TEP Chpt 2

=The Eagle's Perch=
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==Chapter 2 - Raison d'etre==
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===The needs of Andurien===
Kanata, Duchy of Andurien
2729 AD
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Klemens Humphreys
Kanata was so named by some curious colonizers from Terra. Their mark lasted long into the present, with fine tobacco and the fortifying pine tea I was drinking.
 
It had been one hour since Oliver Marik's declaration. As a light snow fell on the surrounding forest, in the office of my Winter Palace, I sat. I stared blankly at its richly decorated interior, my thoughts churned, and my emotions ground.
 
A gray pall hung over me. My favored drink, my favorite seat, the bright textile fineries of Regulus, my personal library on philosophy from Ancient Terra encased within mahogany and glass doors, none could uplift my sunken mood. The future that was promised was now naught but ash.
 
Despite everything my friend Boris has done to repair the relationship between the estranged Mariks, a Civil War has broken out. Elise Marik is insatiable. Twenty-five years spent purging the military was not enough for her. Dissolving Parliament and arresting one-third of its members was not enough for her. Becoming the most powerful Captain-General, nay the most powerful woman in League history, is not enough for her.
 
Nothing is.
 
And the fool Oliver had to provoke her. He had to spit in the branth's draconic eye.
 
The power she had stolen had reached its inflection point. She had everything she would need to win this war and build higher. The Marik Commonwealth and the Reguluan Principality, the two most martial and mercantile provinces, answered her beck and call. Alone, those two have two-fifths of the League's economic might. At most, Oliver Marik has only Oriente solidly in his camp. A province that is better known for its academics and soldiers. Soldiers, not warriors. Not like the Mariks or Regulans. And the lesser provinces are worse. Simultaneously dogmatic and fickle allies. Collectively, they were worthless. What could a mass of the weak and fickle do against true might? Individually, they were equally worthless. What could the Principality of Gibson do against the Principality of Regulus? Or the wasteland that was Cerillos for that matter.
 
When Oliver is defeated, Elise will have finally purged herself of all her enemies. She can then rebuild the League as she sees fit.
 
The intelligent and the practical would side with her.
 
I looked down at Boris' letter and tapped my pen—the wooden thunking acting as a metronome for my thoughts. Certainly, it would be in the best interests of what is left of Andurien to side with the loathsome bitch. To 'surf the orbit' as it were. It would especially be wise were I to pursue my ancestor's ambition of reuniting all of Andurien. I wouldn't need to do much to convince that mad dog to move against the Capellans.
 
I looked up at the digital. Less than five minutes had passed, and it felt like I'd been sitting for an hour.
 
It would be the intelligent, practical, and easy thing to do. To side with her. I just had to put Boris' letter away, meet with Elise's man she so poorly hid amongst my staff, and send my support. Then in exchange for my loyalty, she will give me and by extension Andurien her support.
 
It is what Andurien needs.
 
It would be what is best for Andurien.
 
I stopped my tapping, the metronome to my thinking stopping.
 
I got up and left the palace. 
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===Marriage and Mail===
By car, I had arrived in one of the small villages that dotted my family's holding. This village however was slightly different from the rest. This was one of the villages founded by the ancient Terrans, built solidly from brick and the wood of the surrounding forest.
 
I had to walk lightly and carefully through the newly laid snow. My breath was foggy in this wintered climate. My destination was simple, to go to the center of the town. From there, I would clear my mind by taking in the hubbub of the people moving to and fro. I needed it as my mind still churned. And it churned with thoughts of my dear Boris and Andurien.
 
As I approached the village center, the density of my fellow citizens intensified. By the time I reached the village center, there was a great gathering of people. A man dressed in fine deer furs and richly colored cloths stood on a pine wood podium, but on his head, he was wearing a cheap plastic feathered hat.
 
"Thank you all for coming," He said into an ancient microphone. "Today we celebrate the Feast of the Dead."
 
As he continued on, I asked, "What all this?" Speaking to the fellow next to me.
 
The woman looked at me with an amused smirk on her lips. "A foreigner are ya?" A nod was my reply. It was technically true. "Alrighty then. What's going on here is the ol' tradition of the Feast of the Dead, we're gonna dig up 'em graves of our ancestors and put in a final bigger necor- sorry 'necro-polis'. After us gals finish cleanin' 'em corpses, of course."
 
"Consider my curiosity peaked, my good fellow." And it certainly was, I've never heard of such a tradition before in my life. "For what reason would your people have to do such a thing? I can't imagine it's an easy or pleasant task," I continued.
 
The smirk then turned into a true smile, "It's a tradition we had revived a few centuries ago. When our ancestors arrived here, they was determined to make sure their people's culture wouldn't up and die. So they invited over a bunch of like-minded people to this here world, cause back then our culture was dyin' or something. Not enough people practicin' it, I was told."
 
I understood. Culture was participatory in nature. It was not some eternal, stagnant thing. It exists because people make it exist. And in making something exist, it was theirs. I understood the weight of protecting was yours, especially from theft and destruction. Of course, I should expect to find kin in thought and principle within mine own province.
 
"Might I partake in the festivities?" I asked. It was polite and wise to ask. This was the Free Worlds League, home to a thousand cultures, new and old.
 
