WP3025 Chpt 2-0

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==Prologue - Winged Praxis (Battletech 3015 CYOA)==
==Book 2==
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===Warrior Haunted by the Past===
Davion Palace
Avalon City, New Avalon
Crucis March, Federated Suns
1st June, 3015
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<<"He's down!">> crackled a voice over a mech's comm system, distorted by the effects of PPC fire. <<"Captain, the Prince is down!">>
 
Oh no, thought Ardan Sortek, ice rushing through his veins at the words. Please no.
 
"Prince Ian?" asked a second voice, much clearer, backed by the sounds of a Crusader on the run. "You mean the Warhammer has him?"
 
<<"Affirmative.">> This time the PPC blast was so close you could hear it over the comms link. The mechwarrior, Lieutenant Jim Morrell, cursed and jump jets roared. "The Prince just took a bad hit to the head of his Atlas." Emotion thickened a voice trying to stay professional. <<"The mech just seemed to lean over on its side.">>
 
There was nothing but the sound of the running Crusader for long seconds. Ardan took a deep breath and straightened up. It was a bad day, then. Hanse only listened to O'Cathain's cockpit recording on bad days. He knew his older friend needed him.
 
Still, a weasley, selfish part of him was glad it was this recording. As much as the pain of Mallory's World tore at Hanse, at least it wasn't Halstead Station. Ardan hadn't been on Mallory's World.
 
He had been there for Halstead Station. And he hadn't been able to save Dana Stephenson. On the really bad days, Hanse listened to his cockpit voice recorder.
 
Ardan shook out of his thoughts, and knocked on the door, just as O'Cathain asked (("...Any sign of life?"))
----
 
"Nega…" Morrell's voice was cut off in midword, and the door opened on silent hinges.
 
Hanse stood at his desk, finger on the door control, a warm smile on his lips. "Ardan," he said with practiced charm. "You're here early." He waved the younger man in. "I was expecting Ran or Nicholas to be the first."
 
Ardan froze for a second. Had he been early? Was he intruding on Hanse's precious private time? Obviously, by what he had overheard. Would he have ever thought of it before? Even since Hanse had become First Prince, he had never failed to have time for Ardan, despite his low birth.But that was before you failed him, whispered a voice at the back of his head. His eyes flicked to the ferroglass and armorcrys ornament on Hanse's desk."Sorry, my Prince," he said.
 
"Nonsense," said Hanse, bending over the fridge integrated into one of the freestanding cabinets that helped divide the opulent office. He came up with a frosted stein and a chilled bottle of Ardan's favorite ale. "Just commenting on why I didn't have your drink out." He gestured with it to one of the plush armchairs nearby, arranged so that he could talk with his advisors in companionable comfort. 
 
Ardan took the proffered drink and his normal seat by the fireplace. He stared at the fireplace for a moment. He knew it was a gas installation, but it had been cunningly designed to provide the illusion of a positively ancient wood fire. "Thank you, my Prince," he said, pouring the ale.
 
"We're not in court," pointed out Hanse, pouring from a decanter that Ardan knew held fine Scotch. He shook his head, and gestured to Ardan's drink. "I'll never understand why you like beer chilled."
 
It was an old argument, and not a serious one. Despite himself, Ardan smiled. "Just the habits of a farmer, Hanse," he said. 
 
Hanse dropped a single cc of water into his Scotch. "You know the cold means you can't taste as much," he lectured, before taking a sip and lowering himself into a chair facing Ardan. "But it's good you came, Ardan," he said. "I've been lost in my head of late."
 
"Even if I wanted to refuse a summons," said Ardan, "I couldn't." He gestured to the Brigade of Guards uniform he wore.
 
"Yes, yes," said Hanse. "Good that you got here early."
 
Ardan took a moment to really look at Hanse. His expression didn't show anything, even to someone who had known him for years. Hanse was too well-trained for that. His expression was an invaluable instrument of state power, and had to be under his complete control. But looking closer, Ardan could see the faint shadow of bags under Hanse's eyes, peeking out from behind concealer, the traceries of blood vessels at the corners of Hanse's eyes…the glint of silver thread in his hair.
 
