, the crescent arc of his katana blade reflecting the electric lights as he swept it around.

Rolling over, Tomoe managed to get view of the dark-skinned samurai cutting down one soldier just as two more burst in. Her shots cut the legs out from one of them and the last - an officer - gained a third eye as a laser pistol’s bolt caught him squarely in the face, right at the bridge of the nose.

The pistol was in the hands of a hyperventilating Anastasi Kurita, the barrel wavering so much it was a miracle she’d hit the officer at all, much less with a killing shot.

“Lady Kurita,” Tetsuhara reported crisply. “We need to evacuate the apartments until the situation is clearer.” He walked past her and kicked the doors open.

“Who-who… Martin! Father!” The coordinator’s wife dropped the pistol and ran to the couch.

A tearful wail went up as the woman pulled the infant heir to the Combine up from the floor. She was crying almost as much as the boy.

Tomoe followed her and saw Otto Sjovold face up on the floor. Blood was pooling beneath him, no wounds visible on his front.

“He - he was on top of Martin.” Anastasi exclaimed.

Well, having a fully-grown man on top of a small child wasn’t ideal, Tomoe thought. But better shots hit the grandfather than the grandson. “He gave his life for Lord Martin,” she declared solemnly and looked around the room. Right, this was where she thought it was.

“What are you doing?” the mother asked as Tomoe went to a cabinet in the corner and opened the lower of its two doors.

Feeling it was easier to show that tell, the Otomo member found the hidden switch and the floor beside her popped up, revealing a stairway less than half a meter wide. “A hidden escape route,” she explained. “There are several in the apartments. This leads to a secure bunker beneath the palace.”

She had to take the lead, Tetsuhara wasn’t familiar with the route so he took up the rear behind Anastasi, who was crying almost as much as the son she carried. But for all her tears, Lady Kurita didn’t hesitate to trust and obey the orders, which was as much as Tomoe could have hoped for.

It wasn’t an easy route, particularly in the pitch darkness, but at last Tomoe found the metal door she needed and it swung open - into an alcove just wide enough to allow it, revealing a well lit room behind, part of a larger complex.

“I had no idea there was anything like this beneath the palace,” Anastasi admitted. Then she showed her first hint of suspicion. “How did you know, Chu-i?”

Theodore told me, Tomoe thought. “I served Lady Florimel for a time,” she said instead.

“Are there communications here?” asked Tetsuhara.

She nodded and indicated one of the doors. “A hardline connects us to the main planetary commnet. It shouldn’t be cut even if the main palace links are - and tracing it back to us won’t be easy.”

“Given the number of soldiers sent here, I imagine contacting the palace security would be a waste of time,” he murmured. “But those soldiers weren’t good enough to have been with the Sword of Light.”

Tomoe followed him into the room, seeing the computers already set up. Rather than checking a directory, she set a channel she knew by heart. “Candle,” she reported.

No reply.

“Candle,” she repeated after a moment. Tetsuhara watched her.

“Water,” a slightly familiar voice responded.

A thread of tension went out of her. “Udon.”

“Archer.” The woman on the other end also seemed relieved. “Tomoe-chan, I’m glad you’re alive. What’s your situation?”

“I’m in a safe place with the nest and the egg,” she replied - Anastasi and Martin, in other words. “Can I speak to the heart?”

“I am the heart now,” Constance Kurita replied sadly. “My predecessor died getting word out to the Sword of Light and they are loyal. They are on their way, and nothing Elias can bring to bear will stop them.”

Tomoe slumped slightly, Lady Florimel was dead? That was a savage blow. “Understood. Please update me within twenty-four hours or I will assume things are not going to plan.”

“Of course. Be safe, and protect the egg.”

The line cut out and Tomoe dropped the handset.

“I got part of that,” Tetsuhara said. “But…”

“What is going on?” demanded Anastasi.

Tomoe straightened. “Warlord Elias Kurita is attempting a coup, my lady. The Keeper of the House Honor is dead, but before dying she alerted the First Sword of Light.”

“The Ivory Dragon,” Anastasi mused. “Yes, they would take her guidance, wouldn’t they?” The First Sword of Light was closely tied to the Combine’s religious practises, meaning they had the closest ties to the Order of Five Pillars, which Florimel headed… had headed, Tomoe corrected herself. Now that fell to Constance.

“Our duty now is to wait,” Tomoe concluded. “The Sword of Light will crush the coup and Lady Constance will alert us as to when it is safe to leave the bunker.”

“I see.” Anastasi rocked her son gently, trying to stop his tears. “I assume we have no shortage of supplies here.”

“There are stores here sufficient for years if absolutely necessary.”

“Good.” The consort looked at Tetsuhara. “Be so good as to find me a stiff drink, Chu-i. Take one yourself if your duty allows.”

Tomoe blinked but the other Otomo simply bowed and departed.

Anastasi waited until he was out of easy earshot and then asked matter-of-factly: “Is this one of the places Theodore sneaks off with you to?”

She froze. Oh hells…

“I’ll take that as a yes,” the consort continued after a moment. “Just tell me which room you use so I can avoid it. I…” Fresh tears formed and she held her son one handed. “I just lost my father and you saved my life. I just… I don’t want to sleep on a bed my husband shared with you.”

Jumpship Bifrost, Chukchi
Protectorate of Donegal, Lyran Commonwealth
4 April 3024

The jumpship Bifrost didn’t maintain a formal dining hall - if passengers on dropships being carried wanted that experience they’d have to look to the dropship facilities. As a result, the three passengers hidden in one of the small onboard cargo holds could eat alongside the crew without running into anyone from the dropships being ferried along the busy route between Tharkad and Skye.

There was nothing suspicious at all in the Bifrost making the run. While it had been working the Skye to Robinson route for a few years, the current problems had led to many Lyran-flagged jumpships deciding that operating in the Suns too risky. And not having diners from off the ship meant no one asking why there were more than forty diners (eating in shifts) when the normal operating crew of a Merchant-class jumpship was only twenty-one.

Max had been waiting to get a good feel for the captain before asking the question that was on his mind when they were several jumps away from Tharkad.

“I hope you don’t mind my asking this,” he said diffidently as they finished a rather decent lasagne. “But given our quest, to dignify it a bit, takes us to Summer - might we impose on your local knowledge?”

From the way Danica Holstein’s shoulders tensed, she did mind him asking. She picked up a napkin, wiping her mouth in a transparent way of buying herself time. “I thought you were working up to another question, with the way you’d been watching me.”

“If you mean what I think, I’m probably a bit old for you.”

She gave him a thoughtful look which he wasn’t sure how to interpret. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not from Summer.”

Max didn’t know Captain Holstein’s tells, but her son Clovis was a teenager and much much easier to read. She was lying and her son knew it. “I lived there for a couple of years, starting right after the Kurita raid in 3005,” he observed. “I can understand wanting to leave it behind.”

“I don’t appreciate being called a liar, Baron Mustermann.”

He placed his own napkin on the table and watched her quietly, ignoring the way the crewmen were bristling at the confrontation. The captain met his gaze with a brittle expression. “I’m sorry to bring up what I’m sure are unpleasant memories, Captain Holstein. But the stakes are such that being rude is perhaps necessary. We may even have crossed paths in those two years, although I don’t recall it.”

“We wouldn’t have,” Clovis said snappily. The boy’s limbs were shorter than they ought to be, something that didn’t matter much in zero gravity but here on the gravity decks it made him a little short-tempered. “How did you know?”

“Clovis,” his mother snapped.

“He knows. But we wouldn’t have met a baron. We lived in the slums.”

“So did I - Curitiba’s, which unless I miss my guess is where you were until you got off world.” He looked at the boy. “I wasn’t always a baron, that came later. It wasn’t an easy couple of years, and I wasn’t a fugitive. Much less a fugitive with a new baby to care for.”

“Max, is this a conversation we want to have?” Morgan Kell asked firmly. “This is obviously a subject the captain doesn’t want to discuss.”

“I’m aware,” he admitted. “But I believe the good captain knows Lestrade Castle better than any of us. I’ve never even been inside.”

“Damn…” Holstein buried her face in her hands. “How much do you know?”

Clovis moved closer to her, looking angry and defensive.

“Very few details. I’m not trying to bait you into telling me more, or looking for any form of leverage.” Max sighed. “But if I’m right then Aldo Lestrade has a very important prisoner, one who might give him the keys to controlling the entire Lyran Commonwealth. I lived under his rule for two years and I don’t like the idea of him ruling the Commonwealth from behind the scenes - my guess is that you know far better than I what it’d be like to be under his thumb again.”

“I don’t have good memories of Curitiba,” Clovis said when his mother didn’t speak.

Max nodded and pushed himself back from the table. “I appreciate you hearing me out, Captain. I’m sorry to rouse those demons. If you change your mind, you know where to find me. If not… well, I can’t blame you.”

Morgan frowned but backed up to let Max get past him to the door.

“I don’t…” the elder Holstein said slowly as Max reached the door, “Have good memories of Aldo Lestrade.”

He paused and waited.

“The old duke did not keep prisoners,” she continued. “Unless you count the staff. Most of us were proud to work for him.”

“You were one of the staff?” asked Ardan cautiously.

“In Aldo Lestrade’s eyes, the staff were part of the estate. His to do with as he wished, unless his father objected. At the time, I believed the old duke knew and did not object. Looking back, perhaps I just lacked the confidence to try.”

Morgan tensed. “You mean he…”

Holstein nodded, sharply. Those of her crew present looked horrified. She looked aside at her son. “I didn’t want you to know.”

“I figured out the names you got called back then,” the boy told her. “It’s not your fault. It’s his.”

The woman sighed. “I won’t go back. I’m not sure I could. But if what you say is true… I wouldn’t want him to have that power. He has too much already.”

“If he’s done what we think, he’s a dead man walking,” Morgan promised her, eyes flat and dangerous.

“I’ll tell you what I can.”

“And I’ll help too,” Clovis promised boldly. “I know computers. If you need information, you’ll need to crack his systems.”

“Clovis, no.”

“Mom, they’re Heimdall. They got us off Summer, gave us a new life here.” The dwarf put his arms around his mother’s shoulders. “You taught me to pay it back or pay it forward.”

“It’s good of you to offer,” Ardan said diplomatically, “But this is going to be dangerous.”

“I’m short, not a little kid,” Clovis shot back sharply. “What do you know about encryptions? About computer memory and the ways you can hide that databases even exist, or how to stop them wiping themselves.”

The soldier turned to Danica Holstein who closed her eyes. “Clovis is very gifted,” she admitted. Her lips twisted. “He got that from his father. The only thing he got from him.”

Morgan leant his weight against the door frame. “You’ll need to take orders, Mr Holstein. We do this together, and to a fixed plan. No crazy revenge plans, you understand?”

“My weapon is here,” Clovis said, tapping his brow. “If I want revenge I’d need you to take it for me. I’ll behave.”

“Are you happy, Baron Mustermann?” the captain asked. “You’ll have my information and a new recruit for your crusade.”

“More than I bargained for,” he admitted.

“If my son comes to harm, I’ll drag every secret you have out into the light and see how you like it.”

He scratched the bald part of his scalp. “I’d be fascinated to see what you find, captain. My secrets are all questions that I don’t have the answers to myself.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 7

Duhr Prime, Zosma
Federation of Skye, Lyran Commonwealth
2 May 3024

After losing Zosma to the Lyran Commonwealth in the Second Succession War, the Iron Guard had spent thirty-two years in exile from their homeworld. Marik support in retaking it was probably why they were so fanatical in their support of the Captain-General.

Frederick had heard that their Colonel Bradford Holmes had proclaimed he would die rather than dishonor the regiment by retreating again. If so he’d probably lived up to it.

“Colonel Hansen,” he greeted the mercenary commander as the last of his subordinate commanders arrived. “How are your men doing?”

“We’ve had worse butcher’s bills, but not since Matheran,” the commander of Hansen’s Roughriders reported. “You should see the other guy though.”

“I believe I did,” Frederick admitted. “Running away, tails between their legs? Is that the one?”

They both laughed, but Frederick knew that Colonel Hansen hungered for more. Smithson’s Chinese Bandits had fought for Janos Marik during the Marik Civil War, a decade before. Hansen’s Roughriders were made up for the most part of members of the Twelfth Atrean Dragoons, who had fought for Anton Marik and fled the Free Worlds League after his death. Matheran was where the two units had fought during that war, and the grudge was alive and burning.

The Roughriders had baited Frederick’s trap - the Bandits had seen a chance to catch their old enemies and destroy them, a cause Colonel Holmes had been all too happy to commit the Protectorate Guards to. The three regiments had sallied from Duhr Prime’s defenses and found themselves encircled by not only the Roughriders, but all of Frederick’s ‘mech forces.

It should have been a battle of annihilation, crushing three-quarters of the Marik forces on Zosma as they ran the gauntlet to get back to Duhr Prime. That wasn’t quite how it had worked out though, and a part of Frederick wished - as Hansen did - that they'd accomplished more.

The five Lyran commanders were meeting in the planetary governor’s office. That worthy had decided to depart the planet with its defenders rather than face the people he ruled without the Iron Guard and Steel Guard being there to support him.

Gerhardt Hansen sat between Sarah Joss of the Thirty-Second Lyran Guards and Ed Smith of the Eleventh Lyran Regulars on the couch, leaving the armchairs to Frederick and to Stephanie Stirling of the Fourth Commonwealth Jaegers. The Third Jaeger’s commander wasn’t present - Duhr Prime wasn’t quite secure enough to risk every senior officer being in the same room. If they got bombed, Lieutenant Colonel Jonny Wurtz would inherit the burden of holding the task force together until a new command group could be formed.

“It’s looking increasingly unlikely that the Mariks were faking their withdrawal offworld,” Frederick began. “But it’s not assured yet, so what are your statuses?”

“Jonny and I are both running at about seventy percent effectives,” Stirling reported. “Not so much casualties as equipment that needs repairs. Given two weeks, everything that wasn’t a total loss should be fit for use again.”

“Price of lighter gear,” Joss noted. “We’re closer to eighty percent, projecting ten days to get about half our losses restored.”

Frederick gave the Guards commander a repressing look. She wasn’t wrong, but the mobility of the Jaegers had let them push through the rough terrain of the right flank and link up with the Guards, who’d had much better terrain to work with. “Ed?” he asked, rather than poking at Joss though - her father commanded Wyatt theater, so he’d need more justification than this to slap her down. And she was a fighter, he’d give her that.

“We were mostly engaging at longer ranges so we’re in the best shape, I think. Most of our ‘mechs took no more than armor damage but those that took the brunt will take about as long as the Jaegers to be fit. Call it eight-five percent operational right now.”

Hansen made a face. “I can put a battalion in the field right now, and most of them would still need some repairs,” he admitted.

“You took their attack right in the teeth,” Frederick admitted. “Your men fought with great courage.” Using mercs as bait was a tricky thing, no sensible commander wanted a reputation for treating them as expendable.

“Give me a month and I’ll have two battalions really fit for battle,” the colonel continued. “I probably shouldn’t have closed in on the Steel Guard,” he admitted after a moment. “The blood was up, but in hindsight, pulling back would have left them in open ground with a crossfire between us and your Regulars.”

“With the Iron Guard shattered, I can see the temptation to try repeating the feat against the Steel Guard. Unfortunately their heavier ‘mechs could take the pounding,” Frederick admitted. “They might have reached the heights behind you and broken out that way.”

Hansen shrugged. Something told Frederick that the other man would be refighting the battle in his head for some time to come.

“Our best estimate is that the Bandits and the Steel Guard were operating at about fifty to sixty percent of their paper strength by the time they reached Duhr,” he continued. “If the Twenty-Fifth Marik Militia hadn’t broken our encirclement, we might have finished them off but with the Iron Guard functionally destroyed, that still left them outnumbered almost two to one so their decision to cede Zosma was a smart one.” Ochombo’s sally had been unexpected - they still weren’t sure how much of the Twenty-Fifth had even been in the area - but with Hansen getting mauled and the Jaegers on the edge of a combat loss grouping, Frederick hadn’t been prepared to risk the tables turning and allowed the enemy to leave, satisfying himself with picking off those troops who couldn’t keep up with the retreat.

“You have the first pick of the salvage,” he told the Roughrider’s commander. “There are more than enough salvageable ‘mechs out there to replace all of our losses and Kommandant Alexander will make sure you have the parts to get your troops up to strength. With that said, time is going to be in shorter supply than I’d like.”

Everyone was already looking at him but now they were giving him their full attention. Joss didn’t even argue over Hansen getting the pick of the recovered ‘mechs, which was one reason he’d timed the information in this way.

“Good news first.” He leant back, forcing himself to look relaxed. “Senior Colonel Ridzik reports that Pollux has been secured, with little left of the First Sirian Lancers. That means that both we and our allies have secured all our objectives for this offensive.”

The first wave of attacks had left the Free Worlds League without a single inhabited world in reach of Terra. The shortest route they had to reach their allies in the Draconis Combine would require three jumps across Lyran space, not exactly safe for routine traffic. If they were pushed much further back, ComStar might need to route HPG transmissions from the League via Capellan or Lyran stations.

“I’m not sure how that leaves us short of time, sir,” Stirling asked. “Are we expecting a counter-attack?”

Frederick shook his head. “No. Unfortunately someone has a case of victory-disease and we’ve been ordered to move on. Castor has been added as our next objective, and Colonel Ridzik’s forces will move on Devil’s Rock.”

“Do we have the supplies for that?” asked Joss. “I’d have thought Tamar would be top of the list for everything.”

“There was an attempted coup on Luthien last month. The Combine tried keeping it quiet, but they haven’t quite managed that. The official analysis is that the pressure on Tamar will be greatly reduced as they deal with that.” It was hard for him to avoid sounding less convinced. A non-specific accusation of ‘victory-disease’ was already further than he should have gone.

And Max’s messages, while cryptic enough to make it hard for ComStar to figure them out even if they had cracked the codes, suggested that someone in Katrina’s inner circle had been compromised. He didn’t want to even consider the disaster if it was the Archon herself, but the amount of data from all across the Commonwealth was too vast for any one person to handle - Katrina required a small army of trusted staff members to process the data, make decisions that didn’t need her attention and to break the critical matters down for her so she had time for them. A single malicious actor in her senior staff could just as easily explain some of her recent decisions.

“Yorioshi went for the throne?” asked Smith thoughtfully. “He’d have needed a Kurita for legitimacy, but he could have married a distant cousin.”

“Wrong Warlord,” Frederick corrected him. “It was Elias Kurita who made the attempt. Apparently he’d inherited some support from his brother Marcus and thought he could play Taragi.” Theodore Kurita’s great-great grandfather had overthrown his uncle and cousin to take the throne of the Combine. “He was wrong.”

“How widespread was it beyond Luthien?” Joss’s eyes were narrowed. “Pesht is a rear-area, but it’s still a full military district.”