"Sure! The more people, the better," She replied. Turning and tucking one of her stray black hair behind her ear, her smile was transformed now to a full grin. The dusky woman brought me over to another cheerful crowd, who welcomed me with open arms.
 
I spent the better part of a week helping the man from the podium, whom I came to learn was the village mayor, and participating in the festivities for the dead. I was further surprised still as the festival neared its end.
 
"Do you, Aashvi Goodwall, take John Deer as your lawful wedded husband," asked the Mayor, still in his furs and winter boots.
 
"I do," Replied the bride.
 
"Do you, John Deer, take Aashvi Goodwall as your lawful wedded wife," continued the Mayor.
 
"I do," sobbed the groom. Damnation, the man was a dam of tears, ready to burst.
 
"I now pronounce you husband and wife," finalized the Mayor. It was thankfully the final marriage of the festival.
 
I hadn't realized that the Festival of the Dead was also a time for marriage. A raucous roar erupted from the surrounding crowd, and the local band began playing NovaRock loudly in earnest. Gifts were given to the newly married and the long-dead. I lost myself in the embrace of the day's wild and joyful thrum. The rest of the Sphere was blissfully forgotten.
 
At the close of the ceremonies, the Mayor stood up on another wooden podium. Coughing lightly into the same old microphone, the crowd's soft murmurs grew quiet. 
 
"Before this ends, I would like to make a final remark. Our ancestors who named this planet hoped to breathe life into a dying culture and a near-forgotten people. A few handfuls of the Huron, Wyndat, and Iroquois peoples came here with that one mission in mind. I say, looking at all of you, from all the different continents of Terra, and worlds of Humanity, that they have succeeded beyond their wildest imagination. It was through our strength, your strength, in bonds that made this possible. Every family member and friend that is here ensures the identity and traditions of our people live on for countless more generations. Without us all together, it would not have been possible. I thank you," said the Mayor, before pointing straight at me. "Especially you, sir. Your actions make you a friend, and good friends are what makes life good and good things happen."
 
Embarrassed, I waved my hands in protest. "I barely did a thing!" I yelled. The crowd could only laugh at my chagrin.
 
I left in good spirits and a clear mind. Returning to my palace, I deliberated for another week, focused and committed to the good of my people and my province. Plans were drafted quickly, and servants and 
messengers were dispatched with all due haste. The militia of Andurien was mobilized with expert efficiency, my warriors keen to answer my call. Taking one last look at Boris' letter, I read.
To my friend Klemens Humphreys,
 
I hope this letter finds you well, and that the letter got to you before March. Know that I too am doing quite well, as the launch of Wikipedia has been a great success. Already I have billions of Terran citizens contributing their valuable knowledge to the betterment of all Humanity. And, most importantly, editors to keep everything straight!
 
By the way, I met one of the editors in Ontario, Terra. Yes, I know, those ghastly republicans, and so on. But these were good people, and one of them was from the League! Your world of Kanata specifically. He invited me to bring some friends over to a festival of theirs that should be happening around the end of Winter. A great festival to nearly rival Mardi Gras, he said. Can you imagine that? A near-peer of the greatest festival in the entirety of the League, Mardi Gras! If I can't make it, you have to go. You always go on about how much you love your province, well here's something more to love.
 
With dearest sincerity,
Your friend,
Boris Marik
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===The Fateful Decision===
My mind had been made up. I love my province more than anything. And more than anything, I want to do right by my family's chosen people. I marched out of my office in full MechWarrior regalia, gathering my entourage as I went. I was going to war and would need to have a final word with Elise's man.
 
I found him quite quickly in one of the Palace's wooden halls, his Arabian features standing out amongst the more commonly Oriental servants. "Mister Rocksmith, my goodman," I said while extending my left hand to shake, "Elise had made known to me to contact you should I have a reply to the call-to-arms."
 
He smiled brightly, anticipating good news for my answer. And I would oblige him, for I had good news.
 
Two shots from my needler rang out.
 
He wasn't smiling when he fell.
 
Hateful eyes stared at me as blood gurgled in his lips.
 
"I wish you and Elise farewell." Such was my answer. I turned back to my entourage cum audience and directed them onwards to the spacedock.
 
Boris was always ever in my camp. Always, ever supportive of me, despite my 'stuffiness'. Always working for the betterment of all mankind for his strange ideal of 'Liberalism'. Bah. I know the truth. He is a good man intent on doing good things and succeeding in that goal. Those around him prospered. Even his few temporary enemies could do naught but become endeared to him.
 
I would do what would be best for Andurien. And, this, helping Boris overthrow the bitch, was what was best for Andurien.
 
Leaving the dead man behind, I marched on, but not before the dog spat out one last remark. "As expected," He gurgled, before finally expiring.
 
An explosion rang out inside my own home. And then one became two, and two became three. The Bitch had prepared for my antagonism beforehand. How many she slipped into my throng of servants, and for how long, I couldn't hope to know. What I did know was that she was ready to kill me the second I said 'no' to her.
 
"Ladies and Gentlemen, it seems some housecleaning is in order." I remarked to my warriors. I pulled out my commie, slipped it onto my ear and tuned into the command net, quietly listening as my officers jumped to handle the saboteurs and assassins. With my other hand, I pulled out a phone. I needed to make a call to the HPG, my contacts on the Lyran border would need to be warned, and material needed to be made ready. We had a Civil War to fight, after all.'
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