It didn't seem fair for a man in his early thirties to be getting gray hairs. But there it was.
 
"Hanse," started Ardan. He looked aside to the flames, then back to his Prince. "Are you okay?"
 
"Oh, fine," said Hanse, reflexively. "Things have just been a bit tense lately."
 
Ardan nodded, trying not to feel hurt that Hanse had led with the sort of denial he showed to the Suns as a whole. He has every right, he reminded himself, pushing down the memory of an Awesome smashing an Enforcer's head under its armored heel, just before his Pontiac 100 had finally got the new cassette seated. "It does feel like the Inner Sphere has been set on fire lately." he said.
 
Hanse laughed, a sharp bark. "It does, doesn't it?" He picked up a remote, powering on a screen showing a map of the Federated Suns and its borders. Bright conflict markers bloomed across both of its Great House borders like a rash. "I suppose I should thank the Taurians for not taking advantage," he said, gesturing to the Periphery border.
 
Ardan's eyes looked over the unit markers, estimated jump times. "It looks like we're able to respond to any Concordat push."
 
"For now," agreed Hanse. "Besides, Protector Zarantha seems more interested in new worlds than pressing claims to history. That's what Nicholas tells me anyway," he said with a self-deprecating smirk. "We only have to worry if her son talks her into looking back to the past."Ardan pursed his lips at the thought of worrying about a third-rate realm like the Taurians. "It'd go badly for them," he said.
 
"It would," agreed Hanse. "Oh, they might take a world or two while we're busy, but this won't last forever." He took a drink. "And then we'd make them pay."
 
Ardan flinched at the flat inevitability in his mentor's voice. "Hopefully the Protector knows that." he said.
 
Hanse's smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. "I'm sure she does. Anyway, I'm not so worried about that as every Great House's border flaring up at once."
 
"Except for the Capellans and Mariks," said Ardan.
 
"Yes, well, that was inevitable," said Hanse. "It wouldn't make sense for the Chancellor to be taking bites out of the Free Worlds League when he's playing for the whole thing." He shook his head. "Anton's rebellion seemed like such a gift," he said. "Something to soak up intrigue and ambition."Ardan frowned.
 
"What?" asked Hanse.
"Of course I'm glad we're not dealing with what Janos is." said Ardan slowly, stomach roiling. "It just feels, I don't know…ghoulish? To refer to a civil war as a gift, I mean."
 
Hanse laughed. "I suppose you're right. Oh, Ardan, keep that good nature of yours safe. It is a gift, it really is. It's a shame that the people of the FWL have to suffer for Anton's ambition. They're certainly making their displeasure known."
 
Ardan thought about the news from the League, the fighting in the Principality of Regulus. Of military units betraying their liege and seizing worlds for themselves, only to declare for a traitor. Of mechs being turned on riots, of partisan fighting…just thinking about it made him feel unclean. Worse was the gossip among the Brigade of Guards, that the spooks of MIIO were keeping the war going, stoking the pyre of House Marik's ambition with the blood of innocents.
 
Hanse couldn't do that. He couldn't.
 
Ardan took a deep drink from his frosty ale. "Do MIIO have any idea what's going on?" he said, trying to change the subject. "With the border flare-ups, I mean."
 
Hanse frowned, deep lines forming on his brow. "Unless Nicholas comes with some completely new line from his analysts, no they don't."
 
"I'm afraid, my Prince," said a voice from the door, "That nothing credible has emerged."
 
Hanse grunted. "That implies that they came up with something."
 
"Oh yes," said Nicholas Truston, Director of MIIO. The older man leaned on his cane, a secure attache case in his other hand. "I've been informed that at least one of my analysts is convinced Romano Liao is sacrificing children to any god that might have a taste for blood in return for her forces and fortune." He cocked his shaved head to the side. "Apparently that is the only explanation for how she could pull off her victories." The smile that twisted his lips was an ugly one.
 