“That is unclear,” he admitted. “If there was significant support then it’s possible the conclusion is correct, but if it fizzled then Theodore might press the invasion further to distract attention within the Combine from the matter. Given that Elias didn’t manage to take Luthien, I’m personally leaning towards the latter but obviously someone at Mount Asgard disagrees.”

Hansen looked pained. “Even with your generosity, general, my Roughriders can’t move on Castor right now.”

Frederick made a dismissive gesture. “I wouldn’t expect you to. I want the Regulars and the Guards ready to embark in two weeks, repairs can be completed on the way to Castor. Your Roughriders are going to be needed in a garrison role - unless the FWLM can pull together a counterattack, that should give you time to recover and if they manage that then I’ll pull back from Castor to support you immediately.”

“And the Jaegers, sir?” asked Stirling. “We’re in the best shape.”

“Diversionary raids,” Frederick told her. “Stay with me after the meeting and we’ll discuss the details.”

The rest of the meeting was focused on administrative matters and it was more than an hour before Smith, Joss and Hansen left, satisfied that they understood what Frederick wanted from them. Stirling remained in her armchair and looked at Frederick. “Where are we going to hit, sir? Both borders are still lit up to keep Marik from pulling forces away from them, so it sounds like a deep raid.”

“Wait until Wurtz is here,” Frederick told her. He’d arranged for the other Leutnant-Colonel to be sent over once the meeting was over, so he could get the same briefing. As a result there was barely time to refresh their coffee mugs before the other Jaeger battalion commander arrived and Frederick could fill him in.

“Connaught,” the man suggested. “It’s in reach, and it’s got a ‘mech factory. Or Irian - Janos Marik can’t ignore an attack there.”

Frederick shook his head. “You’re not wrong about the thinking, but you’re going in the wrong direction. The logical expectation for Janos is that we’ll be digging in and shifting resources to face the Combine. If he’s taking raids deeper inside the League then he’ll know that we’re not done.”

Stirling shrugged. “By the time we reach much further, he’ll know you’re on Castor, sir.”

“Perhaps. But I want to present what he expects - units visibly pulled away from fighting him.” Frederick pulled up a map of the Terran region. “I’m ordering you to cross Skye and raid worlds on the Combine border. I don’t think we can convince anyone we’re going to widen the Dieron pocket, but it’ll at least make it harder for Kurita to shift reserves away from that region.”

“Do you have the authority to send us out of the Theater, sir?” Wurtz enquired cautiously. “I mean, we’re operating under Wyatt Theater, aren’t we?”

“I have expeditionary authority to operate against the Free Worlds League and the boilerplate on that covers ‘allied and subordinate forces’.”

The Jaeger officers exchanged looks. “Doesn’t that mean mercenaries and provincial forces?” Wurtz was obviously trying not to sound like he was challenging Frederick’s authority.

“That might be how it was intended,” he agreed cheerfully. “But I can only be held to account for the letter of my orders and the Combine is allied with the League, so I’m clear to wage war on them as well. If my cousin disagrees then I’m sure she’ll correct me. What’s the worst that can happen? The Combine decides to retaliate for your raids by invading the Commonwealth?”

Dali, Tamar
Tamar Pact, Lyran Commonwealth
14 May 3024

Samsonov’s headquarters were in what was probably the heart of some Lyran noble’s estate. The mansion stood in what had probably been rather nice gardens before scores of military vehicles set up there, Theodore Kurita thought as the VTOL carrying him swept down to land on a lawn that had been kept clear for the purpose. His father was a poet… had been a poet… but his mother took a broader view of the arts and while she primarily preferred the traditional Japanese arts, she had encouraged him to at least recognise other traditions… and gardening was an art.

Stooping slightly in an instinctive reaction to the blades still turning above the helicopter, Theodore crossed to the entrance of the mansion surrounded by a squad of the Otomo. While the soldiers were wearing full combat gear, the Coordinator wore a DCMS officer’s uniform, bereft of rank markings, and a sleeveless mantle of subdued dark red with the black dragon of the Combine woven into the heavy silk. He paused, kicking a few bits of dirt from his boots before entering, letting one of the guards adjust the fall of the mantle slightly for maximum effect. The Otomo’s service required many skills beyond the obvious.

Inside, pre-warned guards discreetly pointed Theodore to one of the reception rooms. Furniture had been pushed aside or removed entirely, making room for display screens (less fragile and easier to move than holodisplays) and tables. One of the largest displays was prominently displaying all of Tamar, with units marked out in red and blue. Theodore hoped they didn’t usually display that sort of overview so obviously and it was just for his own ease - usually he found larger monitors more practical for tactical displays, leaving the broad strokes of strategy to a secondary display if he needed a reminder.

Everyone stopped and bowed deeply to him as he entered. Theodore took in the array of personnel - techs at their stations, Samsonov flanked by two regimental commanders while two Tai-sa waited on the far side of the room. Out of favor? It was possible.

“Carry on,” he instructed them. “The war waits for no man, not even the Coordinator.”

“My congratulations on your victories over Sevren and Laurent,” Samsonov offered as Theodore joined him before the largest table. “I had hoped that I could offer you Tamar upon your arrival, but progress has not been everything I had desired.”

Theodore glanced at the monitor and then smiled. “You have high expectations of your troops, Warlord.” More than half of Tamar was in the hands of the Combine already, despite the markings of several Lyran troop formations that should in theory have given them a numerical advantage over Samsonov’s invasions. “I don’t disapprove, but I would have been satisfied if you had merely secured a stable foothold. If those maps are up to date, your progress is in line with what the plans called for.”

The Warlord scowled. “If the Rasalhague Regulars had broken past Steiner’s mercenaries then we would at the least be besieging the planetary capital by now.”

Neither of the officers with him flinched, which confirmed Theodore’s memory that they were the commanders of the Second Drakons and the First Proserpina Hussars. The first had been stacked by officers Samsonov chose - a concession made to him when he was Warlord of Galedon, letting Theodore have a free hand with the other regiments of the newly formed brigade. The other was among the most elite of the DCMS’ regiments outside of the Sword of Light.

“You’re disappointed in their performance?” he asked, keeping his voice down.

“Cherenkof let the rot get deep there,” Samsonov grumbled. “They lack drive and purging their officers would have set us back even further.”

The ISF historically maintained a very high level surveillance of the Rasalhague Regulars, fearing that they would side with insurgents if the district attempted a serious revolt. It wouldn’t surprise Theodore if that had led to a lack of initiative among the regiments, but Samsonov was their warlord. His disdain for them must be wreaking havoc on what was left of their morale.

It was a disappointment - Samsonov had maintained a high level of support within the Galedon Regulars. The young Coordinator had hoped he might have a similar effect here, but instead it seemed he was focusing on building up ties with the new Drakons and the more established elites.

“Despite their losses, the Twelfth Star Guards remain four regiments - twice as many as have been committed to hold them in place,” Theodore said out loud. Technically true, even if their losses made it a much more even match. “And while we mostly use mercenaries in garrison and supporting roles, the Steiners’ military weakness has had them use such troops as offensive spearheads - as on Dieron. Holding the Twelfth Star Guards in place was a critical part of our strategy and in doing so, the Rasalhague Regulars have done everything we have asked of them.”

The two tai-sa at the far end of the command centre straightened slightly at the words.

“Perhaps I have allowed my frustrations to outweigh my decorum, tono.” Samsonov managed a somewhat graceful retreat. “The Lyran Guards have fought well, and their commander is not known for suffering fools so if she relies on mercenaries for the northern flank then I must assume she has faith in them.”

“In addition to the Seventh Sword of Light and the First Drakons, I have brought officers and warriors from Galedon who volunteered to serve under you, warlord,” Theodore told him. “We have sufficient salvage from our battles so far that I am establishing a new regiment of the Rasalhague Regulars.” That would be help cover the interior of the district with so many units moved forwards. “If you wish to transfer or promote officers from the Ninth and Twentieth regiments to this new regiment, then you may of course replace them with your choices from these new arrivals.”

If Samsonov was wise he’d make most of the assignments promotions, giving him a regiment of the Regulars that would be loyal to him. If not… well, Theodore’s supply of suitable officers to lead a military district was finite but he hadn't reached the bottom of that bucket just yet.

“Thank you, lord.”

“Will you be leading us to victory over Nondi Steiner?” the commander of the Proserpina Hussars enquired politely.

Theodore wasn’t sure if it was sycophancy on the part of the woman, but a moment later Samsonov hopped onto the comment with such alacrity that he suspected it may have been staged. “The Coordinator is at the hub of all things, General Langley. His concerns are larger than one world.”

“Walk with me, Warlord,” Theodore ordered, gesturing towards the door. “I would have your thoughts on the campaign so far and we should not distract your officers from their labors.”

Put like that, Samsonov had no choice but to join Theodore and they exited the room back into the corridors. “Would you like to use my office, tono?”

The younger man flicked his hand dismissively. “We can walk outside, if your perimeter is sufficiently secure. I have spent too much time behind a desk or crammed inside a transport, I wish to stretch my legs.”

“No one besides the DCMS is within two kilometers and there are no vantage points overlooking us.” The warlord was surely thinking of how one of Theodore’s more distant ancestors had been shot by a sniper when he dismounted from his ‘mech on a world that had not been pacified.

The reprisals had signally failed to produce the desired pacification. Indeed, the actions had so damaged morale that a previously wildly successful campaign had collapsed. The regiments who boasted of Kentares on their battle honors were, in Theodore’s view, completely missing the lesson of that occasion. Still, he didn’t want a bullet through his head any more than his ancestor presumably had.

Outside, Theodore didn’t look directly at the warlord. “The Lyran Guards fight well?”

“They do. Tamar’s planetary militia were poorly led at first, but General Steiner has drafted the best to replace losses in her regular regiments and purged the commanders of the other units.”

“Hmm. And you mentioned the Twelfth Star Guards were holding off the Ninth and Twentieth.”

“They have four regiments on paper,” Samsonov allowed. “But they are little more than half that in reality. The Twentieth Rasalhague Regulars in particular have failed to take sufficient advantage.”

Theodore nodded. “An inexperienced regiment. Those who have risen to the occasion here will be valued, those who do not can be reassigned.”

“Thank you, sir. I assume that the other unattached warriors may be used to replace casualties.”

“Of course. General Bergen and I have assigned a few to the regiments of our task force but the rest are yours to assign as you will.” The coordinator saw what was left of an ornamental maze after a pair of air defense vehicles had parked on it and tsked. That would have annoyed even his father. There was sufficient space to park next to it and the bushes would have added a tiny bit of cover.

Samsonov cleared his throat. “The situation on Pesht…”

“You have your sources, I assume.”

“My attention has primarily been focused upon my own district,” the warlord lied, rather transparently. “Though I understand that your treacherous cousin has been captured.”

“That is so,” Theodore agreed. Having failed to capture Luthien when the First Sword of Light proved not to have yielded to his blandishments, Elias Kurita had unimaginatively fallen back on Pesht and called for the Regular regiments scattered around the fringes of his district to reinforce him. Seeing the writing on the wall, none had done so and the Second Sword of Light had raced across the Combine via a command circuit to join their brother regiment in bringing the rogue warlord to justice.

They’d also captured evidence that his cousin had been foolish enough to accept support from sources they now knew to have been compromised by the LIC. In short, the coup had been nothing less than a distraction by the Lyrans, an attempt to slow the attack on Tamar without committing more forces directly.

He looked at Samsonov. “I will hear your advice, Grieg.”

The use of Samsonov’s personal name hopefully reminded him of how Theodore had done the same before removing Cherenkoff, months ago. He certainly hesitated before speaking. “One man alone cannot create such a conspiracy, sir. And while your warlords can command on the border, only you can bring order to the heart of the realm.”

In other words, Theodore thought, ‘go away and stop taking all the glory’. Predictable. “Ivan Sorenson said much the same when I appointed him as the new Warlord of Pesht. I have been displeased by the Pesht Regulars’ low standards and he has done well in bringing the Dieron Regulars back up to my expectations.”

If that sounded like a slight on Samsonov’s issues with the Rasalhague Regulars, then it would only prove that the warlord had a mote or two of awareness.

“A reliable choice,” the older man agreed. “May I ask who will be taking over Dieron?”

“You may be aware of Kester Hsuin Chi?”

The warlord had to think a moment. “I have some recollection of your father promoting an officer by that name after Cherenkoff had demoted him. Before the latter’s rise to be a Warlord but it was clear that the Coordinator found merit in both of them. He kept them apart, of course.”

Theodore hid a smile at the effort to cast Chi in the likeness of the former Warlord of Rasalhague. “I have some hopes for him. In any case, I will accompany Sorenson to install him at Pesht before returning to Luthien. I am sure that you will be able to complete our plans for Tamar.”

“Of course, sir. With two additional regiments and the LCAF unable to easily reinforce General Steiner, I expect victory to follow before the year ends.”

“Good. Although it is possible that further reinforcements will be forthcoming for Nondi Steiner. Her cousin Frederick has not been notably slowed down by the Mariks, so it would be sensible for the Archon to send him to rectify matters here.”

“It would be the first sign of an intelligent response I have seen from Tharkad,” Samsonov agreed. “If that happens though, we may be able to destroy two of House Steiner’s best generals with a single stroke. Depending, of course, on what forces he can field.” The qualfication of his initial statement was obviously an afterthought.

Theodore smiled. “It would be a happy day.” It would also give Samsonov enough standing that he’d rival Yorioshi once more, restoring the balance of power between the two men that had let his father dominate the high command. Or if it failed, Theodore could bring in another of his own choices for the position.

Taking Tamar would be an excellent first victory for his reign, but the Coordinator always had to remember that the biggest threat to him was within the Combine not outside of it. The Lyrans and the Suns could push the border back occasionally but neither had the strength to seriously threaten the Combine’s existence.

Even together, they couldn’t accomplish that, Theodore thought. Not yet, at any rate. I have Marik’s technical data and the alliance between Steiner and Davion is crumbling. Things are going almost too well.

The temptation to change his mind and take over the campaign dangled before him but a voice that sounded like his father’s reminded him that he could claim as much credit for the victory on Luthien. If a disaster was looming, to balance the karma of the current good fortune, better he was not here to carry the blame.

Besides, Tomoe had alerted him that Anastasi was aware of their affair. That was not a situation he could afford to leave unattended. His wife had little hard power, but she was still the product of a political dynasty and… what was the old chinese saying about two women under one roof? Or was that apocryphal?

He shook his head. Perhaps the western toast said it best: ‘here’s to our wives and the women we love: may they never meet!’

“I have been indulging myself here,” he admitted. “You are correct, my duty lies on Luthien.”

“I would not say an indulgence, tono.” Samsonov dipped his head politely. “It is important the Combine know that their Coordinator is a warrior, with victories to his name. But now you have won those duties, there are other matters of state that only you can tend to.”

“As you have advised me, I must also counsel you,” Theodore told him. “While I am pleased with the Drakons, the Rasalhague Regulars are the backbone of your forces. If a rift is forming there then I will be concerned.”

“I will heed your wisdom,” the warlord promised with about as much sincerity as Theodore expected.

Does he realize how isolated he is out here? The coordinator shook his head slightly. Moving Samsonov from Galedon may have wrecked him. On the other hand, it cut his empire-building there short. Who knows how things might have gone if I’d left him in place…?

Curitiba, Summer
Federation of Skye, Lyran Commonwealth
25 May 3024

“I should really stay at the Castle in case there are any last minute security issues,” Clovis complained from the passenger seat of the groundcar they’d rented.

Max had indulged and picked a rather sporty little number. He wasn’t a huge fan of driving generally, but if something went wrong then the option to run away would at least make him feel better, even if he’d probably be up against aircraft that no reasonable groundcar would escape from. And he could afford it, which still felt bizarre - particularly when he was back on Summer where all his memories were of poverty.

“If things go wrong then we’re probably just going to skip to the shooting people phase a bit sooner than expected,” he pointed out, driving fairly sedately through the city streets and paying careful attention to the speed limit. Getting pulled over probably wouldn’t be disastrous, but it really wouldn’t help. “And your mother wanted me to keep you clear of that part.”

The teenager jerked his chin. “I’m not useless.”

“I’m aware. Unless, of course, you’re not confident that you’ve spoofed the security sensors around the castle correctly?”

“Of course I got it right!” the eighteen year old asserted. “They won’t pick up the infantry until they get to the castle itself. The security cameras are working on looped data and I’ve set them up to match any weather changes, so no one will notice anything until the ‘Mechs arrive.”

“I suppose hiding a couple of heavy ‘mechs would be too much to ask.”

Clovis gave him a disparaging look. “I think that if they can feel the ground shaking, the security will realize that something is out there whatever the cameras are reporting.”

“Sounds to me as if you’ve got everything under control with that, so there’s no reason not to help me with this side of the operation.”

The boy turned and looked out the window.

“Or are you worried you messed up this part of the preparations?” Max added lightly.

“Oh I got it right. Why do you think I don’t want to be anywhere near this. One mistake, or even just the wind changing and this will get really ugly.”

“Well, I can’t do anything about the weather,” he admitted, “But at least you can keep me from making any mistakes. I can be a bit fumble-fingered at times.” Pulling a street map out of the glove pocket, he passed it to Clovis. “Do me a favor and navigate, would you? I haven’t been here in about fifteen years and I didn’t have a car at the time.”

The teenager looked at the map and then squinted around. “I don’t have the slightest idea where we are,” he admitted. “I grew up on Bifrost. I can make astronomical sightings, but I’ve never tried getting a groundcar through a city before.”

“I’m sure the principles are basically the same,” said Max, who wouldn’t have had the slightest idea how to navigate a dropship and for whom interstellar navigation might as well be black magic.

It ended up taking them forty-five minutes to find their destination, which had been about three blocks from where they were when Max handed Clovis the map.

“This never happened,” Clovis warned him, handing the map back. “If you tell anyone…”

“Tell them what?” Max asked, checking his watch. They were still ahead of schedule, he’d allowed a full hour to get here. “We’ve been parked here thirty minutes while I took a nap.”

“Exactly!” The teenager went around to the back of the car and opened the trunk. Two bags held a number of poles and cables, each with screws and bolts threaded just enough that they’d stay in place. Besides them a small crate was wrapped in plastic.

Max joined him and the pair began assembling the poles. By mutual consent, neither of them touched the crate. Clovis winced the one time Max knocked it lightly with the end of a pole as he got it out of the trunk.

“Be careful.”

“Sorry,” the older man apologized. He had no firsthand knowledge of the contents but he was the one that had asked Clovis to prepare it. If the teenager felt that seriously about the consequences of an accident then he was prepared to accept Clovis’ assessment.

They’d found a place on a side-street that mostly provided service access to offices in the area. The chances were pretty good that no one would be looking at them and the chances of passersby at this time of day were minimal. Still, if anyone did investigate then the explanation for why they were building a miniature trebuchet would have to be quite creative. (The ancient roman trebuchet, that was. Not the ‘mech that shared the name). Max was personally leaning towards just using a taser in place of any explanation, assuming they were far enough along to finish before anyone followed up on that.