Hanse shook his head. "I assume he's been pulled off that team?"
 
Truston nodded as he made his way in, taking the seat Hanse waved to. "He has. I've had him reassigned to the team modeling the Lyrans' moves." The old man sighed. "Unfortunate. He had the knack for picking out raiding targets, until recently. That New Syrtis insight, you know."
 
"That's been missing, lately." said Ardan to himself.
 
"It has," said Hanse with a pondering expression. "Do your analysts have anything of value?"
 
"Plenty," said Truston, opening the attache case. "While they've not been able to come up with a convincing answer as to how the Capellans put together this so-called Corporate Defense League, nor where the Kuritans found the resources to push against both borders at once, they have been doing quite well at detailing how our failures have been going." He scowled. "Unfortunately, they've not been able to get enough ahead for us to make worthwhile changes based on their work as of yet."
 
"Do you expect your people will be able to get ahead of the command cycle?" asked Hanse.
 
Truston nodded slowly. "Things appear to be trending that way, on the Kuritan front, at least. If Sandoval could blunt the DCMS's efforts a bit more than he's been able to accomplish, we'd probably be there already. I'd suggest the deployment of direct action teams to help the situation, but we are tapping into our reserves as it is. I'd need to call some of my Rabid Foxes back in from long hunts or slash the interior to the bone."
 
"NAIS?" asked Hanse.
 
The spymaster nodded and handed over a file. "We wouldn't leave it undefended, but it is tying down teams." 
 
Hanse looked over the file's contents, forehead furrowing. "This would strip the Outback, draw down the Capellan march…" He looked up at his spymaster with a stricken look. "You think this is necessary?"
 
"The ISF is not to be trifled with," said Truston mildly. "And we are overextended, my Prince. This war has come at precisely the wrong time. Much of our capacity has been taken up by foreign shaping operations and the necessary security on the NAIS project. Not to mention the internal work required by the Capellan March shakeup."
 
Ardan felt his molars grind together at the mention of 'foreign shaping operations'. 
 
"Where are you planning to deploy your teams?" asked Hanse.
 
Truston considered for a moment. "I think we can discount the Galedon district. We have rough parity there, and there isn't a concentrated push or effective commander to focus our efforts on." He shook his head. "No, I think we should focus on the Benjamin or Dieron Districts."
 
"Let me hear your reasoning," said Hanse.
 
"Syovo Yorioshi hasn't been doing anything flashy, but the forces under his command have been chewing up what we've sent to face them. I expect that we'll be getting news of worlds lost within the next week."
 
Ardan lifted the glass to his lips. He hadn't realized it was so bad.
 
"Yorioshi isn't the architect of the victories he's presiding over, as far we can tell," went on Truston, "But he's predictable, and that makes him a softer target. Projections say that the fight over taking credit would disrupt DCMS units in the theater at the very least. It'd be something Sandoval could take advantage of."
 
"Do you think it would be enough?" asked Hanse.
 
"Possibly. Even probably," said the minister. "The other option is to focus on Dieron."
 
Ardan's eyes narrowed. Hanse leaned forward. "Go on," said the First Prince.
 
"Yorinaga Kurita and Vasiliy Cherenkov are the current frontrunners for the seat of Warlord Dieron. Unfortunately for us, both are covering themselves in glory. Cherenkov is more focused, but Yorinaga has Takashi's favor, what with being placed in command of the 2nd Sword of Light. He's frankly the more dangerous of the two, so it's lucky for us that he seems to be preoccupied with wiping out a stain on his honor."
 
"There's more than a stain," said Hanse in a very level tone, eyes flashing.
 
"As you say, my Prince," said the spymaster. "In any case, we believe that his overriding objectives are to crush the Kell Hounds or…" he coughed, and forged onwards. "To bring you to battle and kill you, my Prince."
 
Hanse's smile wasn't a millimeter out of place from the warm statesman's expression he put on for the trivid cams, but it was full of grim energy. "Well now, that suggests things."
 
"Hanse!" exploded Ardan, not liking where this was going.
 
"Oh, calm down, Ardan," said Hanse. "I'm not going to run off and give him the duel he wants."
 
"That's not as comforting as you think," said Ardan, but Hanse wasn't listening.
 
"But when the enemy is one you can manipulate, it would be foolish to pass up the opportunity," said the First Prince. He turned to the MIIO minister. "Cherenkov," he said. "Can you discourage him from striking at our worlds?
 
Truston nodded. "I believe so. He is less single minded than Yorinaga, so if his operations against our worlds come to some mischief, he may decide to focus on greener pastures in Lyran holdings."
 
Hanse nodded. "Good. I'm certain we can lead Yorinaga on a merry chase until we're ready to deal with him more permanently. I'll have Ran speak with the Department of Military Relations to get the Hounds ready to lead that Kurita on such a chase. That'll take pressure off Mallory's World, with any luck." He rubbed his chin. "And if we do that, we can turn it into a proper trap when the time is right." He pursed his lips. "Speaking of, Ardan, I want you to go to the League."
 
For all that Hanse said it in a conversational tone, the words landed like a slap. Exile? "Hanse," he started, but the older man was already waving away his objections.
 
"I know you'd rather be on the front lines," said Hanse, "and I'm sure any unit you'd care to name would be lucky to have you, even if the Guards remain in reserve."
 
Ardan nodded reluctantly. He tried not to think about the fact that his comrades were almost certain to be deployed, given the dire state of things.
 
"But I need you to do something else," said Hanse. "The DCMS has been far ahead of us in adopting these new bolt-on modifications. They don't always work out, and it's not uniform, but when and where it does work, it's been turning the tide."
 
Ardan nodded soberly. He'd heard rumors of the modifications in the latest Marik Civil War. Plenty of Suns mechwarriors were writing them off as desperate flailing, but if what Hanse was saying was true… "Why haven't we been using them?" he asked.
 
"Not invented here syndrome." said Truston.
 
Hanse inclined his head. "We've also been caught flat-footed. Given the mess that Hasek made of the Capellan March, and the mess I had to make of the other Marches to fix it, we're not in a place for making sweeping changes without disrupting things more." He snorted. "Imagine the complaints we'd see when certain packages made things worse. And make no mistake, if we charged ahead like the Kuritans on it, that would be a matter of when, not if."
 
Ardan nodded reluctantly. "That makes sense," he allowed. "But what does that have to do with me going to the League?"
 
"I need you to be my foreign observer there," said Hanse. "You're a skilled mechwarrior, and while your honor is as firm as anyone could ask for, you've got a flexibility with tactics that I think will help you gain a handle on what's actually worthwhile from the technology and tactics that are coming out of the League." He gave Ardan a warm smile. "I want you to help me design the future face of the AFFS. We might not be first with these new technologies and doctrines, but I trust with your help that we'll do it best."
 
Conflicting impulses roiled in Ardan's stomach, and he took another drink to give him time to think. Maybe it wasn't exile. Maybe it was what Hanse was asking for. It was more impact than any one mechwarrior could hope to have on his homeland's future. The thought almost drowned out the image of Sep's Warhammer facing down a battleship-grey painted twin. Almost.
 
Truston's voice snapped him away from the volcanic roar of SRM rounds cooking off. "It would also be worthwhile to have an observer of the humanitarian conditions of League space," he said. "My agents have a certain level of acceptance of compromise that can color their reports."
 
Ardan didn't bother to hide his disgust at the spymaster's implications. He looked to Hanse, who nodded thoughtfully. Maybe, Ardan thought, just maybe I can save the honor of the Federated Suns. And like that, there were no doubts. "Will I be going alone?" he asked. "And when?"
 