Clovis did most of the assembly, while Max simply held poles in place and let the dwarf work the screws and make sure everything was angled correctly. The teenager worked carefully but quickly, not making a single mistake that Max could spot. Less than five minutes after they started, the assembly was complete and Clovis reached for the winding mechanism.

“I’ll do that,” Max offered. “You get the canister ready.”

“You think I want to even touch it?”

“Butterfingers,” Max reminded him, holding his hands up.

The boy sighed. “I swear, you’re a mechwarrior. If I find out you’re actually an amateur juggler or something in your spare time, my revenge will be epic.” But he let Max take over the crank and opened the crate with a delicacy and care that exceeded that he’d shown with the trebuchet.

Max didn’t want to say but the other reason he was doing this was that with his longer limbs he was winding the catapult up faster than Clovis could. He wasn’t kidding about not wanting to be the one holding their ammunition though. By the time the handle clicked and refused to turn further, confirming it had reached maximum tension and locked, Clovis was opening the fifth successively smaller layer of packaging around the contents of the crate.

“Let me get this aimed right before you load it,” Max offered.

“No rush.” Clovis was actually sweating.

There was actually a bit of a schedule - it was theoretically possible that a warning could reach their target as soon as the attack on Lestrade Castle began. But it was a soft limit not a hard one, and the last thing Max wanted was to cause a careless mistake.

There were markings on the trebuchet frame so that he could confirm the direction was right and the range wasn’t really a variable - it was set to fling its ammunition a distance prepared based on them firing from here. Fortunately the target wasn’t that small - a few meters here or there weren’t all that serious a problem.

“Ready?” asked Clovis.

Max backed up. “Go ahead.”

Cradling a canister of plastic about the size of a soft-drink bottle in both hands, Clovis took short, slow steps towards the trebuchet and delicately placed it in the clamp at the far end of the sling. Or rather, he tried to. It didn’t fit.

They exchanged panicked looks and then Max took a deep breath. “Okay, we have it upside down.”

Clovis slumped slightly in relief and turned the canister over. This time it fit perfectly.

They both backed up and looked it over.

“Ready?” Clovis asked seriously.

Max licked his finger and held it up to the wind. Yeah, the wind was blowing in the desired direction, which was the prevailing direction for this time of year. “Not getting any readier. Can you think of anything we’ve missed?”

“No.” 

“Do you want to fire it?”

“Are you nuts?” Clovis asked. “I loaded it, I’m not going anywhere near it. You do it.”

“Fair,” Max admitted. He walked over, careful not to knock the apparatus, and reached for the trigger cord, then moved back and away until there was no more slack in it. He looked back and couldn’t see Clovis. Then the passenger door of the car closed and he realized the teenager had taken shelter.

The man shrugged and tugged the cord lightly, hoping that was enough.

It was.

The central hub of the trebuchet spun repeatedly, the canister whirling at the end of the sling until, after what seemed like eternity but was probably only a second or two, the sling released and the canister arced off into the distance. Max followed it with his eyes until it dropped behind the wall of the HPG station.

“Are you going to just stand there forever?” Clovis called from the car.

Breaking out of what had almost been a trance, Max ran to the car and hopped in. “Okay, good work,” he declared and started the car. They left the trebuchet behind - it wasn’t going to be needed any more and disassembling it would take time.

Before they reached the first corner, Max could hear a klaxon sounding in the distance. He focused on driving. Most likely a lot of people would be on the road shortly and they’d be lost in the crowd but it would be much better to be ahead of the rush.

“Can you see the HPG station?” he asked, seeing Clovis was adjusting the wing mirror on his side to get a view behind them.

“Yeah…” The teenager squinted. “People are trying to get out. I think… Okay, first sign of a gas mask. They must keep them close at hand.”

“I can imagine a lot of possible reasons they might want masks,” Max muttered.

“They’re going to need mops too,” Clovis told him, a little triumphantly. “It’s vomit city back there.”

“Okay, just let me drive. We don’t want to get caught.”

“Do you think the authorities will trace the catapult to us?” the teenager asked.

“I hope not. I don’t think anyone in Curitiba today will be enthusiastic about protecting us from the lynch mob.” They’d just flung a small quantity of Thioacetone into the HPG compound, and the walls wouldn’t do a thing to contain the legendarily horrific odor. Anyone within a few kilometers downwind of the place for would be having a really bad day and if the wind changed that would just spread the unhappiness around.

Max decided that the speed limit was more of a suggestion and edged the car up to just above it as he headed for the main junction onto the highway leading up to Lestrade Castle.

“Was this really necessary?” asked Clovis.

“Aldo Lestrade is unfortunately not a fool. Assuming we’re remotely on target about what the others will find in his home, the moment he learns he’s been raided he’ll respond. That could be running for his life, but he’s well connected enough that it could be anything up to a full scale insurrection against the Commonwealth. Taking out the HPG is our best bet for slowing the news until we can get to Skye ahead of it.”

“Nothing we’ve done will stop the HPG working,” the teenager protested. “I mean, the staff would need chemical warfare gear until they can get it cleared - which will be weeks - but it’ll still function.”

“In theory, yes. But ComStar isn’t exactly tolerant of attacks on HPG stations, even if it’s chemical warfare on the scale of a college prank. They can’t let this pass - it’s one of their core policies, so the first thing the local Precentor will do after he’s done throwing up is report in and then shut the entire place down. Summer will be interdicted until they think they’ve made their point.”

The boy frowned. “That’s going to hurt a lot of people’s livelihoods.”

Max nodded, signaling before he started overtaking a truck. “It is. And if we’re wrong then we’ve done it for nothing. But if we’re right then it might turn out to be the price of saving the entire Commonwealth. We’re just going to have to take the chance.”

“I hope you’re right then.”

The driver grunted. “I kind of hope I’m wrong. Otherwise he’s had Katrina Steiner in a dungeon for months.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 8

Lestrade Castle, Summer
Federation of Skye, Lyran Commonwealth
25 May 3024

Three flashes from a flashlight were visible in the distance and Ardan looked at Morgan, signaling with one arm of the Orion that it was time to go. He saw the Archer making the same gesture and then the two heavy ‘mechs stepped off, heading up the switchback road leading to Lestrade Castle’s main entrance.

The only reason they could even get this close without raising alarms was that there was a major highway near the castle so heavy good haulers like the flatbeds they’d hired to get the two battlemechs near were nothing out of the ordinary. But once they crossed the property line, sentries would be sounding alarms and it would take several minutes to scale the slope.

It was the evening and Lestrade Castle was already lit up, but the electronic sensors of Max’s Orion could pick up increased activity already. Ardan had offered to carry out the mission in Curitiba and leave this part to Max, but the balding man had insisted they needed the best mechwarriors for this. The Orion was lighter than his usual Victor and he reminded himself again not to try jumping - it lacked the jump jets he was used to. It wasn’t lacking in armor though, which might help.

Ardan was in the lead as they ascended. Ahead of them, the Kell Hounds infantry would be entering the palace, following the plans provided by Danica Holstein and updated after Clovis’ electronic intrusions. He watched the turrets that should have turned the road into a killing ground but none of them moved.

“They must have taken out the power relays,” Morgan told him.

In response, Ardan broke into a run. The roadway wasn’t ideal traction for ‘mechs but if he wasn’t going to have to worry about avoiding incoming fire then he could afford to pick up the pace. Behind him the Archer stayed perfectly placed, no more than thirty meters behind his borrowed ‘mech.

Speed was now the essence. As the duke of Summer, Aldo Lestrade was also titular commander of the planetary militia, and for all his electronic wizardry, he was shrewd enough not to place all his faith in computers. No unmanned defenses would hold indefinitely, not even the incredible Space Defense Systems around Terra under the Star League had been completely without human involvement.

Clovis had confirmed that a lance of battlemechs was stationed in the castle and with their firepower turned on the infantry part of their attack, the Kell Hounds would be in severe danger. There was no doubt that Lestrade would be far more forgiving of broken walls and furniture than he would of his secrets coming out.

Two more switchbacks… one more…

Ardan reached the final turn and saw a Whitworth battlemech soar over the curtain wall that secured the castle to land neatly on the plateau outside the gates. Outmassed as it was, the ‘mech squared off to face them - hoping to buy time by keeping them on the narrow road until the rest of the lance could scramble?

Opening up with autocannon and lasers, Ardan’s shots passed return fire from the defender’s lasers and SRMs. Most Whitworths were fire support ‘mechs similar in general role to Morgan’s Archer. This one must be a rare survivor of the older production runs, or it might have been refitted to the same specifications for use here.

The autocannon did the most damage of either’s fire, but even the relatively thin armor of the Whitworth could take a single salvo from it. Ardan wished for a moment he had the mighty Pontiac 100 mounted on his Victor - that would have torn deep into the Whitworth from any angle.

A salvo of LRMs from Morgan soared over Ardan’s head. The Kell Hounds commander was technically within the arming range of his missiles, but he’d bent his Archer back and fired at a higher angle than he had to, arching the missiles up and extending their flight time just enough that the Whitworth almost disappeared beneath for a moment under the explosions of dozens of the small warheads, sending it staggering on the smooth road-surface.

Ardan took advantage of the pilot’s pre-occupation and charged forwards. His borrowed Orion was more than half again as heavy as the defender so the collision was brutally effective and sent the Whitworth sprawling onto the ground outside the gate.

There was no time for offers of clemency. Ardan knelt and wedged both blunt arms of the Orion under the fallen ‘mech and flipped it down the slope.

The sheer side of the mountain worked against the militia mechwarrior and the Whitworth bounced several times as it tumbled like a child’s toy, sprays of shattered armor and internal systems marking every impact. When it landed, the Whitworth lay still.

Behind Ardan, Morgan began kicking the gate. Every impact of his Archer’s foot cratered the thick metal panels inwards and he was playing his arm mounted lasers over the center-line, weakening the interlocking plates there.

Ardan joined his own lasers to the last effort and in less than a minute they were through. Undamaged and the larger of the pair, Morgan rammed his Archer through the hole they’d made first, widening it.

Beyond the portal a Vulcan backpedalled, spraying the Archer ineffectually with fire from its machineguns and autocannon. The flamer belching plasma at Morgan was probably more dangerous, but the Kell Hound wasn’t running hot anyway - the close confines of the castle yards were too tight for LRMs to be much good.

Ardan followed, leaving Morgan to engage the Vulcan as he saw a Griffin extend its PPC from inside a hangar door to draw a bead on the Kell Hound. “Oh no you don’t!” he shouted and fired his autocannon at the limb. The shells ripped into the armor plating, driving the arm off-line and the PPC shot went wild.

Barrelling into the hangar, Ardan and the Summer militiaman brawled at point blank range - smashing their arms against each other’s, preventing them from using the weapons in them. The Griffin’s missile pod vomited LRMs at the larger ‘mech, hoping perhaps that the blunt impacts of unarmed warheads would do enough damage to shake Ardan’s focus.

If so, he was disappointed. The Orion’s autocannon was mounted just above one hip and it was almost brushing the Griffin’s chest as Ardan fired over and over again with it. He used up almost a ton of ammunition before the smaller ‘mech collapsed, ‘bleeding’ coolant fluids from a torso that he could almost see out the back of.

The scarecrow-like shape of a fourth ‘mech was still in one of the hangar-bays. Another Vulcan. Breathing heavily, Ardan looked around for any sign of the mechwarrior but no one was moving and the ‘mech’s cockpit was open. Better to be safe than sorry, he thought and fired two shots from his laser through the open hatch. No one would be using that ‘mech again without rebuilding the cockpit first.

Might be easier to salvage from Morgan’s opponent, he thought reflexively and then remembered that they weren’t going to be salvaging any equipment from this raid.

“Mycroft, this is Watson,” he declared on the radio. “Hangar clear. Two mechs down here.”

“One down here, which makes four with your first partner,” Morgan Kell replied. “Is there any sign of more than four ‘mechs?”

Ardan looked around the small hangar. “There’s only room for a single lance here,” he reported. “I think we’re clear.”

“Baker Street,” Morgan continued. “This is Mycroft. What’s your situation?”

Richard O’Cieran, the barrel-chested infantry commander of the Kell Hounds, sounded short of breath. “Still rooting the staff out of the corners, Mycroft. One of the lads found the cryo-capsule in a store room but it’s empty.”

Ardan grimaced. If the Archon had been done away with, buried in a grave somewhere, she might never be found. That would have been the smart play if Lestrade wanted to keep his hands clean… smart, but not catering to his towering ego.

“Have you found the dungeons?” he asked.

“Nothing, Watson.”

No surprise there. Ardan moved his borrowed Orion over to the gantry and powered it down. He had a flak vest and a laser rifle stashed behind his seat, pulling the first on before he exited and slung the rifle. Slamming the hatch closed, he trotted towards where he remembered the castle’s library was on the plans. His neurohelmet left him with an uncomfortably narrow field of view, but if not all the staff were accounted for then he might need the head protection.

He obviously wasn’t the first to think of this, for as he entered the book-lined room, Morgan Kell was already there and being verbally abused by a gray-haired woman who Ardan guessed was the librarian.

“- hunted down like animals for this, Colonel! Attacking the home of the rightful Duke of Skye shows that the Kells are mad dogs, not the faithful hounds that the Steiner’s claim.”

“You can believe that if you want,” the colonel said with forced calm, “But I’ll have what I came here for and we’ll see what does for your master’s claims on Skye.”

“Trouble?” asked Ardan.

Morgan indicated the floor and now that he looked down, what was left of a familiar set of circuit boards was scattered on the floor. Chips and wires had been torn away. “The lady here hit me with a chair,” the dark-haired mercenary admitted. “I’m fine but she hit the codebreaker.”

Ardan nodded and produced his own from the flak vest’s side-pocket. “Fortunately we have a spare then.” Clovis Holstein had built three of the devices actually, O’Cieran had the last.

The librarian tried to block Ardan from reaching the library’s computer console but Morgan pulled her aside, trying not to be rougher than he had to be.

Slotting the device in where Clovis had told him to, Ardan watched the screen light up and cycle through the boot-up sequence several times. Then it opened up with a set of prompts and options. “Let’s see what dun-sec-cam gives us,” he murmured and selected it.

The screen split into six windows, each displaying the interior of a different cell. Bare stone, bench seats and a drain in the corner of each. They made his own imprisonment under the Triad look humane by comparison.

Five of them were empty, but one of them had a single occupant. Long blonde hair over a haggard face, only a hospital smock and a thin blanket. Even sleep didn’t take the lines of pain and fear from the woman they were here for.

“It’s her,” Ardan said flatly.

“Good.” And then Morgan let his anger out for a moment. “Now find a way down there or I’ll raze the castle level by level until we’ve unearthed her!”

Tamar City, Tamar
Tamar Pact, Lyran Commonwealth
1 June 3024

Tai-i Jerry Akuma hid a scowl as the Second Drakons who had been leading the advance during the night pulled aside to let his company through.

He’d been pleased when he was assigned to the Seventh Sword of Light as a replacement officer. Getting transferred out of the Second Sword of Light and into the Galedon Regulars had been a slap to the face, even if it had come with promotion to command a lance. No doubt Tetsuhara had pulled strings to get rid of him. But the Seventh was a very different regiment and he was beginning to think he might have been better off if he’d entered the Drakons. The new regiments had the favor of the Coordinator and seemed more practical in their approach.

Twice he’d had to watch Lyran armor scuttle away from his company as Yodetobo insisted that his regiment focus entirely on the Lyran Guards, disdaining to pursue and destroy what would have been easy kills. Granted, inflicting heavy losses on the Tenth Lyran Guards would have been more glorious and probably advanced the campaign further, but the Teak Dragon hadn’t inflicted those heavy losses. The Tenth Guards had been forced to give ground time and again but they weren’t using the same clumsy tactics Akuma remembered Lyran units had employed the last time he fought them.

The Drakons weren’t behaving the same way. Both the First and Second regiments were reporting significant kill counts when it came to Lyran conventional regiments, and it was clear that Warlord Samsonov approved of their aggression.

Perhaps today would be different, he thought and signaled the Drakons company commander that he was rotating to replace. “Are there any changes overnight?”

The Rasalhague officer’s name was Horn - his family name, anyway. Akuma didn’t care what his personal name was. “We haven’t seen any new units, but several dropships arrived overnight. That could mean reinforcements.”

Akuma looked ahead at Tamar City. “Or they could be getting ready to evacuate the leadership from the city. But you may be right.” Why hadn’t that been in the intelligence report earlier?

His company pulled forward in a loose line, Akuma keeping his Grand Dragon slightly ahead. He had to show himself to be taking the lead, which was one more bit of nonsense the Seventh insisted on. He was the commander, he should be behind a recon lance so that he can respond to a developing situation, not be the first one under fire. But the one time he’d tried that, the Chu-sa had taken him aside and had a quiet word. That word hadn’t been ‘cowardice’ but it had been the substance of the warning.

With nothing currently in sight, Akuma opened the regimental net. “The Drakons report dropships arrived in the city overnight,” he passed on. “There is a possibility of enemy reinforcements.”

To his surprise, it was General Yodetobo who responded. “There has been no new traffic at the jumppoints, Tai-i. You are correct to relay the report, but at most the Lyrans are moving supplies or preparing to retreat. Our aerowing is holding ready to intercept if the latter is true. Continue the advance.”

I haven’t stopped, you overbred idiot. But he said, “Hai,” and shut down his microphone.

The edge of Tamar City was dotted by warehouses and small factories - the sort of terrain that would break up lines of sight more than small suburban homes that ‘mechs towered over. “Stay in lances,” he ordered his company. “Just because a Lyran claims to be offering an honorable duel, doesn’t mean he’ll keep his word.” He knew there was no point expecting these honor-bound idiots to decline such an offer, but at least he could try to keep them from scattering in response to provocations.

Honestly, it was like the entire regiment except him was of the Tetsuhara-mold. He amused himself for the next half-hour by tagging each and every one of his company with nicknames of that ilk.

“Target, Valkyrie!” a shout went up from the Chu-i of his recon lance. Tetsu-topknot according to Akuma’s little mental list, given the slavish imitation of the general’s interpretation of a ‘traditional samurai hairstyle’.

Looking aside, Akuma saw the Chu-i’s Spider bouncing forwards and satisfied himself that the rest of the lance was following their leader - the Jenner and two Wasps bouncing after it like ducks after their mother. “Where there is one there will be more,” he warned and cycled through his sensors to try to pick out ambushers.

His diligence was rewarded by the sight of a Hetzer trying to hide inside a small workshop. “Drop that building,” he ordered sharply and fired the PPC mounted in his Grand Dragon’s right arm.

The two Dragons and the Lancelot behind him followed suit, although the autocannon of the Dragons didn’t do much. Fortunately the Lancelot’s lasers were much more effective and the entire roof collapsed in on top of the armored vehicle. Akuma gave himself a little pat on the back for securing one of the new Grand Dragons. Losing the firepower he was used to from his previous ride, a Panther, would have been a problem.

“Tai-i, there is an armored vehicle in the wreckage,” ‘Tetsu-mustache’ proclaimed. (It was a wretched thing, like a caterpillar crawling over the man’s upper lip.)

“I know that.” You idiot. “Why do you think I ordered you to demolish the building?” Akuma marched his Grand Dragon over and kicked the Hetzer until the side split out and spilled what was left of one of the crew.

The samurai appeared disappointed. “An entire lance to destroy a full tank?”

“It was not an honorable foe,” Akuma spat back. “He was lurking in ambush. Would you rather I left him to shoot you in the back?” The Hetzer had one redeeming feature: the massive autocannon that would severely hurt even a battlemech in close quarters like this.

With that distraction taken care of, he returned his attention to his recon lance. “Chu-i T… Tamati, what is your situation?” Fortunately the man’s name began with about the right syllable so he was able to correct his near-slip. Calling another officer by a nickname would probably lead to an honor duel or a complaint to the Chu-sa of their battalion.

“Sir! We are engaging the enemy!”

“What enemy and where?!” Akuma tried working out the location from Tetsu-topknot’s radio signal.

“A light lance.” The young officer seemed to have determined nothing more useful. “There is a plaza.”

That was useful at least. Akuma checked his map and directed his fire support lance to work around and flank the retreat route the Lyrans would likely use. “If the Lyrans retreat they are either cowards who deserve to be cut down, or have defeated your comrades and proved themselves worthy foes,” he directed, hoping this would prevent any complaints. “In either case, destroy them.”

“Hai!”

At last, some enthusiasm. Akuma drove his Grand Dragon forward, constrained only by the slow speed of the Lancelot. The ‘mech was slow and poorly armored but at least its energy weapons mean that it wasn’t going to run out of ammunition.

“Now, if I was using a light lance to bait out the advance, where would I put my fire support?” he mused to himself. There had been a lance of Sturmfeur heavy tanks harassing his company the day before with their LRMs. It wouldn’t surprise him if they were lying in wait now to engage Tetsu-topknot if he was pulled into a pursuit.

A double line of warehouses that screened wide loading bays seemed ideal for tanks to lie in wait and Akuma closed in on them. “Go through the warehouses,” he ordered, indicating one door tall enough for ‘mechs to enter. “It is a likely hiding place for the cowardly Lyrans.”

The outer door of the warehouse crumpled under the fist of one of his Dragons and the mechwarrior bowed to indicate Akuma should take the lead. Cursing Tetsu-cow (the only woman in his company), he took the hint and raced his Grand Dragon through the shadowy lane between the warehouse’s crates that led to the loading bay door at the far end.

Sixty tons of ‘mech hitting the rolling door’s thin metal slats had a predictable effect and he was out in the sunshine again instantly.

The Tai-i was vaguely aware of his lance following him, but his eyes were widening in alarm as he saw what awaited them.

He had found the Sturmfeurs, but they were not alone. A full company of battlemechs were standing in the sun, buttoned up and ready to fight.

How did our air cover miss them? Akuma raged privately, spinning his Grand Dragon and looking for a way out. No one had fired yet but it was only a matter of mutual surprise.

…the aerowing was watching for dropships taking off. He didn’t have air cover, he remembered suddenly.

“Kell Hounds,” he heard Tetsu-cow declare in excitement and her Dragon twisted to open fire on a Centurion, which sidestepped the autocannon but not the laser aimed, before turning to return fire.

A Thunderbolt stepped forwards, closing the way to the loading bay’s entrance route. It was in gray and black urban camouflage, not the proud red and black of the famous mercenaries, but now that he looked for it, Akuma saw the angular dog’s face that was their badge.

His finger stabbed down on a command channel. “Chu-sa, we are engaged by the Kell Hounds at my current location!”

“Excellent, we will advance and -” The signal cut off in a squeal of jamming so fierce that it made Akuma’s head ring. He cut the channel.

All of his lance were engaged in fighting now, each having picked out a single Kell Hound to fight. Mysteriously, the mercenaries were otherwise holding back from firing.

“Thank you, Tai-i.” The voice was a man’s and it boomed from the speakers of the Thunderbolt facing him. “We appreciate you baiting the rest of your battalion in.”

“...what?”

And then the world seemed to fall on Jerry Akuma as the Thunderbolt opened up on him with everything it had. Missiles, lasers, even the machineguns mounted in the slightly larger ‘mech’s arm ripped into the right shoulder of his Grand Dragon.

Not everything hit there, but the mechwarrior was shaken like a rag doll by the impacts, barely keeping his ‘mech upright. He tried to jerk up the PPC to return fire but to his horror, the arm was limp - the armor had been pierced already and something critical must have been damaged.

Then he realized that the thunder of guns wasn’t just from the Thunderbolt. The rest of the Kell Hounds had also opened up, catching his lance from every angle. One of the Dragons simply exploded, the mechwarrior ejecting at the last minute.

The Lancelot fell, legs swept out from under it as a Sturmfeur rammed into its ankles. The angular ‘mech hit the ground and a second tank literally drove over it and started swiveling back and forth on its tracks.

Akuma closed in on the Thunderbolt, swinging the left fist of his Grand Dragon at its cockpit. If he could knock it aside then he might be able to get clear and -

The Thunderbolt’s right hand caught hold of his ‘mech’s and pinned it in place. The three lasers mounted in the Kell Hound ‘mech’s chest fired, shaving armor away from his own frontal armor.

“None of that,” the enemy said chidingly and drove his own ‘mech’s left fist right into the domed cockpit around Akuma.

The armor held, somehow, but consoles sprayed sparks as wires were jerked free from them by the impact.

“No!” Akuma cried and reached for the ejection handle as he saw the Thunderbolt pull its fist back for another punch.

The rocket under his seat worked correctly, hurling him upwards with great alacrity.

The explosive bolts that should have opened the cockpit roof for him, however, were not so compliant after the blow to his cockpit and only two of them functioned as intended.

The last thing to go through Tai-i Jerry Akuma’s head was the roof of his own cockpit.

Alfagemini, Castor
Free Worlds League
1 June 3024

“I hate this,” Alexander Zander said for the third time.

Ochombo had got the message on that the first time the commander of the Third Sirian Lancers said it, but he could understand the desire to give voice to frustration. “The decision was made and now we have to live with it,” he said instead, folding himself onto the padded bench-seat of what had once been a restaurant booth.

Technically it was still a restaurant booth, it was just that no one had used the penthouse level of the skyscraper that housed the restaurant since the Second Succession War. The liftshafts had been shattered in fighting over Castor close to two hundred years ago and the parts needed for repair hadn’t been made since the 2770s. Human ingenuity could have overcome that… but the owners of the building didn’t really have the funds and with only the revenue for renting out the lower floors that was unlikely to change.

Other than security, and techs scavenging replacement fittings over the years, probably no one had been up here ever since. Still, it was structurally sound and the original damage had at least been rendered weatherproof so for an isolated meeting place, it worked.

“Steiner is taking more of a risk than we are.” Colonel James Stroud was senior among the three of them - the commander of the Steel Guards and, by default, of the entire Protectorate Guards brigade. “He’s coming onto our turf.”

“Isn’t there still a warrant out on him over Helm?” Zander asked Ochombo.

The (still technically acting) commander of the Twenty-Fifth Marik Militia winced at the recollection of those hearings. “It’s in abeyance while the matter is debated by a Parliamentary committee,” he told them. “If Steiner is lucky, he’ll live long enough for it to get out of that limbo.”

“If we’re lucky, he won’t.”

He stretched. “You haven’t fought the man,” he asked Zander. “Why so personal?”

“He’s working with the Capellans. And he’s a Steiner.”

“I suppose that’s fair.”

Stroud straightened and walked over to the window. “He’s on this way.”

Sure enough, a helicopter came into view a moment later, the whomp-whomp of its rotors clearly audible as it settled in to land on the reinforced pad set amid the small rooftop garden. The man who emerged was tall and broad shouldered, wearing plain fatigues and carrying only a sidearm.

“One shot,” Zander grumbled, “And the Lyrans are leaderless.” But his hand was nowhere near his sidearm.

“One bomb,” Stroud said, “And so are we.”

It wasn’t ideal, Ochombo thought, to have all three regimental commanders here. But they represented the federal government and two different provinces, none of which were happy to be hands-off.

The door swung open and he recognised the face of the man who entered, from countless images. Neither of the provincial officers stirred and thus Ochombo stepped forwards and saluted on their behalf. “General Steiner. We have never met, but I am -”

“Colonel Azi Ochombo.” Frederick returned the salute with parade ground precision. “Given we’ve crossed swords so often, it’s almost strange that this is our first time meeting in person.”

He shrugged. “I’d always assumed it would be over one of our dead bodies if we did, but…”

Steiner nodded sharply. “I don’t ascribe to the idea of ‘worthy adversaries’, but you are an honorable foe. It’s our good fortune that we can meet without that.”

The evident respect was disarming. Ochombo covered himself by half-turning to his companions. “Permit me to introduce Lieutenant Colonel Alexander Zander, representing the Sirian Lancers, and Colonel James Stroud, commanding our forces here.”

Both men saluted and the Lyran general responded crisply, before being invited to sit on the side of the booth away from the trio. The bench was barely long enough for all three, but none of them were going to sit next to the Lyran. It left Ochombo all too conscious that he was perched precariously at the end, while Zander was halfway into the curve of the booth.

“You requested the meeting, General Steiner,” Stroud began. “And we’ve accepted a ceasefire for its duration. What is it you want?”

“Right to business then.” Steiner leant forwards. “I’m proposing a truce. Both of us could fight now, but the numbers are a little too neatly balanced between our available forces - it’s likely to be inconclusive and bloody. I don’t see that as being necessary.”

“You’re the one who invaded us!” Zander snapped. “And you have the gall to ask for a truce? Why shouldn’t we push you off Castor right now?”

“If you’re confident that you can, no reason at all.” The big Lyran paused to let them consider that.

He was right about the numbers, Ochombo thought. The Twenty-Fifth Marik Militia had about eighty ‘mechs left, but the Third Sirian Lancers had been understrength before they had to fight to get what was left of the First and Second Sirian Lancers off Procyon. And even after absorbing the few remains of the Iron Guard, Stroud had barely two battalions to his command.

Their best read of the Lyran invasion force was that both the Thirty-Second Lyran Guards and the Eleventh Lyran Regulars were at almost full strength - so just short of two hundred ‘mechs on both sides. The balance in supporting forces was similar.

Taking their silence for an admission that they weren’t confident, Steiner nodded slightly. “I imagine you’re hoping for reinforcements from the Silver Hawks Coalition? I’m afraid they’ve invoked the Home Defense Act and are declining to send either of their regiments, so you’ll need to wait for the Captain-General to find someone further away he can spare. Buying yourselves a few months - until the New Year, shall we say? - gives you a chance at them arriving.”

“What’s in it for you?” asked Zander suspiciously.

He got a shrug in reply. “I might be able to beat your commands without reinforcements of my own, but then again… I might not. It’s a little too close to call; and I don’t see the need to kill good soldiers on such a proposition.”

Stroud frowned. “And if we accept and then shift our forces to Devil’s Rock to deal with Colonel Ridzik and his invasion there, would you still hold back?”

“No.” Frederick Steiner didn’t hesitate. “The deal includes the Capellans - and your comrades on Devil’s Rock. Colonel Ridzik has agreed to cede me the right to negotiate on his behalf.”

Ochombo pursed his lips. “I believe you would keep your word, General, but are you sure you can keep the Capellans from breaking such a truce? The Chancellor is not renowned for his sincerity and Colonel Ridzik is his creature.”

He saw the point hit home and the man across the table exhaled slowly. “I won’t pretend I expect you to keep this in confidence, but the Capellan’s advance has outpaced their supply lines. In the short term, they are depending on supplies from the Lyran Commonwealth to keep fighting. That’ll change in time, but right now I can restrain them.”

Stroud looked thoughtful. “We’ll need a moment to confer, General.”

“Of course.” Frederick sat back in the booth, obviously not planning to move.

Ochombo recognised the power play, but got out of the booth anyway. “I’m afraid the restaurant is closed so we can’t offer you any coffee while you wait.”

“War is hell, isn’t it,” Steiner shot back.

Stroud led the three of them across to the far side of the restaurant - not out of sight, but far enough away they couldn’t easily be overheard. “Your thoughts?” he asked quietly.

“I hate to say it but we need the time,” Zander replied bitterly. “The Capellans aren’t the only ones short on supplies. I could get another company running if I could get the parts out of the federal forces.” He paused. “Not a slight on you, Azi. I appreciate you forwarding my requests to the Quartermaster-General.”

Ochombo nodded in understanding. “For what it’s worth, I think his word is good. Steiner knows he might have to make deals in the future - a reputation for honest deals matters and we’re just not important enough for him to tarnish his name over us.”

“Perhaps. But if we look weak then he could be replaced - the Chancellor is on Skye, meeting his Archon,” Stroud mused. “They both seem keen on pushing this invasion and with the limited response the Captain-General has made, they must be thinking they can go further.”

“He’s the Archon’s cousin, and one of her best generals,” Ochombo muttered.

“And Anton was Janos’ brother.”

“That’s what I mean, Alex. Until Katrina overthrew their uncle, he was a strong contender for the throne. If Katrina Steiner replaces him, she might be creating a potential usurper in her own family. I don’t think the Archon would overrule him lightly.”

“Point,” the Sirian admitted. “It’s not just the machines either. Months for our wounded to recover and be fit for service too.”

Stroud nodded. “He’s right. The time is something we want if we can get it. But if we show weakness now, that may invite him to press harder.”

Ochombo considered what Frederick had said so far. “I don’t think he cares about Castor,” he said slowly. “He talked about beating our commands, not about taking the planet. And when you talked about pushing him off Castor he wasn’t bothered. The Archon and the Chancellor might want this campaign… but I don’t think he does. Not any more, at any rate. He still has the Commonwealth Jaegers in reserve - if he brought them forwards he’d have a good chance of beating us, but he left them behind with the Roughriders.”

“For someone who doesn’t want to fight us, he’s battered us on three too many worlds.”

“Yes, but maybe it’s not his idea, Colonel.” Ochombo inhaled sharply. “He doesn’t actually have much of Castor yet, save for his dropzones. Let’s see what he makes of a counter-offer.”

Stroud nodded slowly. “I think I see where you’re going. Alright, make your offer.”

The three of them filed back into the booth and Frederick nodded politely. “Your decision, gentlemen?”

“I’m willing to offer you a twelve month truce, from midnight tonight, applicable to your own forces and the Capellans,” Ochombo declared. “But there is a condition.”

The Lyran looked intrigued. “I’m listening.”

His throat was dry. Ochombo licked his lips nervously. “We require that you withdraw from Castor and Devil’s Rock. Having your forces here in proximity to our own is too likely to have hotheads break the truce.”

The Steiner stared at him, gray eyes focused on him with unsettling intensity. And then he smirked slightly. “Done.” He extended his hand across the table.

Feeling numb, Ochombo took the hand and shook. Stroud did the same and then  Zander.

Steiner sat back. “It’ll take me a day or two to get everything loaded, but I’ll give the orders as soon as I reach my camp. Colonel Ridzik will follow suit as soon he has my message by HPG - I assume that you can inform Smithson’s Chinese Bandits and the rest of the Sirian Lancers of our terms.”

Stroud nodded. “That’s acceptable. If we send an urgent HPG message then they will be aware within a twenty four hours.”

“Then shall we say a seventy-two hour deadline for my own forces and Colonel Ridzik’s to be offworld and heading to our jumpships?”

“Yes.”

Steiner nodded and climbed to his feet. “Let’s be about it then, gentlemen.”

They exchanged salutes again and Steiner exited onto the patio. He’d been there less than twenty minutes.

“Did we just lose the war?” asked Zander plaintively. “I can’t tell.”

Twelve months, Ochombo thought. Anything could happen in that time. “We survived it,” he said decisively. “Anything else is for the politicians to worry about.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 9

Bannockburn, Skye
Federation of Skye, Lyran Commonwealth
9 June 3024

Sanglamore Academy was closer to the Skye capital of New Glasgow than the Nagelring was to Tharkad City but there was still some separation. The town of Bannockburn, sharing a name with the stretch of boggy ground where the Kuritan attempt at conquering Skye had failed, was the primary overflow for cadets and instructors wanting to get off campus but lacking any other destination.

Ryan’s girlfriend was an athletic young woman who probably barely exceeded the minimum height requirements of the Lyran Commonwealth Armed Forces for a mechwarrior cadet. “I was going to say that this is a lot of people to deliver a gift from Ryan - I was half afraid he’d sent me a personal staff,” she said as she approached the park bench where they’d arranged to meet.

“I’m afraid Ryan didn’t know we’d be coming here,” Max said apologetically. “He probably would have asked me to deliver something if he had. Even on Tharkad, you are on his mind.”

“I’m sorry for misleading you,” Katrina said apologetically. She was wearing a hooded parka that made her almost unrecognizable, and in the characteristically drizzly weather the garment was hardly out of place. “We don’t have malicious intentions.”

“I knew that as soon as I saw you,” Jeana assured her. Then she bent her knees in a truncated curtsey, something that could have been missed (and hopefully had been) by any casual observers.

Katrina sighed. “I hoped I was adequately disguised,” she said with an accusing look at Morgan.

“I’m afraid you’re not going to fool anyone who’s met you before,” the Sanglamore cadet said apologetically. “Making yourself up to look older was a nice try,” she offered.

Katrina wasn’t wearing any make-up but Max wasn’t suicidal enough to mention that.

The Archon seemed more bemused than angered though - which was a relief after the bitter anger that had been her predominant mood since they’d found a way into Aldo’s hidden dungeon. “I’m sorry, I don’t recall meeting you before?”

“It was a long time ago.” Jeana looked a little wistful. “And I had another name then. It was on Poulsbo - you sang to me so I’d not cry while Loki questioned my father downstairs in our house…”

“Grison’s daughter.” Katrina’s voice was shocked. “I owe your father my life.” She straightened, looking at Morgan. “We cannot ask more of this young woman. I am glad she has made such an impression on Ryan, but…”

“I am Heimdall, your highness.” Jeana’s green eyes snapped with fire. “If you’re here then an imposter is on the throne. Therefore I am with you.”

Katrina sighed. “You sound very much like your father. He found us in a dark bar, just walked up to us and told us he was Heimdall. That Loki wouldn’t get us.”

“I never knew his real name,” Morgan muttered. “I’m sorry, Kat. I didn’t mean to surprise you - this is news to me.” Then he turned his glare on Max. “But you aren’t surprised, are you?”