Hanse gave him the warm smile again. "Oh, I think we should send a lance with you, to show the flag, so to speak. You're not expected to take sides in the civil war, of course, but I'd rather you have some force, just in case. And as soon as possible. We can certainly retask a Leopard without much trouble. Call it three days until lift? That should give you enough time to find some volunteers. I'll write orders not to stand in the way of anyone who cares to join you."
 
Ardan drained his glass. "In which case, I'd best get started," he said, standing. "By your leave?"
 
Hanse nodded and waved. "Of course." 
 
Ardan turned to leave, passing Ran Felsner on the way in. As he left, he could just hear Hanse saying "Ran, good to see you. Truston's given me an idea for how to handle the Dieron front…" before the doors swung closed behind him.
----
===Opportunists Plot and Plan===
Lestrade Castle
Curitiba, Summer
Skye Province, Lyran Commonwealth
7th June, 3015
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"The Witch is throwing away our opportunity," said Frederick Steiner without preamble as he walked into Aldo Lestrade's office.
 
"Why hello, Frederick, so good to see you," said Aldo with a raised eyebrow. "Congratulations on securing us uncontested control of Denebola."
 
Frederick Steiner gave the other man a small nod, acknowledging the point. "Thank you, Aldo. Yes, it's good to see you too." He collapsed into a chair. "I just grow so weary of her obstruction."
 
"I assume you refer to the standing orders to limit our forces to raids against the League?" asked Aldo, already knowing the answer. Frederick had been livid when that message had gone out.
 
"Yes," hissed Frederick, venom dripping from every phoneme. "What else?"
 
"Well," said Aldo, playing the part of humble politician, "I thought perhaps you had spotted a flaw in our defensive response to the Kuritans?"
 
"Other than our integrated starlift flitting off for frivolous tasks, leaving the LCAF flatfooted in the first critical phase of the DCMS's offensive?" asked Frederick. "I can think of some, but none that mattered as much. Katrina might as well have cut our throats."
 
Aldo pursed his lips in a thoughtful manner. "That did generate a positive economic and humanitarian impact," he pointed out.
 
Frederick slashed his hand to the side. "All of which was wiped away by our losses in the Kuritan first wave," he snapped. "That and more," he growled, eyes growing dark. "I'm not an economic illiterate, Aldo," he said. "And what are you doing, arguing for her?"
 
Keeping you angry, thought Aldo, but did not say. "I'm helping you form your arguments," he said, gently. "This is something you will face from her supporters."
 
Frederick's lips spasmed. "I was wondering if you were reconsidering your political place," he admitted. "I hear so much willful stupidity these days."
 
"I am your friend, Frederick," said Aldo, firmly. "I want what is best for you, and by extension, the Commonwealth."
 
Frederick sighed. "Yes," he said, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Yes. I apologize, Aldo. You deserve better from me. Your loyalty is beyond reproach."
 
"Thank you," said Aldo, with a bow of his head. "Now, what can I do for you?"
 
"Oliver," said Frederick. He became more animated. "You can help me get sanction for a campaign on Oliver."
 
Aldo nodded slowly, not surprised in the slightest. "You don't mean a raid, do you?" he asked.
 
"I mean to take it," replied the LCAF officer. "It is a prize Janos Marik cannot afford to defend, and which would help to offset our losses. More, if the worst should come to the worst, we don't want to give the Kuritans the chance to snatch it from under our noses, or worse, to render it unproductive."
 
"I see," said Aldo, who had already known all this, though he hadn't thought of the wrinkle of the Kuritans attacking Oliver. That could play well… "Of course, it will be difficult to convince Grethar to get on board."
 
"Yes, he does trail along after the Witch like a pet," said Frederick, scornfully.
 
"But not impossible," said Aldo. "He supported her, that much is true. But you're right, her policies have cost him in this latest round of Kuritan aggression." He made a gesture of dissatisfaction. "It would be difficult to argue the fact that Alessandro needed to be deposed," he said. "And that's given the Archon a certain momentum that she's capitalized on. But with this, tongues may wag that the wrong individual was placed on the throne." And they would, if Aldo had anything to do with it. "You, of course, have my support."
 