“My understanding is that Arthur Luvon took care of Jeana and her mother once Alessandro was removed from power,” Max said obliquely. “But I confess, until I met her I didn’t realize that Ryan’s girlfriend was the same Jeana.”

The Archon shook her head. “You’re right, Morgan. It… takes me back.” Then she shook her head. “Your father died getting us off Poulsbo, Miss Clay. I do him no honor by dragging his daughter into House Steiner’s problems again. We will find another way.”

“When I enrolled in Sanglamore I took an oath to serve the Commonwealth,” the girl snapped. “Are you saying that my words were empty, your highness?”

Katrina shook her head. “No, of course not. But if not for me then you wouldn’t have grown up without a father. A man who could inspire confidence and trust with just a few words. You are too young to know what that cost you.”

Max could tell that the Archon was thinking of another girl who was growing up without a father. And if they failed, with no mother either. “We don’t get to choose what is sacrificed for us by others. We can only try to make it worthwhile,” he murmured.

“Yes! Exactly!” Jeana asked. “What do you need? How can I help?”

Katrina glared at Max. “I don’t recall you ruling or leading anyone, Mustermann.”

“Can I have it in writing that it’s not my fault that Morgan is here, not on Donegal with Salome?” he asked. “Time’s wasting - we need to get hold of your evil counterpart and Miss Clay here is our only friendly contact right now.”

“If I could get in touch with Margaret Aten she could give us access,” Katrina protested.

Jeana shook her head. “With the ducal inheritance contested, Duchess Aten is only entering Honor of Skye for formal events,” she advised. “The entire palace is essentially under the control of the Ar… the false-Archon and her guards.”

“A third of the First Royal Guards?” Morgan asked, and when the girl nodded, he shook his head. “It’ll take more than a couple of ‘mechs and O’Cieran’s people to get past that. Our computer wizard is good, but this isn’t an isolated castle, it’s a very busy palace. Someone would notice us.”

“What do you suggest then?” Katrina asked. “Pretend to be a tourist group in search of a guide?”

“That might work,” the mercenary admitted. “But getting weapons past security would be a sticking point.”

“Present the image of something that the guards wouldn’t have cause to suspect,” the Archon agreed. Her earlier suggestion might have been sarcastic but now the problem had engaged her mind. “Do you have any idea who is visiting at the moment, Jeana?”

The young woman frowned. “Any number of nobles visit, but their security isn’t allowed past the parking areas. With the Chancellor and his guards occupying one wing, any incident could get deadly. Besides that… well, there have been groups of cadets going in for ceremonial purposes - showing off our training or demonstrating new gear. I got tapped a couple of weeks to march one of the new Starslayers back and forth in front of a reviewing stand.”

“That must have been thrilling,” Katrina noted drily. “I’m afraid dog and pony shows like that don’t end when you graduate from the academy.”

“I don’t think we can pass for cadets,” admitted Morgan. “Most of my infantry have been around the block a few times and it shows.”

Max snapped his fingers. “But what if their faces aren’t visible?”

“What do you mean?”

Waving the question off for a moment, Max focused on Jeana. “Has the Academy been asked to send the Einherjar up there to be shown off to the Chancellor?”

The young woman blinked. “No… I don’t think so.” She considered. “No, I’m pretty sure they haven’t been. My roommate is dating one of the cadets training on them so I’d have heard about it if they had.”

“What is an Einherjar?” Morgan asked.

“Powered armor suits,” Max explained. “Very new - the first test runs are still in testing at places like this so we can find out what breaks in relatively controlled circumstances.”

“Not because we’re the best and brightest?” Jeana asked him.

“Cadets lack preconceptions about what a weapon can do,” Katrina explained. She paused. “As well as some of the survival instincts that come with living past your mid-twenties. It’s an effective way of seeing if something is durable enough for widespread use.”

Max nodded. “And the helmets are fully enclosed. All we need is a couple of people to pretend to be instructors - O’Cieran would be ideal - and the cadets would be keeping their helmets on so as not to show their acne and their baby cheeks off to the Chancellor.”

The Archon sighed. “We’d be showing off a military secret to the Chancellor. I can almost hear Simon remonstrating politely about the security breach now.”

“Given the way the imposter has been parading troops, it’s possible the only reason she hasn’t called for the Einherjar would be not knowing about them,” Jeana pointed out. “And that isn’t going to last.”

“You’re right, the sooner this is stopped the better. How long do you think it would take to teach Morgan’s troopers to use them, baron?”

“They’re pretty user friendly. For experienced soldiers and a very basic level of use, a couple of hours.” Max looked at Morgan. “Do you think the Commandant can be convinced to keep handing them over to you secret for long enough?”

Morgan frowned. “It depends if he’s one of Aldo’s people. Sanglamore’s riddled with Free Skye sympathizers.”

“Leutnant General Williams isn’t one of them,” Katrina told him. “He was appointed to try and cut back on that. I’m fairly sure that if you tell him you’re using experienced soldiers not cadets to make sure Free Skye doesn’t make off with the Einherjar that he’ll believe you.”

Honor of Skye, Skye
Federation of Skye, Lyran Commonwealth
10 June 3024

The Honor of Skye was older than the Triad, at least in its core. Once the center of Skye Trading, the corporation that had catapulted Ian McQuiston to power over what would become the Federation of Skye, an office complex attached to a shuttleport had sprawled into the palace of dukes and administrative heart of what was still one of the richest parts of the Inner Sphere. As dropships had replaced shuttles, the port facilities had been open for redevelopment so there had been ample room for McQuistons, Lestrades, Atens and then more Lestrades to expand the palace.

Ardan wasn’t ideally placed to appreciate the history. Max’s claim that the Einherjar battle armor was easy to learn was technically true but it was also evident that mastery of them was another matter. If it came to a fight, he’d have to rely on the armor to keep him alive because he felt bulky and clumsy. Focusing on marching in time with the other seventy-four suits was helping to practise walking but he’d have preferred a couple more days.

They didn’t have that time though. The Sanglamore Commandant had agreed to Morgan taking over a demonstration slot that was supposed to be filled by his cadets, but they were bound to that slot.

Distracted by the suit, Ardan only realised they’d reached their destination when the double-column came to a halt. Attached to the third platoon, the Davion Guardsman was only able to see the upper parts of the door they’d be entering through in a moment. Everything else was blocked out by the mass of armored helmets in front of him.

Fortunately there wasn’t much of a wait. The doors were flung open and up ahead, O’Cieran led the way in. As the column rippled into movement again, Ardan was left waiting for the soldier ahead of him to move and heard the herald declare: “Cadets from Sanglamore, demonstrating the Lyran Commonwealth’s newest infantry armor!”

The hall behind wasn’t as large as the Triad’s main hall. The Dukes of Skye had never emulated the Archon in having Battlemechs guard their throne. It did compare well to Castle Davion’s grand hall though. Courtiers were still moving to the sides to make room for the demonstration. The main dais was backed by floor to ceiling windows looking out on what had once been the shuttleport - a balcony almost wide enough to land a VTOL on was the traditional place for the Dukes to address crowds when the public was admitted to the palace. In the distance, Ardan could see the helicopter traffic that connected the palace’s main heliport with the larger drop-port that served the city of New Glasgow.

The banners that hung to either side of the dais were the Steiner Fist and the ancient Lyre of the Commonwealth. The house flags of House Lestrade and House Aten faced each other, representative of their current struggle for power. The flags of the Federation of Skye and of the world of Skye itself.

And the green dao and gauntlet of House Liao had joined them. As Ardan marched closer, he saw that two thrones sat on the platform - ‘Katrina Steiner’ and her advisors occupied half but on the other sat Maximilian Liao, a cluster of aides and Death Commandos around him.

The Chancellor was leaning back, eyes calculating as he took his first look at the Einherjar. Beside him, the Archon was similarly intent but there was an edge of concern to her expression. She hadn’t ordered this demonstration, and might not even have known the Einherjar existed.

They spread out from the double file, each platoon now marching three abreast - each file made up of one of the nine squads - as they crossed the hall. Ardan had to quickstep as the third platoon caught-up with their position in the block. He’d not done this since his cadet days.

Proper parade order would have had them halt several steps short of the stairs up to the dais but that was where their deception fell apart.

One Einherjar at the head of the second platoon broke ranks, vaulting up the steps with a grace Ardan envied.

Screams filled the room - two Royal Guards opened up on the suit with their lasers - doing nothing at all. Death Commandos surged forwards - just enough to drag their own principal from his throne and cover him with their own bodies.

Ardan didn’t dare try to ascend in a single jump but he followed the leader anyway and saw the Kell Hounds spreading out to cover the audience. A laser tagged his armor, something that would have killed him if he wasn’t wearing half a ton of powered armor.

Royal Guards trying to protect their Archon were brushed aside and before the eyes of half the royal court, the ruler of the Commonwealth was thrown from her throne - she tumbled down the stairs with bone-jarring force, crying out in pain.

A door opened at the side of the dais and someone who’d thought quickly tried to flee.

There was a chatter of gunfire and Ardan saw another Einherjar cut the fleeing man’s legs out from under him, using the submachine gun held like a child’s toy in one of the suit’s hands. The target’s screams were shrill, but continuing so the injuries could not have been fatal.

“You couldn’t have told him to stop?” he asked on the private chat, jogging over to check the man’s condition.

“I figured the gun was enough of a hint,” Max’s voice replied.

Ardan stared down at Aldo Lestrade, who was clutching his legs and shrieking like a banshee. “Fair point.”

The duke raised one arm - pointing the hand at Ardan’s face. Remembering what he’d heard about the duke’s artificial arm, Ardan slapped it aside before the laser could be fired. Enough fire might still be dangerous to him. He hadn’t measured his force though, and the artificial limb cracked as it slammed into the floor.

“What is going on?” Maximilian Liao demanded loudly.

Without turning his head, Ardan could only see the Chancellor because his helmet had a compressed vision display like that on a battlemech, shrinking a 360 degree view into less than half of that across the top of his video display. The robed monarch was still surrounded by the Death Commandos, seated on the floor.

“An internal Lyran matter, Chancellor.” Morgan Kell declared, raising his visor. The mercenary had helped the fallen Archon to her feet, but he didn’t release her from his grip. “Please excuse the inconvenience.”

“Who are you…?” the woman demanded, facing the wrong way to see her captor’s face. She could see the throne she’d been sat on - now occupied by the Einherjar that had so suddenly assaulted her. Fortunately the throne was large enough and sturdy enough to support the powered armor, although it had already been scuffed and scratched.

The occupant of the armor opened her own helmet. “I’m Katrina Steiner,” she declared flatly. “You were sitting in my chair.”

“Imposter!” ‘Katrina’ exclaimed. “The one from the Nagelring! Is this a Feddie plot?!”

Ardan saw a ripple of movement among the courtiers, most of whom had taken the hint from the Kell Hounds weapons and Max’s summary gunning down of Duke Lestrade and frozen in place. Now they all visibly edged away from a blonde in AFFS dress uniform. What was Nelitha Green-Davion doing here?

“You are the imposter,” the woman on the throne declared flatly. “In league with those who’ve imprisoned me for months while you did your best to wreck the Commonwealth in my name.”

The Chancellor climbed to his feet. “This is a fascinating bit of theater,” he declared, “I have to wonder how each of you plans to prove your identity. Clearly there can only be one Archon of the Lyran Commonwealth.”

“As to that,” Morgan replied. “I’d say I know Katrina better than anyone else here. Since her husband’s death, she and I are the only people aware of certain details of our time in the Periphery.”

Liao paused. “That would make you Morgan Kell,” he deduced. “I had thought you were on Tamar with your regiment.”

“Morgan?!” The woman in his grip twisted to look back at him, face distorted by shock and horror. “You’re involved in this? How could you?”

The mercenary leant forwards. “If you’re the real Katrina then you should know…” His voice dropped too low for even Ardan’s audio sensors to pick up. The thumping noise of helicopter rotors outside, cutting through even the room’s sound-proofing, didn’t help.

The fact that ‘Katrina’ was unable to answer was obvious. She shook her head in denial, then again at another question from Kell. “That never happened!” she denied. “You’re making it up. How could you betray me? What could Davion have possibly offered you?!”

“Nothing,” Morgan answered gently. “But the real Katrina would know that I spoke the truth. She was there… I don’t know who you are.”

“I’m not entirely prepared to take your word for that,” Liao observed cautiously. Then he looked at the window behind him - two Death Commandos turning their weapons in that direction as well. The shadow of a VTOL was blocking out the sun, hovering right outside the throne room, above the balcony.

The side door opened and a man in full dress uniform hopped down from it. He was powerfully built with blunt features and blond hair - the cape he wore tugged on by the rotor’s downdraft and a silver-headed hammer in one hand.

Frederick Steiner stared through the glass at them, tried the handle that would have opened the door that made up a small part of the huge window. When that didn’t open it, the general unhesitating swung the McKennsy’s hammer in his hand back and then slammed it forwards.

Nine kilos of silver, driven by his muscular frame, wasn’t enough to break the armor glass but it did snap the lock holding the door closed, springing it open. The Archon’s cousin walked in to stand between the two thrones. “Not quite the reception I was expecting.”

Honor of Skye, Skye
Federation of Skye, Lyran Commonwealth
10 June 3024

“Frederick Steiner.” He saw the Chancellor looking at him from the floor, almost entirely surrounded by his elite guards. “I thought you were on Castor.”

“I decided that pressing the attack further would be a classic military blunder: trying to ‘win harder’.” Frederick noticed that two of the Death Commandos were aiming guns at him and then dismissed that from consideration. “Would someone care to tell me what’s going on here?”

Both the armored woman on the throne, her near-enough twin held by Morgan Kell, the Colonel himself and at least four officials tried to speak up all at once. It probably wouldn’t have presented a coherent explanation even if he could make them out over each other.

“Enough!” he exclaimed. “Max!”

“You don’t command me, general,” Liao hissed.

One of the armored troopers raised his visor. “I believe he means me, your Excellency,” Max Mustermann declared.

“Indeed.”

The Chancellor looked across the room at Frederick’s former secretary. “I see… the determinedly unfamous Baron Max Mustermann. Carry on then.”

“Your damned side-kick shot me in the legs, Frederick!” Aldo’s gasping voice came from the floor. Frederick saw blood coming from the man’s legs and his cybernetic arm was a wreck. The proud duke was clearly in no small pain, and humiliation was added to that. “Arrest him for assaulting a Commonwealth Duke.”

Frederick looked at him for a moment. “Judging by your father’s autopsy, I’d say those wounds were obviously the result of a Kuritan infantry laser rifle, Aldo.”

“W-what?”

“I rather liked your father. I’ve much less faith in you.” He looked at Max. “Go on.”

“Someone screwed with the biolocks at the Nagelring vaults and used the real Katrina’s inability to open them as evidence she was an imposter, inserting their own imposter who the locks would recognise. We got Ardan out of the Triad’s security wing and tracked your cousin to another dungeon… under Lestrade Castle, which rather suggests who was responsible for the substitution, doesn’t it?”

“Just a bit. Dare I hope you have any proof of his murdering Duke Ernesto?”

“We had a very good computer expert with us. We have his entire personal file, including the original autopsy on the Duke and how he replaced it,” Max told him.

“Sometimes there is a shred or two of justice in the universe,” Frederick muttered.

“That’s not true!” the woman in Morgan’s grip protested. “Look at her, Frederick - that woman isn’t me. I’m Katrina, not her!”

“Do we have proof?” he asked Max.

“Are you just going to ignore me?” the woman in the throne asked wryly.

Frederick looked down. “Until I’m sure which of you is Archon, yes.”

“Ha. Alright then. Sort this out, General.”

He looked over at Max.

“Morgan questioned her and he seems satisfied, but there’s obviously a better way now that you’re here.”

“Fine.” Frederick turned to Margaret Aten. “Your grace, I believe this is your palace. Would you arrange some physicians to test these two ladies against me? The real Archon would be my cousin, the other will presumably test as a non-relative.”

The dark-skinned woman nodded. “I’m pleased to hear that, your grace of Duran. Although how may we know that you are who you say you are? If another Frederick Steiner turns out to be on Castor as the Chancellor believed…”

“Ah yes.” He unbuttoned his uniform tunic a little and pulled a folded document from within. “My original orders to proceed to Wyatt and command the offensive into the Free Worlds League.” Frederick unfolded it and pressed his thumb to the multi-coloured seal on it. The computer chip built into the seal checked his DNA against that registered and the seal changed color, confirming a match. “I believe this confirms my identity,” he offered. “You can ask ComStar if this is indeed the same message they sent to me on Kwangjong-ni last year.”

“Good enough for now,” the duchess agreed and turned to her aides. “We’ll need a few moments.”

“Of course.”

Nelitha stepped out of the crowds and Frederick felt a smile cross his face at the sight of her. “It’s been too long,” he greeted her.

She nodded soberly. “Business first, Frederick. My prince sent me to demand the release of Colonel Sortek. I realise that you’ve been busy.”

One of the armored troopers opened his helmet. “I’m right here.”

“...as efficient as ever,” she admitted, a smile lighting up her face to match his own.

“I have an expert staff whose job it is to make me look good at all times.”

“Actually it’s just muggins over here,” Max called. “Kiss her, you fool.”

Frederick thought that seemed like an excellent idea and pulled Nelitha close to him. She responded enthusiastically and he dropped the hammer to hold onto her.

When they broke off, he asked: “Marry me.”

“Do you have a ring?”

Frederick smiled and produced a small box, opening it to reveal a gold ring with a diamond set in the band itself. Nothing elaborate, but he liked the cleanness of the design, the way it shouldn’t get caught on anything. “I’d have brought a flower and chocolates as well, but I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“But you had the ring on you?”

“Ever since I bought it for you. So… will you?”

“Of course,” she told him. “Idiot. My idiot.”

“I hate to break this happy moment up,” Morgan Kell observed, “but the physicians are here.”

“Business first,” Frederick told Nelitha regretfully.

She nodded. “I understand.”

“Right.” He looked over at the two physicians. “One of you for the lady Morgan is holding, one with the one on the throne. Then I’ll give each of you some of my blood to check.”

“This is insane,” Morgan’s prisoner insisted. “She can’t be the real Katrina, look at her face. She’s too old!”

“If you’re right,” the other Katrina pointed out, “The blood test will prove it. As for my looks, prison ages a woman. I do believe that you’ll find that out.”

“Enough bickering.” Frederick unbuttoned the rest of his tunic and removed it so he could roll up his sleeve and let the doctors draw blood. “And get out of that armor so your own blood can be drawn.”

“Fair enough. I’ll need a little help though,” the Katrina on the throne admitted. “This is my first time wearing the armor, I’m not sure how it comes off.”

Max helped her remove the chest plate of the Einherjar suit, leaving her only wearing the tight-fitting undersuit gear above the waist once she’d worked her arms out of the suit’s arms. The throne had taken a bit more damage in the process, which Frederick privately thought would only add to its historic value.

“May I ask for a report on the fighting while this is going on?” Chancellor Liao asked somewhat politely, gesturing his guards aside - and at last for them to stop pointing guns at Frederick. “I take it there have been new developments?”

Frederick gave him a sidelong look. “We won.”

“...a little more detail please? Castor and Devil’s Rock are ours?”

“No, I gave them back in exchange for a twelve month truce. We need that to get garrisons sorted out and rotate in fresh troops.” Frederick glowered at him. “Pressing further when one of our key worlds is under siege is stupidity.”

“Your Archon’s idea,” Maximilian shrugged. “Or the imposter’s, depending what this test returns. If she felt Tamar was in hand then I wasn’t going to argue?” He looked Frederick in the eye. “You opposed this alliance, general?”

“No. I oppose discarding our existing alliance with House Davion - casting aside existing friends to make new ones isn’t clever. That doesn’t mean I’m opposed to making new allies as well… although the last ten months or so may make that difficult to reconcile.”

“Interesting.”

Frederick was going to ask what was so interesting but one of the physicians looked up from the small table where the portable kit - usually used by the police for on the spot paternity tests - had been laid out for him to use. “We have a match. The lady upon the throne has shared matrilineal DNA with the general, no further back than two generations. I would need a full lab to be more precise but…”

“The Archon’s mother and mine were sisters,” Frederick continued.

“Why thank you, Frederick.”

“That’s impossible!” the imposter called out, looking at the physician who had drawn her blood.

The woman in question gave her an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, miss, but if you’re related to the general it’s not close. Not close at all.”

“No, no! That can’t be true.” She writhed against Morgan’s grip. “I am Katrina Steiner! I am the Archon! Why don’t any of you believe me?!” Tears were rolling down her face.

“For god’s sake!” Frederick exclaimed. “Someone sedate her!”

One of the Kell Hounds fumbled an injector out of his field kit and pressed it to the side of the woman’s throat. It was another minute before she slumped, insensate in Morgan Kell’s arms.

“Right then.” The - now confirmed as real - Archon folded her own arms. “Obviously I have a lot to deal with. What a mess!”

Chapter Text

Chapter 10

Honor of Skye, Skye
Federation of Skye, Lyran Commonwealth
10 June 3024

Max found it hard to argue with Katrina Steiner’s assessment. Revealing the imposter in front of hundreds of Skye’s nobility would have made it impossible to hide the situation even if another Successor Lord and his entourage hadn’t been in the room. But they’d had limited options for access, so the timing was forced upon them. It was fortunate Frederick had received his last message in time to rush back - otherwise Morgan Kell’s reputation alone would have had to suffice as testimony that the Archon had been replaced.

The Archon was still wearing the lower half of her Einherjar armor, and she probably couldn’t stand up without either removing the rest too or putting the chest plate again so it would power up. Removing the chest plate effectively shut down the exoskeleton to make sure users didn’t tear themselves apart with the myomers of the limbs not properly supported.

Turning to Maximilian Liao, Katrina informed him: “My peace proposal was sincere, Chancellor, and your willingness to meet with me is very welcome. I realize this probably isn’t how you expected negotiations to go.”

“It’s been a fascinating look at Lyran politics,” the Chancellor replied smoothly. “Since you haven’t actually been the one negotiating, I suppose we can hardly continue from my last meeting with your… I believe the german word would be doppelganger? On the other hand, our armed forces have just fought a successful campaign together so the alliance has clear merit.”

“Perhaps we could convene again in a day or two, when I have had a chance to review the negotiations so far?”

Liao stroked his mustache. “That would appear reasonable.” He gave Frederick and Nelitha a disdainful look. “I look forward to discussing our positions tomorrow. In the meantime, I will withdraw so you can ‘clean house’.”

Max watched the robed man leave, surrounded by his black-clad guards and wondered if anyone else thought that last remark was Liao being sexist.  Or maybe that was just him? He looked down at Aldo Lestrade. “Now, what to do to you? With you, I mean.”

The duke, who had been losing blood slowly through his wounds - Max had only actually hit him three or four times with that burst of gunfire, and the rounds were fairly small caliber since Max didn’t want them to overpenetrate and kill someone important - gurgled something irate.

“I am deeply tempted to do to him as was done to Henry Gram, four hundred odd years ago,” Katrina declared. “It seems to me that some people have forgotten the price of trifling with House Steiner.”

The broken flagstones outside the Triad were still maintained as a visual record of how Viola Dinessen-Steiner had dealt with the then-Speaker of the Estates General when she found out he’d imprisoned her son, the Archon-Designate. The stones had been cleaned, but having a Warhammer stamp a human body into them had left a mark.

Katrina Steiner, like her ancestor, piloted a Warhammer.

“If any harm had come to my daughter,” she said after a moment’s thought, “I would do just that. For now, have him taken away and his wounds tended to. Aldo Lestrade IV stands attainted - I wrote up a writ to that effect as I traveled to Skye, stripping him of all ranks, offices and titles. I have little tolerance for patricide, rape or high treason and he has indulged in all three. He may have something left worth trading him his life for, but never his freedom.”

“He may also have had a hand in my parents’ deaths,” the now uncontested Duchess of Skye accused. “If so, I will need to learn how to pilot a battlemech.” Her eyes were full of ire for the man.

“We haven’t finished going through everything we found in his private files,” Max told her as the two physicians present stepped in and oversaw Aldo’s transfer to a stretcher. “If he was behind that then he was more discreet about it than he was about his other crimes.”

Aten nodded. “Baron Mustermann… you’re from Summer, aren’t you?”

“It’s where I met Frederick, I’m not really sure before that,” he clarified, not sure why she was asking.

“Close enough. It appears that I have an opening for a Duke of Summer. I believe the Archon would approve my choice - and you appear to have played a key role in bringing Lestrade down.”

I’d rather run away to the Periphery than return to Summer, Max thought. Or become a duke for that matter. “I believe there is a more deserving candidate,” he offered hastily.

“Oh?”

“Lestrade has a natural son.”

Aten frowned. “And?”

“Clovis has never met his father, and without his help we might not have been able to access Lestrade’s files.” Max expanded quickly. “He volunteered his help, and he has never asked for any reward. He’d also probably be your parent’s next nearest living kin.”

“I suppose I should at least meet this paragon of virtues,” the duchess conceded, after a quick look at Katrina - who nodded in approval. “Is he here now?”

“He’s a little short for the Einherjar armor,” he explained. “He’s with our transportation, I believe.”

“I’ll send for him,” Morgan told him. “If nothing else, the Academy will want their armor back.”

“Yes,” Aten agreed. “I must say, the demonstration certainly impressed me. Perhaps I should invest in a squad to stand behind me on formal occasions. The ceiling here isn’t up to Battlemechs, but the intimidation factor could pay off.”

“Production is still starting up, and frontline commands will probably be the priority,” he told her.

The young duchess nodded. “Why don’t you want to be a duke?” she asked. “For most people it’s the opportunity of a lifetime. More than that, the sort of opportunity that most people never get. But you didn’t even consider it for an instant.”

“Being a baron is enough for me. More than enough really. I’ve no aspirations to rule anyone. Besides, I’m old enough to be your father, and I have no heirs.”

“Some would say that your lack of ambition makes you ideal for the role,” she told him. “And you’re not that old - the perfect age to settle down, some might say.”

“That was the plan on Duran,” Max explained. “And then all of this happened.”

“You’re really not convincing me that you’d be a bad choice.” Aten looked around and saw Morgan return, still in his armor and thus visible even in the crowded throne room. “Did the young Lestrade refuse to come inside?”

“Wait for it…” Max murmured.

Morgan finally got through the crowd, revealing that Clovis was right next to him. The added height the armour gave to the mercenary only underlined how short the teenager was.

The duchess hid a giggle. “He looks nothing like Aldo!”

“For the best.” Clovis had inherited his mother’s coloring, but when he was fully engaged his expressions were closer to that of Aldo Lestrade, in Max’s opinion.

“Your grace, Clovis Holstein.”

Aten arched her eyebrows, looking at the young man - she was over a decade his elder, for all her relative youth. “Not Lestrade?”

“He may have been the sperm donor but my mother was my only parent. Your grace,” Clovis added hastily.

The duchess nodded in understanding. “Thank you for helping to bring him to justice.”

The boy looked around. “He’s in a cell?”

“In surgery, I would think.” Aten’s smile was predatory. “He tried to flee and the good baron here didn’t let him.”

Clovis chewed on his lips. “He’s not getting away is he?”

“Definitely not,” Max assured him. “There are people lining up to deal with him.”

“It would have been nice if they’d done that sooner.”

Aten threw her head back and laughed. “Yes, I like you,” she decided. “How would you like to help me repair some of the damage he’s done over the years? Max here speaks well of you.”

“I’m a technician,” Clovis told her bluntly. “I can fix machines, but that’s not the same. Don’t get me wrong: I’d like to help, but I’m probably not the sort of person you need.”

“What sort of person would you say I do need?” the duchess asked slyly.

He shrugged. “Someone charming, someone who knows how to dig up his secrets and get people to agree to solutions. I can get into tight spaces and I’m good with my hands, but I’m not going to inspire people. Most people overlook me entirely.”

“That would be their mistake.” Aten sobered. “The first sort of person you describe is too like Aldo. What I need are people with principles - not afraid to speak their mind even to myself or Katrina. People who care about the damage he did, and are willing to work to make things right. Could I count on you for that?”

“Uh… I guess so.”

Max nodded. “See, I told you he’d be perfect.”

“What are you setting me up for?” Clovis demanded.

“Lestrade has been attainted,” Aten told him. “That means I need to appoint a new duke to replace him. And appointing his son will appease some of the more conservative elements on Skye.”

“Wait, you want me to be Duke of Summer!” The boy’s eyes went wide. “I’d be a terrible choice! I don’t know how to rule a planet! I’d just make things worse for the people there.”

“I’m glad that your first thought was for the people you’ll be ruling,” the duchess told him. “No one person can rule a world, we all need advisors and officials we can delegate work to. The point is to provide a moral center - a guide for the principles that all of those people should be following. And to police that group to make sure that they are doing so.”

“But…”

“Skills can be learned,” she continued. “But I can’t make someone care. That was something my father told me when he decided I would be his heir, rather than allow your father to inherit Skye. Now we have the chance to take Summer back from Aldo’s abuses as well. Are you  going to let that opportunity pass?”

“...I suppose not,” Clovis admitted. “I’m not sure how I’ll explain this to my mother.”

“That’s alright.” Morgan slapped him reassuringly on the shoulder. “Max has volunteered to do that.”

“When did I do that?”

“Right around the time you put his name forward as the next Duke of Summer,” Morgan told him. The mercenary wasn’t smiling for a moment and Max realized that he was being punished for passing the responsibility off to the teenager.

“I suppose that that’s fair,” he admitted.

Silverdale, Alshain
Rasalhague Military District, Draconis Combine
11 June 3024

Grieg Samsonov seemed surprised to find Theodore waiting in his office, behind the Warlord’s own desk.

“I believed you had returned to Luthien - tono.” There was just that little bit of a pause before the man remembered the honorific that the Coordinator should receive.

“I did.” Theodore hid a grimace. The only times worse than when Anastasi was being passive-aggressive towards Tomoe were the times when the two women found themselves in agreement. At least little Martin had been pleased to see him. “Have you returned here to report the successful subjugation of Tamar?”

Samsonov swallowed. “The course of the fighting on Tamar is not proceeding entirely in the favor of the Dragon,” he confessed. “I am visiting the District headquarters to gather reinforcements in order to secure victory in your name.”

“Ah? I was, of course, very disappointed in General Yobetobo’s ineptitude. Losing half of the Teak Dragon would have earned him my displeasure, if he had not at least had the dignity of dying at the head of his forces.”

“Indeed. I regret that, with the Sword of Light setting so poor an example, certain other regiments have also underperformed.”

Theodore let the corner of his lips curl downwards as the warlord missed the hint about expiating one’s disgrace and instead tried to shovel blame away from himself. “Lyran reinforcements arriving at a pirate point and achieving re-entry cannot reasonably be blamed on the late general, however. The aerospace assets of our forces on Tamar are part of the Draconis Combine Admiralty and answer directly to the local commander, not to DMCS regimental officers. Without being made aware of that, I can grant there is some small excuse for Yobetobo’s failure… in the beginning, at least. Responding to such a change of circumstances was still his obligation.”

Learning that the Kell Hounds - an elite regiment, mercenaries or not! - was on Tamar should have been reported and taken into account. Charging headlong into them was only an acceptable choice when options were few and far between. Losing a single company would have been painful, but an acceptable price for learning of the reinforcements. Losing the bulk of two battalions before someone realized the Tenth Lyran Guards were closing in to attempt the annihilation of their second Sword of Light regiment in five years was not acceptable.

Theodore had approved the promotion of the battalion commander who had extracted the Seventh from that disaster to command of the regiment. At least that man had responded sagaciously.

“The addition of the Kell Hounds and one of the pestiferous Jaeger battalions has changed the balance of forces,” Samsonov continued. “To correct this, I’m going to draft replacement mechwarriors from the Sun Zhang cadre stationed here and send them to Tamar with the Third Drakons. With those reinforcements, Tamar is sure to fall.”

“An interesting plan,” Theodore admitted. “Allow me to recap the situation as it has been reported to me.” It was not a request and Samsonov at least had the wit to come to attention and focus on Theodore’s face.

Theodore raised his finger. “In the aftermath of General Yobetobo’s defeat, you withdrew the remains of the Seventh entirely back from operations, allowing Nondi Steiner to tear half of the Second Drakons to shreds as well. Essentially, the control of an entire continent lost.”

A second finger. “The First Proserpina Hussars, who could have replaced the Sword of Light and contained that situation were instead chasing a battalion of the Commonwealth Jaegers around your rear area. Another unit that had arrived without anyone noticing. I suppose I should be grateful that the Jaegers were only tying down twice their number and not three or four times as many troops. Which would be in line with the performance of their brother units.”

One more finger. “In addition, after you replaced several officers in the Rasalhague Regulars, the coordination of the two Regular regiments deteriorated to the point that the Twelfth Star Guards, previously very much on the back foot, were able to inflict stinging losses on the Twentieth Rasalhague Regulars, destroying all the progress made in building that regiment up. Do you understand why I am disappointed in someone other than Yobetobo, Grieg?”

“Tono, I acknowledge that as commander I am responsible for correcting the errors of my subordinates. The ISF were convinced that the Kell Hounds were still on Donegal, and continue to claim that Nondi Steiner is in charge on Tamar when it is clear she has been replaced by a much more able officer - perhaps Frederick Steiner or Hermann Steiner.”

Theodore considered that reply and then sighed. “Hermann Steiner is on Tharkad and Frederick Steiner is on Skye. Director Indrahar has made his apologies for the failure to realize that the bulk of the Kell Hounds had been redeployed in secret, but if you are underestimating Nondi Steiner this much then I have questions about your own objectivity. She was pushed back previously because the balance of forces compelled her to stand on the defensive, but for her to take the initiative the instant that she saw an opening is entirely characteristic of her.”

“I cannot argue with you, sir. However, the circumstances are as they are and victory on Tamar will now require that some of the regiments there be replaced with fresh soldiers,” the Warlord insisted.

Well, he was technically correct, Theodore admitted to himself. Except his view had evidently narrowed only to Tamar. There was no consideration being given to the rest of Rasalhague Military District, or the Combine as a whole. Or of the entire Inner Sphere.

Well, that last part was Theodore’s duty to consider.

“Victory upon Tamar is no longer a realistic goal,” he informed the warlord. “Despite our support of him, Janos Marik has failed to contain the Lyran-Capellan offensive. His soldiers have so little confidence in him that they have secured a private ceasefire with Frederick Steiner and the only fighting in the Free Worlds League right now is within their Parliament, as Marik struggles to condemn them as mutineers and retain his throne. Whatever the outcome, in the short term Steiner is now free to focus upon us.”

“Katrina Steiner is a fool who has abandoned Tamar!” Samsonov realized too late that he’d raised his voice. “My apologies, tono. I allowed my zeal to outweigh my courtesy.”

Theodore made a dismissive gesture and opened one of the drawers behind the desk. “Whether Katrina Steiner remains Archon or not is still in doubt. Having brought his campaign to a halt, Frederick Steiner is - as I said - on Skye. I expect a confrontation with his cousin. Perhaps he will force reason on her, or perhaps one of them will destroy the other. Two of those three outcomes would assuredly mean that the neglect of Tamar comes to an end. Perhaps the third as well - if she has to kill Frederick then Katrina may realize that supporting her sister is the only route to retain her leadership of House Steiner. Whatever the case, our window of opportunity is closing and all we can hope for now is to retain the parts of Tamar we currently control until another chance arises.”

Samsonov shook his head. “That will take time, tono. With fresh troops from here, we can land directly on Tamar City. Whatever happens on Skye, we can crush resistance on Tamar before the sluggardly Lyrans can adjust to their new orders.”

“Sluggards?” The Coordinator laughed. “In the time it took for Frederick to bring the League to the negotiating table, he had already turned his troops around. Units that were fighting under his command are already hitting Vega. These are not the Lyrans that my ancestors pushed back for generation after generation. Just as the Armed Forces of the Federated Suns have reformed themselves from the paper tiger we crushed in the 2790s, the Lyrans have improved themselves. If the Dragon is to remain supreme, we must purge our own weakness. And arrogance like yours is one such weakness.”

Withdrawing his hand from the drawer, he aimed the heavy pistol at Samsonov, snapping the safety off.

“Tono!” Samsonov was not a coward, but he was now at least beginning to appreciate the situation he was in. He had his swords, but the desk would keep him from being able to use them before Theodore fired. “Consider that you need me as a balance against Yorioshi. You know he plots against you.”

“I have always been aware of that.” Then he pulled the trigger, the pistol recoiling violently in Theodore’s hand.

He’d fired accurately - the entry wound of the shot was just below Samsonov’s left eye. The exit spread much of the former-warlord’s brains across the ceiling behind him.

“But so were you.” Theodore looked at the door and from the lack of pounding feet and shouting, the sound-proofing of the office had been enough to keep anyone from hearing.

He sighed. Now he needed a new Warlord for Rasalhague. Perhaps it would be better to station them on Rasalhague - having the district headquarters on Alshain had underlined that Rasalhaguans were distrusted. He was tempted to assign the post to Yorinaga, but while his distant cousin was a fine commander and superb mechwarrior, the post would call for more in the way of political and administrative skills. Moving Yorioshi wouldn’t work - the man had seen how quickly Galedon had been removed from the control of its previous warlord and was no doubt making sure his influence over Benjamin was not so vulnerable.

At any rate, Samsonov would still fill one useful purpose.