"The 17th will be a valuable addition," said Frederick, considering. "And if we can convince the 10th to stop wasting their time on Shiloh and let Katrina's pets to twist in the wind, we'd have the core of a force, along with my 7th." He smacked his balled fist into a cupped palm. "Oliver can be ours."
 
"The stumbling block is Duke Grethar," said Aldo, refocusing Frederick. "He will be…leery of any plan to move forces away from a crumbling defense against the DCMS. You know Skye feels the worlds lost to the Combine far more than any gains from the League."
 
Frederick frowned. "Yes. Yes I do." He nodded and gave Aldo an apologetic smile. "Thank you, my friend. I was thinking too much of the map, and not enough of the people. Do you think I should give up on Oliver?"
 
Aldo shook his head sharply. "On the contrary. I think it would help to raise your star, perhaps even to the point where the Archonship is in reach, what with Katrina's missteps. And speaking as a man of the Isle, I would feel far better with an Archon that truly understands Skye's needs at the head of the Commonwealth." And one I can control would make me feel best of all, he thought.
 
"So then…"
 
"I think that if you could present Duke Grethar with a defense plan, we might be able to see about getting you in charge of Skye's response to this crisis, whether the Archon likes it or not," said Aldo.
 
Frederick's eyes narrowed. Aldo guessed he was thinking about the forces arrayed in Skye. He left the soldier alone to his thoughts. For all that Frederick was politically clumsy, he was as deft as they came in the LCAF when it came to using the last argument of kings.
 
Finally, Frederick nodded. "I can do better than that." he said.
 
Aldo blinked in surprise. "Oh?"
 
Frederick gave him a smile that looked vaguely hungry. "The specifics depend on what sort of funding we can shake loose for mercenary commands," he said. "And what mercenaries are available, of course." He stood and started pacing back and forth. "But there is no way that the DCMS isn't overextending. The Dracs make virtue of seizing any and all opportunities presented to them, even when by all rights, they should be consolidating their gains. If we can make their situation that little bit worse, we can pinch off some of their units that are flush with glory and rife with maintenance issues and battle damage. And then we can counterattack, take back Skye's worlds."
 
"Which worlds?" asked Aldo, feeling a bit lightheaded. He realized there was a part of him that just assumed worlds lost to the Combine were gone forever, but there was a light in Frederick's eye that made him want to believe. 
 
"That will depend on the situation at the time," said Frederick with a tone that the answer should have been obvious. "Anyway, even if I can't take back Lyran land, I certainly can't do worse than we've been of late. And once we've put the Dragon back on its heels, Oliver will be ours for the taking."
 
"And the people of the Commonwealth will see what your leadership means," said Aldo, rallying. "Boldness. Decisiveness. A Lyran Commonwealth that grows, even as it maintains its security."
 
Frederick nodded. "I need to return to my unit and get to planning, Aldo. In this, the details matter."
 
"Of course," said Aldo. "I will do what I can to get you an audience with the Duke and make sure he is in a receptive mood."
 
"Who would have thought," said Frederick, standing in the half-open doorway, "That this crisis would provide the opportunity to save the Commonwealth?" He shook his head and left.
 
Aldo stared at the door, and chuckled to himself. In the midst of chaos had always lurked the potential for greatest profit, for those with the vision to seize their chance. Perhaps Frederick had learned something of politics after all. He'd have to keep an eye on that.
 
But for now, he set himself to the task of preparing the ground for his chosen candidate.
----
===Killing Enemies of the Confederation===
CDL Sector HQ Outskirts
Carius Floes, Angol III
Tikonov Commonality, Capellan Confederation
11th June, 3015
----
The feet of Romano Liao's Highlander left divots in the crystalline snow above the kilometers thick sheet of ice the planetary capital was dug into. The young noble Major curled her lip at the excuse for a court function she had just come from. Oh, she supposed she couldn't expect the finery of Sian or Highspire from this miserable iceball, but it was like the Baron hadn't even tried. Or perhaps he had. She didn't know which would be more pathetic. If he didn't care, or if he was just that incompetent.
 