Theodore Kurita rose, straightened his uniform and rounded the desk to go on with his duties. “You wanted all the glory for yourself,” he told the corpse. “Now bear the blame for your defeat.”

Honor of Skye, Skye
Federation of Skye, Lyran Commonwealth
11 June 3024

Ardan Sortek and Nelitha Green-Davion were invited to one of Honor of Skye’s towers the afternoon following Katrina’s sudden return to power. The elevator that carried them upwards provided a stunning view of New Glasgow in the sunlight, but there were dark storm clouds on the horizon. He hoped that they weren’t an omen. It might seem superstitious, but something told Ardan that not everything had been resolved yet.

A discreet servant guided them from the elevator to a comfortable meeting room, the decoration focused around several lush plant pots. It created the illusion that the triangular table was in the middle of a forest glade. Katrina Steiner was sitting alone on one side and she rose to greet them. As Nelitha accepted the Archon’s hand, Ardan saw that the table was carved from a single piece of wood, the grain matching the floor.

“This will probably need to be said again in a more public venue,” Katrina told them. “But I am deeply and sincerely sorry for how you have been treated over the last year. Not only you personally, Ardan, but your nation. Mutual respect has been the foundation of the ties that House Davion and House Steiner have built during my reign and that respect was cast aside without excuse, much less good reason. Even if every accusation made of you were true, my government behaved with less regard for diplomacy than even the Draconis Combine might… and the fact that you were being used as a counter in an attempt to dethrone me just makes it worse.”

“None of that was your doing, your highness,” Ardan told her.

“I think under the circumstances you can call me Katrina. It’s the least I owe you,” she told him. “And I’m the Archon - whether or not I did it personally, I am responsible. The doppelganger couldn’t have done so much without officials I appointed being willing to go along with it. It’s something I’m going to have to reconsider - how much latitude my own office has.”

“Very few people would think that they have too much power,” Nelitha murmured.

Katrina sighed and slumped back into her chair for a moment, before she straightened. “In some ways the Archon has the most power of any Successor Lords. On paper I’m an absolute monarch - even the Estates-General and the judiciary only have the power I choose to delegate to them. Naturally it doesn’t work that way in practise, or I couldn’t have removed my uncle without the use of force. But even so, that woman wouldn’t have so much damage if there were more people who could act as a restraint on me.

“And yet, without that power, could you have done so much?” Ardan asked.

“Probably not,” the Archon admitted. “The problem of power: any Successor Lord has the ability to do as much damage to their own state as they do to their neighbors. More, perhaps.” She shook her head. “Anyway, the last time I spoke to Ardan about my Peace Proposal, he thought that Hanse would be willing to at least meet me.”

He nodded. “I remember that. I…” The colonel paused. “I don’t like to think that I’m an obstacle to that.”

“You are entirely blameless - not only were you the victim but you put yourself at considerable risk to rescue me,” Katrina pointed out.

“I believe the First Prince would still be willing to meet you,” Nelitha said slowly. “I’m not saying it would be easy, he is extremely angry about Ardan’s treatment, but since you were also a victim of the same plot I think he’d be willing to at least try to make something worthwhile out of this. But are you willing to discard the alliance with the Capellans?”

The Archon looked tired. “Not lightly. Is it greedy of me to wish to have both the Chancellor and the First Prince as allies? It would require peace between them and I’m no longer well placed to be the broker of that.”

The two AFFS officers exchanged looks and Ardan made a face. “That’s certainly going to make it harder to reconcile.”

“Perhaps not impossible,” Nelitha decided. “But you did offer the peace proposal to all of the Successor Lords and I know Hanse’s initial reaction was positive, even if everyone had accepted. That would have potentially meant peace with the Draconis Combine - an even tricker proposition. Do you think the Chancellor would accept?”

“Well, his own initial response was conditional on at least one other House Lord being a participant,” Katrina told them. “My… the other woman had to be quite persuasive to get him to come here to meet her. If you believe Hanse would be willing to meet with him then I would be meeting one of his earlier conditions - it would be hard for him to back off from that.”

Nelitha looked at the table. “You picked this room intending to meet both us and the Chancellor, didn’t you?”

“If you’re willing, yes. I understand you can hardly commit to the alliance in Hanse’s name - even plenipotentiary authority only goes so far - but if we can establish at least a starting point then maybe something can come of this that’s worth all the suffering.”

Ardan took a deep breath and looked over at his superior. “I think Hanse would go for it, but you’re his emissary.”

“What the hell,” Nelitha told him. “If he fires me, I can live off my fiance’s largesse for the rest of my life.”

“Congratulations, by the way.” Katrina’s face eased slightly. “I wish you and Frederick every happiness… whatever happens.”

“It’ll take work, but what doesn’t?”

The Archon nodded, looking wistful. “Nothing worthwhile. Excuse me for a moment.”

Nelitha picked a seat in the center of one side of the table and Ardan drew it back for her before taking the seat. Katrina stepped out of the room for a moment and returned looking resolute. “I’ve asked the Chancellor to meet me here. He hasn’t been told you’re here, but he may guess.”

“Or he may have sources of information within this palace. He’s been here a while and he’s surrounded by Death Commandos. They’re trained in many fields besides being his bodyguard,” Ardan warned.

“I’m glad this isn’t the Triad then,” she replied and went back to her own seat.

The Chancellor couldn’t have been far away because it was only a few moments later that the door opened to admit Maximilian Liao. The ruler of the Capellan Confederation was not alone - he was accompanied by a discreet man who wore three fingernails on his left hand long and lacquered. If he was a secretary, Ardan thought it must make it hard to type. In addition, Margaret Aten was accompanying the two Capellans and she moved to join Katrina.

“I had assumed our conversation today would be in confidence,” Liao said with a sour look at the two Suns officers. “Or are you merely going to tell me that my visit here is in vain?”

“Only if you wish it to be, Chancellor.” Katrina rose and gestured towards the seats. “Please hear me out. If you decide that you no longer wish to continue then I will not restrain you. Unlike the doppelganger who you’ve negotiated with previously, I will respect diplomatic privilege.”

The man directed his dark look at her and then moved to the table, his aide (or so Ardan concluded) pulling the chair back for him. “I did say that I’d be willing to meet with two Successor Lords, yourself included, if the opportunity arose,” he conceded. “Should I expect that Hanse Davion will be joining us?”

“Not on this short notice, but if he is willing then I would like to arrange that. The offer remains open for Janos Marik and for Theodore Kurita,” Katrina added, “Although I think it is unlikely that either will accept at this stage.”

“Perhaps not.” Maximilian folded his hands. “You’ve reviewed the previous discussions.”

“I did. Once your criticisms about various aspects of Lyran culture were set aside, I believe that it had been established that we had quite a bit to offer each other.”

“General Steiner’s recent offensive was impressive.”

Katrina nodded. “Colonel Ridzik’s soldiers fought well, although there were also obvious problems.”

“Such as his decision to cut the campaign short on his own authority? In this case it worked well, but there is a reason we don’t maintain general officers in the Capellan Armed Forces.”

Ardan thought, rather uncharitably, the practice hadn’t averted coups within the Capellan Confederation. It just shifted who carried them out - Maximilian Liao had seized his throne from his father and he’d been considerably less gentle about it than Katrina had been about removing her uncle Alessandro from power.

“Speaking as someone who has faced the Capellans on the battlefield,” he said aloud. “I’d imagine that logistics was one of the problems?”

“That was one,” the Archon agreed. “The shipping was there, but the storehouses were empty rather faster than Colonel Ridzik expected. In this case the Lyran Commonwealth made good your soldier’s needs, but I can’t promise that we’ll always be able to do so.”

“We did send supply shipments to the Commonwealth at your cousin’s request,” pointed out Liao’s aide.

“You did. Better coordination on those would be needed if we are to work together again. Overall, there were enough benefits that I’m inclined to see the operation as a success. However, I’m aware that we’ve had similar successes working with the Federated Suns.”

“Do you want a tripartite alliance that will let you play us off against each other?” the Chancellor half-accused, with a twitch of his mustache that suggested that he wasn’t entirely serious.

“It’s not an argument against it,” Katrina told him in the same tone. “At least from my point of view. Is the idea of making peace with House Davion so unthinkable to you?”

“Even under the Star League, House Davion still invaded us.” Liao gave Ardan a challenging look.

He rose to the accusation. “I believe that may have had something to do with Capellan attempts to claim worlds that had been part of the Suns since well before the Confederation existed. We can exchange tales of wrongs done to each other for quite a long time if that’s what you want, but I don’t think it will advance your agenda.”

The Chancellor waved his hand dismissively. “I will agree that all Houses have their ups and downs. Prince Michael Davion did attempt peace, much as the Archon does now. It failed, but we were able to maintain a twenty-five year ceasefire. I will concede that peace is possible, for at least a while.”

“Can any of us really assure the next generation will maintain an alliance?” Katrina asked. “My own heir is in her teens, Hanse Davion’s daughter is a decade younger and I’m not clear which of your children you intend to inherit, Chancellor. But we can make decisions for our own generation.”

“Nothing lasts forever, but I admit that if you are willing to act as a guarantor for such a ceasefire then something might be possible.” Maximilian Liao leant forwards. “There is one absolute requirement, however.”

“I’m listening,” Katrina assured him.

“I will not, under any circumstances, recognise either you or Hanse Davion as First Lord of the Star League. Nor will I be bullied into giving up my own House’s claim.”

Ardan closed his eyes. There were times he wondered what it was about that title that had kept the Successor States at each other’s throats for longer now than the Star League had even existed.

“A reasonable request, and one I reciprocate,” the Archon declared.

“And your prince, General Davion?” Liao didn’t bother with the other half of Nelitha’s name.

In response, the woman smiled. “I’m sure that all three Lords signing it will include First Lord of the Star League among their titles, but I see no reason that there needs to be any other mention of the Star League at all. Any treaty should focus on the concerns we face today, not the distant past or some nebulous future where the Star League is a concern.”

“It would seem we’re in agreement,” Katrina declared.

The Chancellor smiled, surprisingly. “So we are. How remarkable. Sharing data will favor your realm somewhat since both your hereditary foes are outside of this theoretical alliance, but I confess that I feel this is neatly off-set by the fact that you would be the only one of the three with two hostile borders so…” He reached up and twisted the end of one mustache, turning to gaze at Ardan. “Very well, you may tell your First Prince that House Liao is willing to meet him to discuss a ceasefire and a partnership with House Steiner.”

“I will be sure to tell him that,” Ardan answered.

“Do you have any other proposals to make?” Nelitha asked Katrina. “Since we’re doing so well.”

“I’ve yet to establish exactly how damaging the last year has been to trade between our nations,” she replied, “But I have seen that you were interested in beginning such trade, Chancellor.”

“Trade is after all a Lyran preoccupation,” he answered. “But the Capellans were also a wealthy trading nation at one time.”

“Quite.” Katrina’s eyes narrowed. “And while the Succession Wars did nothing to help with that, your economy is arguably the weakest of of all five Successor States. Since you’ve not hesitated to give your frank appraisal of my own people, would you be interested in an extensive analysis my cousin Frederick gave me about how the servitor caste is crippling your economy?”

Maximilian Liao looked as if he was sucking a lemon. “Is this a requirement of our alliance?”

“Abolishing that custom? As much as I might wish it, no. But if you really want to get the most of this alliance then I really would suggest you consider it. I’d like to think my people are doing something right, given we could afford to support not only our own offensive but yours as well…”

Ardan took quite a bit of pleasure in the Chancellor’s look of discomfort.

Chapter Text

Chapter 11

Honor of Skye, Skye
Federation of Skye, Lyran Commonwealth
12 June 3024

Frederick knew that Katrina had paid a horrendous amount to have realtime conversations via HPG with her daughter and her sister. Sensibly, she’d spoken to Melissa the previous night and left Nondi for the morning. Between the frank exchange of views she’d just come from and the ongoing wrangling of the Chancellor, his cousin looked like hell.

“Take lessons in diplomacy,” she told him when he said as much. Katrina was curled up on a couch, nibbling on some cake, looking very un-Archon-like. “You’re going to need them.”

“I have a diploma from Sanglamore,” he replied, sinking into the chair facing her. “It says I’m an officer and a gentleman. Is that close enough?”

“Not even close.”

Frederick was a few years Katrina’s elder. But now, as he looked at her, he got the disquieting impression that she was the more aged. Even as she tried to relax, she looked more like one of their mothers’ generation.

“I’m told being imprisoned changes you. Burdens you,” he said slowly. “What can I do to support you, Katrina? If you don’t slow down, you’re going to burn out before you recover.”

Gray eyes flicked to him and then she put her plate down. “I had to expend every bit of credit I have with Nondi to keep her from retiring. I really can’t afford for her to do that right now.”

“You didn’t give the orders.”

“I should have been free to do so.” His cousin rubbed her eyes. “She’ll give me five more years - as commander of the Army.”

“You’re booting Ed Regis?”

Katrina jerked around and glared. “You don’t think he deserves it? He’s not supposed to be a yes-man! First Alessandro steamrolled him and now that damn woman did the same in my name.”

Frederick exhaled slowly. “Is he your scapegoat then?”

“Not as such,” she said in clipped tones. “I’m giving him the high command slot.”

“...what?” The supreme military council of the LCAF was customarily headed by the Archon.

She nodded. “I can’t carry the same load now, Frederick. I considered you… but there’s another job I need you for. When Nondi retires for good, Ed will go again. At that point it’ll be your problem.”

Under other circumstances, Frederick would have been delighted. But like this… “Five years? Surely you’ll be better by then. And Melissa will be fully grown, she can also help.”

Katrina slumped against the couch. The silence dragged. Frederick watched her mull over whatever it was she was trying to say. The eloquent Archon was struggling with words - emphasizing more than anything how much she’d lost of her customary energy.

Finally she reached into the pocket of the woollen overdress she wore and tossed a small plastic bottle onto the table. It bounced past her cake plate and rolled towards Frederick, who caught it. The label was incomprehensible to him - he might have pronounced it, with an attempt or two, but he had no idea what the multi-syllable words meant.

“What is this?”

“My cancer meds,” the Archon told him.

He leant forwards sharply, clenching his fist around the bottle. “I didn’t know you were taking anything.”

“Nor did Aldo.” She was still studying the ceiling. “And if he had, I doubt he’d have been so generous as to provide them to a prisoner.”

The pills rattled in the bottle. Frederick realized his hand was shaking. “Like Arthur?”

“Too late for him. He had more exposure to the radiation we ran into in the Periphery, by the time it was picked up it was too late for him.” A tear formed in the corner of his cousin’s eye. “I’ve lost… about a decade of my life expectancy.”

“How long do you have left?” He hated himself for asking, but…

But Max had told him 3040. That Katrina would abdicated a year before, to spend time with her grandchildren. Take ten years from that…

Katrina mopped away the tear on her face and rolled slightly to look at him, lying on the couch. “I may see Nondi retire. I probably won’t see Melissa come of age.”

“Gott…” he swore.

She nodded silently.

“There’s… there’s the medical data from Helm. From Halstead Station! There must be something.”

“There was.” Katrina reached out her hand to his, the one holding the bottle of her meds. “It helped with that.”

“I should have refused the orders to go to Wyatt. Gone to Tharkad myself.”

“I’ve been wrestling with the things I should have done, precautions that would stop me being replaced like that.” She gave him a weary look. “My security is going to need changes, as will Melissa’s. This can’t be allowed to happen again.”

Frederick nodded in agreement. Once had been bad enough.

“But we can’t change things that have happened. We can only go on.” She levered herself upright again, and Frederick moved to support her. She pushed him away. “I’m not dying quite yet.”

“You said you had another job for me.” He put the bottle down on the table.

A sharp nod. “I need a new Margrave for Tamar. Nondi tells me that the Dracs are digging in - I assume that Theodore read the situation when the Kell Hounds arrived. But we can’t let them do that. I want you to blast open a road to Tamar and secure it for the Commonwealth. You’ll have carte blanche. Margaret Aten already respects you. Liberate Tamar and Selwin Kelswa will probably worship the ground you walk on. You’ll need that when I’m not around.”

“I’d like to promise that that won’t take five years,” Frederick said slowly. “But Theodore Kurita is sharp. I think I can beat him, but he won’t make it easy.” It wouldn’t be like the Gotterdammerung that he’d heard about from Max - that had taken unique circumstances… but there were some ideas he could use from the other man’s recollection of it. Sevren... they'd retaken it sooner than Max had predicted, only to lose it. Would he now retake it in 3024 as Max had told him all those years ago? History correcting itself? He shivered at the thought.

“Take your time. Do it right.” Katrina tucked the bottle of meds away. “You know what comes after that.”

That baffled him for a moment, but then he remembered an earlier conversation. “Nondi on Tharkad to look after Melissa… and me as regent?”

Katrina lowered her eyes. “I might need to ask Donna for that first part. I’ve never seen Nondi so angry. Never. But yes, I want you to be regent. Unless you’d like the throne now? I’d finish bargaining with Liao this time, but if you want to take over and handle him and Hanse Davion then it’d give me far more time with Melissa.”

In that other history, I outlived Melissa, he thought. If Max was right, I outlived two of Melissa’s children! “If I was Archon, I’d pick my own heir,” he said gruffly. “Melissa has potential, but there’s Ryan - or Nondi’s children. Or other children that may come along.” His and Nelitha’s - something that Max had never seen happen.

“Ah.” Katrina smiled quietly. “I will be selfish then, and choose my daughter and Arthur’s over you.”

Frederick nodded slowly. “Then if you do not live to see her of age, I will be her regent… and surrender the Commonwealth to her when that day comes.”

“She wants the academy now. She is also angry, just not with me. Keep her from doing anything stupid.”

“I generally require assistance with keeping from doing that myself,” he pointed out. “But I’ll try to give her the benefit of my experience.”

Katrina nodded quietly.

“Has Aldo spilled who was behind this?” Frederick asked. “I can believe he could have broken the biolocks, but actually creating someone who managed to pass for you - for months! - is a taller order.”

“There are trails…” she admitted. “His computers suggest a Maskirova cell was involved, but he also claimed that he’d subverted them. And as much as Chancellor Liao may have benefitted, I can’t imagine that he’d have come into the Commonwealth and risked himself if a scheme he was aware of could have blown up and leave him implicated.”

“It would be brash,” Frederick conceded. And that wasn’t a trait usually associated with the cunning Maximilian Liao. “Kurita also benefited, but Simon Johnson would have probably noticed if they were directly involved.” The LIC’s leader had always focused much of his attention on the Draconis Combine, partly because of his personal hatred of them and partly because the ISF genuinely merited that degree of concern.

And then there was ComStar - but proving their involvement would be almost impossible, even if they were behind it. Whatever Max sometimes claimed, they weren’t responsible for every bad thing that happened in the Inner Sphere. Fifty percent, at most.