<<"What charming local hospitality,">> said a voice with a Highspire accent over the comms. <<"It really is a shame I've not been earlier.">>
 
Romano twisted her mech's over towards the oddly-armed Thunderbolt accompanying her. "What tactful words," she said acidly. "And here I thought you were a warrior, not a diplomat."
Pavel Rizdik laughed. <<"I dabble,">> he said shamelessly.
 
Romano rolled her eyes. The Duke of Thomas was perhaps best defined by that word. Shameless. She'd seen it at court as he sniffed at the skirts of the slut her father had married. She'd seen it not two hours ago as he spirited one of the serving girls away from the function, disappearing for a short while, and reappearing with his belt and jacket askew. "And dally," she said. "She looked disappointed."
 
Rizdik didn't say anything for a moment, then coughed. <<"I suppose I'm not used to the gravity on this charming world yet.">> he said in excuse.
 
Romano scowled. Angol was a heavy world, with nearly thirty percent more gravity than what was right. If it wasn't for its strategic location and short boost to the jump point, she'd say that the Fedrats could have it and good riddance. But if they took it, it would help tighten the noose on Tikonov, and that was unacceptable. The Suns already had Rio, and that was bad enough. "If that makes you feel better," she said. When he didn't reply, she turned her mech's torso back to their destination. "What do you make of our defensive situation?" she asked.
 
<<"I'm surprised,">> admitted Rizdik. <<"While I don't doubt the courage and tenacity of our defenders in the CCAF, we have been in a dire strategic position for some time now. I would have expected Hasek's forces to be doing better than they are.">>
 
The corner of Romano's mouth turned up in a definite smirk. <<"They certainly weren't ready for what we offer,">> she said. <<"Typical pompous Fedrat swine. Can you believe that one of their units had the gall to complain that we were intercepting them in space?">> The screams of indignity as dropships cracked apart under heavy autocannon fire brought warmth to her heart.
 
<<"Your sister has been making waves about that.">> said Rizdik.
 
"That I'm killing the enemies of the Confederation?" scoffed Romano. "Of course she is. She doesn't like being outshone."
 
<<"I was referring to getting so much of our aerospace units assigned to the border,">> he said. <"And the losses.">>
 
"It's not as if they have anything to do over near League space, what with my father's policy of playing nice with them," she spat. "And they are killing Fedrats far faster than they die. If we didn't have aerospace superiority, even with the CDL, we would be in far worse straits."
 
<<"Where did you pull that from?">> asked Rizdik. <<"I wouldn't have thought that the corporations would be so bold.">>
 
Romano snorted. "What, and have to compete with long-established interests in the Suns? After being gutted and twisted by their programs to expel any trace of Capellan influence? Please. They know that under the Confederation, there will be educated workers, steady orders for their products, and fair allocations of supplies. Freeing up their contracted mercenaries for government contracts allows for better defense of the state and lets them invest further in the materiel we need." She thought of the aide who had floated the idea to her. It was a shame that Kantorovich had died in the early phases of fighting. He had been full of good ideas, and athletic.
 
At least his killer had paid. A lance of Firestarters might not have been the most optimal headhunter unit…but it sent a message. And it was perfect for gutting the repair base Kantorovich's killer had been guarding.
 
<<"I suppose I'd not thought of it that way,">> said Rizdik. <<"If only they had found their patriotic ardor earlier in our history as a state.">>
 
That was a point, Romano realized. Why now? It was what they needed in the moment, but there had been times of need in the past. She grunted. That was a thought for another time. They might be needed, but she had them. The CDL might have been a patchwork of small mercenary units, but with the First Kearney to lead them and provide a core to rally around, they were doing what was needed. And wasn't that just the thing to show that she was right to keep her Highlanders home when her father sent the others gallivanting off to support the impotent Anton.
 