“Officially Simon will be standing down,” Katrina told him. “A proper handover once I have a successor chosen. Unofficially, he has a new mission, behind the scenes. Find out who did this. And when he does, if I’m not around to prosecute them... I’ll have to leave that to you.” Her eyes were solemn. “Please, Frederick. Don’t let that revenge consume my daughter.”

What else could he do but bow his head, to his Archon?

Hilton Head, North America
Terra, Solar System
19 July 3024

“If you had told us of this plan, Primus, then a vote of this council would almost certainly have been against it. Which is why you didn’t tell us, I am sure.” Thomas Marik’s voice wasn’t raised, but the most junior member of the First Circuit didn’t need to speak loudly for his words to have effect.

Julian Tiepolo had no choice but to take the abuse… for now at least. “For reasons of operational security, the First Circuit is not usually informed of the details of ROM missions.”

“You replaced one of the Successor Lords with an imposter and you didn’t think we needed to know?” Ulthan Everson looked infuriated - this had happened in his own backyard, so to speak.

“Aldo Lestrade replaced the Archon with an imposter,” the Primus corrected him. “With technical assistance that can be traced back to the Capellans if the LIC look hard enough - which I am sure they will. I won’t point out the multitude of benefits we would have accrued if Lestrade had succeeded, but even this failure came very close to destroying the alliance between Steiner and Davion.”

“Close,” Marik pointed out, “But not close enough. Primus, we are now looking at a triple alliance.”

“I am painfully aware of that, but it is not a result of this operation.”

“That is correct,” Pedrigor Aliz agreed, the Precentor of Atreus supporting Tiepolo loyally. “Liao was already open to meeting with Steiner if another House Lord agreed - and we know Davion was already willing. This could very well have foiled that.”

“It could have also brought that alliance smashing down upon us!” snapped Marik. “Three houses is how the Star League was founded, if you remember?”

“...this is hardly a new Star League,” Huthrin Vandel asserted soothingly. “It is indeed a threat,” Precentor New Avalon continued, “But even the Steiners are far from the power that the Terran Hegemony once held.”

“Terrence Liao was a less able Chancellor than the current Liao,” murmured Vandel’s Capellan counterpart. “And I fear a comparison of Hanse Davion and Katrina Steiner to Albert Marik and Ian Cameron might not find them lacking when this is done. We cannot afford to allow this to continue - otherwise we may turn around and find a new Star League not-so-politely asking the Ministry of Communication to meekly return to the fold.”

Tiepolo shivered at the very thought. “I accept that the mission failed in its primary goal, but something had to be done. Do any of you think I should have simply allowed Steiner to proceed unhindered?”

“I believe you should have told us first,” Marik growled. The Precentor of Luthien drew his robes around himself and then straightened them deliberately, some personal ritual to keep his temper under control. “And if we then agreed to it, then Pedrigor and I could have supported measures in the understanding that Marik and Kurita weren’t dealing with the real Katrina Steiner.”

“Nonetheless, the Primus is correct that action was and is required,” Vandel said smoothly. “Since the replacement of Katrina Steiner has failed - and we can certainly never risk such an operation again, since it would risk exposing us - we must therefore consider other options.”

“The Marik and Kurita alliance will need to be shored up,” Aliz grunted.

“Easier said than done,” Marik admitted grimly. “Kurita is not impressed with my father’s responses and I find it hard to argue - the Free Worlds League was remarkably ineffectual. My uncle Anton’s rebellion has done more damage - politically and militarily - than my worst fears. Even if the soldiers and warmachines have been replaced, the leadership is lacking.”

“Do you wish to return?” asked Tiepolo curiously. Janos Marik had not named an heir, leaving Thomas’ brother Duggan and their cousin Duncan as the leading candidates to serve as the next Captain-General. But with the right support, Thomas could be a strong rival to them - and a Successor Lord who willingly served ComStar would be far better than a dupe controlled via a schemer who had never been under ROM’s tight control.

With all eyes on him, Precentor Luthien shook his head slightly. “It would be divisive at this time. While I would do so if it served the Order, my current position is too high profile for anyone to believe that I was not still heavily influenced. That would be an easy tool to use against me.”

A fair point, the Primus admitted with a nod. It had been one reason he’d been advised against promoting the son of one of the Great Houses to the First Circuit. “So we have to give the young Coordinator reason to continue the alliance on the one hand, while rebuilding House Marik’s influence.”

That would be ironic, given their part in the civil war - which had crippled the threatening resurgence of the League’s economy. But politics made for strange bedfellows at the best of times.

“As disappointed as the Coordinator may be with the Free Worlds League’s performance, he cannot believe that he can stand alone,” Vandel observed thoughtfully. “Theodore Kurita doesn’t strike me as a fool.”

“He’s quite pragmatic,” agreed Marik. “Unfortunately, that may translate to not wanting an ally who’ll drag him down.”

Villius Tejh cleared his throat. “Perhaps we shouldn’t limit our thinking to the Inner Sphere. The Taurian Concordat has historical precedent for conflict with both the Federated Suns and the Capellan Confederation, something the current Protector is very conscious of. And while I’m less familiar with the Canopians, their Magestrix has been reaching out to the Free Worlds League.”

“That’s a good point.” Vandel folded his arms. “We must accept that technology is spreading beyond our ability to control. It’s possible that we’re seeing the rise towards another cataclysmic conflict like the First and Second Succession Wars. That being the case, we should also look towards our own defenses.”

“Terra is impregnable against the Successor States,” the Primus protested. “And anyone who tried would suffer the consequences.”

“I’m sure that’s what our staff thought at the Summer HPG, before what amounted to a prank - one within reach of any vaguely competent chemist - forced them to evacuate the compound. Interdicting the system probably felt very satisfying but to anyone who didn’t actually smell the vile concoction, it likely seems like a gross overreaction and damaged our standing.”

“Have you ever smelt that…” Tiepolo tried to remember the name of the compound.

Vandel nodded. “Thioacetone. I asked one of our acolytes to prepare a very small quantity, so that I could understand the circumstances.” His face twisted. “I cannot fault the staff on Summer for their initial reactions. If I’d not expected it, I’d have feared for my life as well. We need a full review of our security around HPGs so that we have options other than an Interdiction if we come under attack. As for Terra…”

“My military training was limited, and I can’t speak for the effectiveness of the Space Defense Systems around Terra - although I understand they are significantly less extensive than those that Amaris relied on against Kerensky,” Marik observed. “However, if one of the Successor Lords did manage to land forces on the surface, let us say an army comparable to those that fought on Dieron or Tamar? The current strength of the ComGuards would not be adequate. They are well trained, but they lack experience and they would be outnumbered.”

“What would you consider sufficient?” asked Aliz.

Tiepolo felt his face twitch and barely avoided directing a betrayed look at his protege.

The Marik made a point of considering the question for a moment before answering: “On the ground, I would recommend something along the lines of three SLDF infantry divisions - two mechanized and one jump infantry - each with an additional armored brigade. That would give us more than nine ‘mech regiments, adequately supported. In space, my main concern is that the defenses are fixed. Our only mobile option is a handful of warships, and the Succession Wars have shown that a small number of warships can be overwhelmed by lesser vessels that are still in reach of the Successor Lords even now. I’d recommend bringing our fleet up to perhaps twenty warships along with supporting dropships and aerospace fighters. Which vessels should be reactivated or built would require consultation with experts.”

“That would be incredibly expensive,” the Primus warned the First Circuit.

“More expensive than potentially losing control of the homeworld?” asked Marik. “There is an ancient aphorism, Primus: the most expensive army is the one that proves to be second-best.”

“While it doesn’t address our long term concerns, I believe our brother has suggested a course of action that is in the best interests of our Order,” Vandel murmured. “All in favor of a high level review of our security, and providing us with a more detailed proposal?” He raised his own hand in affirmation.

Marik also raised his hand, as did Everson. For a moment Tiepolo hoped for a deadlock but then Tejh indicated his own approval. “I see no harm in at least studying the problem.”

“Let us make it unanimous then,” Tiepolo proposed, wishing to co-opt the idea now that it was unavoidable. He got a small nod from Aliz. “I’ll put Rachan on it, since his work in the Commonwealth has come to an end.”

“I think not!” exclaimed Thomas Marik.

“I quite agree,” Vandel insisted. “Rachan obviously has some skills in causing trouble, but that’s not what we need here. And since Thomas has quite rightly pointed out that his time on Luthien has made him too public, I suggest that he return here and take charge.”

Tiepolo blinked. Was Precentor New Avalon going to remove one of his own allies from the First Circuit?

“My fellow Precentors, I recommend that we consider a restructuring of the First Circuit,” Vandel continued.

“What? WHAT?!”

Everyone looked at him and Tiepolo realized he’d spoken aloud.

“Calm yourself, Julian,” Everson chided. “Please go on, Huthrin.”

The Primus paled and fell silent as he realized a trap was closing around him.

“I feel that the current membership, comprising the Primus and the representatives of the five national administrations of our HPGs means that we sometimes lack experience on key areas of concern. I suggest that we add three additional voting members: Precentor Terra, who will be responsible for the civilians under our rule both on Terra and elsewhere; Precentor Venus, who will be responsible for both our overt information gathering and distribution under Delta section as well as overseeing Precentor ROM; and Precentor Mars, who will be in charge of the ComGuards and the security of our order against overt threats.” Huthrin gave their most junior member a slight nod. “I think Thomas would be a fine fit for the latter position.”

“That would leave us three positions to fill,” Tejh noted. “Venus, Terra and a new Precentor Luthien.”

“Vote,” Tiepolo croaked. “First, we should vote on this measure.”

“Of course,” agreed Everson quickly.

Julian Tiepolo grasped his error. He could have stalled, could have debated. Could have called a recess and reminded them that adding members diluted their own authority. But with half the members acting as if the changes were a done deal he’d gone directly to a vote.

And as hands went up in favor of Huthrin Vandel’s reforms, it was a vote that he now couldn’t stop.

With momentum behind him, Vandel quickly secured approval to fill the new seats, backing nominations by Tejh and Everson of their own current proteges. Tiepolo’s own nomination of Tojo Jarlath as Precentor Venus failed narrowly, but that was the nail in his coffin.

The vote of no confidence that stripped Julian Tiepolo of his position as Primus and forced him into retirement was almost insultingly cordial.

The Triad, Tharkad
Protectorate of Donegal, Lyran Commonwealth
31 August 3024

Max Mustermann had never been to Frederick’s apartment in the Triad before, due to the same distrust that had kept him away from the government complex for years. That was over now, although ironically this would probably be one of the last times Frederick stayed here - under the arcane customs that governed House Steiner, his future marriage meant that he would be moving to a family-size unit rather than a bachelor’s.

Given that the apartment they were in had more floor space than the house Max remembered growing up in, as one of three children, he didn’t see the need. But there was no point arguing either. Nelitha might need a couple of hundred square meters of closet for her dancing shoes, so it was better to be prepared.

The balding baron wouldn’t be kept out any more, for that matter. He hadn’t been given a blanket authority like the one still held by Morgan Kell, but Simon Johnson had agreed without any apparent prompting that among the security changes in response to recent events, the suspicions against Max were clearly groundless and that the idea of keeping the future regent’s secretary out of the Triad wasn’t going to fly. High, if not quite top level, clearances had been forthcoming.

“Do you think Theodore is aware of the Clans?” he asked, looking down out of the window. “Fighting over Tamar - when it’s going to be right in the path of any likely invasion - seems a bit… pointless.”

Frederick was at the desk of the apartment’s office, working through his preliminary planning to retake the embattled world. It was too early to set anything in stone but he wanted an outline before he talked to Strategy and Tactics about his options. “Given that he’s apparently planning to double the size of the Pesht Regulars, I think he does.”

“He’s what?”

The general searched his desk and then pulled out a file. “Yes, it’s recent intel. Warlord Sorenson has been charged with taking them from six regiments to twelve -  and that’s to be actual size, not paper claims. In addition to guarding the periphery border, Kurita wants them available as a strategic reserve for the three military districts bordering Pesht.”

“That’s a big change,” Max muttered, accepting the file and looking through it. “Damn… and they’re not going to be glorified cadres anymore.”

“There’ll be some of that, but no. Currently they’re a safer version of the Sun Zhang Academy Cadres - experienced officers but green mechwarriors, the latter being given some time to get their feet under them, rather than being flung into battle to blood them as quickly as possible.” Frederick sighed. “Now the Sun Zhang Cadres will be more like that and units like the Pesht Regulars will be where new officers will be sent to learn the ropes, with experienced mechwarriors under their command. Not the best, but soldiers who have experience without the aptitudes to go up the ranks.”

The older man nodded. “The Clans will likely hit Rasalhague and Tamar, but Pesht will be on the frontlines. The invasion I read about took quite a chunk out of it. Having a stronger force available in the area by default will help. But in that case why did he fight for Tamar when there’s every chance it’ll be lost?”

“Well, you didn’t see the Clans coming for another quarter century. That’s quite a long time,” Frederick pointed out. “And he needed to score a victory off us - did you think he’d go for Dieron again?”

“It didn’t work out well for his father,” he admitted. “But you know he’ll want to make sure your counterattack goes just as poorly as Marcus Kurita’s return to Dieron.”

“While I need to take it back without forcing him to respond in such a way that we’re playing tit-for-tat until the Clans arrive - whether that’s five years from now or fifty.” Frederick closed the file that he was looking at. “And since no defeat can possibly be too small to constitute an insult to the the manhood of the Combine’s samurai, that means I need to hit them so hard that just stopping me after I take Tamar feels like a win for them.”

“Not easy.”

“No - although a convincing defensive victory for Theodore might just be enough to that he and Marik decide that their best bet to survive the current alliance is to wait us out and hope that we fall apart.”

Max snorted. “They might be right about that. Michael Hasek-Davion is already screaming and throwing his shoe at the First Prince about the idea of a peace with the Capellan Confederation.”

“Throwing his shoe? No, never mind, I get the idea. With Michael's ‘legitimate concerns about Capellan treachery’,” Frederick muttered. “Hanse isn’t going to be able to strip too many regiments directly out of the Capellan March even it this treaty goes through.”

“It might be a rear-area for rotating units that need time to recover from action against the Combine, which could allow the AFFS to maintain a higher operational tempo in the Draconis March.” Max paused. “Although honestly, a few years of peace on both borders would also do every military force some good.”

“A few, yes. But at the same time a generation of mechwarriors who’ve never seen war isn’t a force I’d really like to lead against the Clans.” The general shook his head. “I know, you told me that that’s exactly what I would have done - but you also said that the casualties were… what?”

“Just about fifty percent,” Max admitted. When he’d first awoken on Summer, he’d not understood what that meant. Not viscerally. Not the way he understood it after Helm and Dieron.

“If we have decades to prepare then we can do better.” Frederick banged his fist against the desk. “We have to - from what you said, the Clans occupied ever-increasing swathes of the Commonwealth for at least a century, on terms that make the Capellans and Draconians look like humanitarians.”

“I’m not arguing,” Max assured him, gesturing for calm. “But a few years of peace would let units be moved, new soldiers integrated and supplies built up. We might even get the results of Project Normandy to work with.”

Frederick snorted. “Have they even started construction? Or did I miss something?”

“Not new production, they’ve just got the Ajax so far,” he admitted. The damaged Overlord-class dropship had been assigned as a proof of concept for Project Normandy, which was supposed to eventually yield a class of assault dropships based on the same hull. Production of engine and hull components was supposed to be underway for the eventual construction of new ships at Alarion.

Supposed to be.

“They did sort out the missile launcher systems though. Capable of firing anti-fighter, artillery and even anti-shipping missiles,” Max continued, deciding not to dwell on the fact that the latter mounted the same warheads as fighter-launched nuclear missiles.

Frederick nodded. “It’s progress. I suppose I’m a bit spoiled by all the progress we’ve made so far. We could use some of those dropships for Tamar - any Combine fighters that think they’re getting a chance at taking out one of our Overlords would have a nasty surprise. But that would also let ComStar know more about them. It might be best to keep them in reserve until we have enough to make a move there.”

“You’re not thinking Terra… Odessa?”

“Exactly. It’s the only one of ComStar’s hidden worlds we know we can find… and it’s within strike range of Tharkad. If we didn’t need a navy that would have a chance of coping with what might be there, I’d be pressing to go after it now.”

“The defenses could be anything from a handful of aerospace forces and marines to a squadron of warships.”

Frederick nodded grimly. “We need information there. Another project for the future - although maybe before Melissa finishes at the Nagelring. She doesn’t qualify for mechwarrior training, and she’s talking about going into the naval courses. Can you imagine if she insisted on joining an attack on Odessa IV? Still, Tamar comes first. Kurita is already digging in there, if we let him think he’s secure then he’s got no reason not to try and push us off the world entirely.”

Max glanced at his watch. “Ten months before the ceasefire with Marik expires. After that there could be a counter-attack on the Protectorate-Sirian region. Can you put an operation together that fast?”

“An operation, yes. The sort of knock-out blow we’d need to get the result I want? No.” Frederick shook his head and then a smile cracked his face. “I almost think that it’d be easier to just stage the entire thing in cooperation with Kurita. Almost.”

That got a snort from Max. “He might even go for it, but the trust issues would be a bit of a problem.” He paused and spread his hands as wide as he could. “Just a bit.” Then he saw Frederick had spread his arms in the exact same way and both men laughed.

“If Donna was here, she’d be telling us to hug,” Frederick snorted and leaned back in his chair. “I hope Katrina beats the odds. It’s strange to think I wanted her out of the way when we first met, but now all I pray for is that she lives long enough for Melissa to come of age.”

“I wish I could give you reassurance, but I have no idea at this point.” Max crossed the room and sat facing Frederick. “But the smart money does not generally get wagered against Katrina Steiner.”

“No. No it doesn’t.” The Archon’s cousin looked at Max seriously. “I’m afraid you can’t go back to your retirement, Max. Duran, yes, but I still need your support.”

“Does it involve challenging Theodore Kurita to a duel - Orion versus Orion?”

Frederick snorted. “He’d tear you apart.”

Max was mature enough to know that that was the solid truth. “Ja, that would be my objection too. So what do you want me to do?”

“Katrina’s clone has been debriefed extensively, although she’s going to need years of therapy. We’re pretty sure at this point that she’d been programmed - she sincerely believed that she was Katrina. Whoever she was before is gone.”

“Unfortunately, that would track with what I remember of the other one.”

Frederick inserted a datachip into his desk. The Holodisplay sprang to life and the head and shoulders of a blonde woman sprang to life - one who still closely resembled Katrina, but even without the added lines that imprisonment and cancer had carved into the Archon’s face this was no longer someone who could pass for her. “Meet Erika Mustermann,” the Steiner told his friend. “She has no past, and she’s going to need to build an entirely new life. I seem to remember someone who managed that - with far less resources than Katrina and I are willing to put behind this.”

“You’re giving me a daughter…? You really shouldn’t have.” Max cupped his head in his hands. “You really shouldn’t have.”