Why the Chancellor hadn't cut the rebel loose had confused her at the time. Confused, yes, and angered her. Mariks were the enemy, and she would never forget that. But her father had been right. Anton had needed just that little more to turn the tide on Janos. And the Leaguers killing each other was sweet…
 
Romano hoped her sister wouldn't find it too onerous to spread her legs in Anton's bed. It was as much sisterly love as she could muster.
 
"I hear that McCarron is almost ready to strike back against Hasek," said Rizdik. "More than the raids, I mean."
 
"We'll see," said Romano. "His reconsolidated Second Regiment certainly appears to be formidable." If only the commander wasn't a bull-headed tactical illiterate. Still, mass had value all on its own.
 
<<"Are you planning an offensive operation of your own?">>
 
"The worlds of the Confederation still need defending," said Romano. "That is my duty," she said.
 
<<"Thankfully it appears to be one of your skills as well.">> Rizdik laughed. <<"Did you know that people are referring to you as the Mother of the Citizen's War?">>
 
Romano smirked. "I'd heard that one, yes. Not everyone can fight in defense of the state, but everyone can support the fight." And if the disloyal border nobles didn't like having populations trained in the art of resisting mechanized forces…well perhaps they should better attend to their duties to the Celestial Throne and the citizens of the Confederation they were charged with, instead of lining their nails with another layer of gold leaf.
 
It was certainly paying dividends against the Fedrats, bogging them down even on the worlds they'd thought they'd won. The price was brutal, especially as the AFFS let their mask of chivalry slip and revealed themselves to be the butchers they were at their core, but all knew their duty, and they persisted. "My Cavalry must relieve the worlds holding out before Hasek's men can put all to the torch."
 
<<"And only seventeen,">> praised Ridzik. <<"Truly the heroine the Confederation needs in our time of crisis. How can I help you, my lady?">>
 
Romano rolled her eyes again. Rizdik was laying it on thick. But for all that he was a disgusting pig with excretable taste in women, he was a competent military commander. And he had her father's favor. "Rio," she said. "If you can take that world, it will send shockwaves through an already overstretched AFFS logistics system. Or another target, if you see fit. But the CCAF cannot afford to have the only offensive victory be a mercenary one."
 
Rizdik hummed over the link. <<"I imagine I can contrive something. Anything else?">>
 
"Yes," said Romano, signaling the turrets of the inner line with the day code. "The Warrior Houses. Their skill and their image would be worth much to our efforts. If you can lend your voice to the call for them to be deployed, perhaps my father will agree."
 
<<"That, at least, is easily done,">> said Rizdik, pulling into trail behind her as they followed one of the base marshaling lines to their hangar. <<"Though I cannot pretend to know his Celestial Wisdom's mind on the subject.">>
 
"None of us can," said Romano, ducking her mech's head to increase clearance into the hangar's airlock. You only had to have one incident with a hangar that hadn't been designed for assault mech operations to pick up the habit. Not for the first time, she considered moving to a lighter chassis, something in the heavy class. No time for it now.
 
She followed the lighted batons of a breath-masked tech with half a mind, stepping into her mech's gantry and running through the shutdown procedures as the catwalks fenced her back in. Removing the neurohelmet, she ran a comb through her hair as she undid her cooling vest's fasteners. It was the work of moments to shrug into the CCAF undress uniform she kept in the cockpit, and place the breath mask on her face. She could faintly hear the blowers replacing the losses of atmosphere to the lock cycling, but it wasn't worth taking chances with. Just last week a hangar had depressurized when the lock seals blew. Major Langstrom didn't appear to be missed, but the deaths and injuries amongst the Hussar techs were a blow.
 
Seating her mask, Romano popped her cockpit hatch, even as Rizdik's Thunderbolt came striding into the hangar in a cloud of mist, making for the other empty berth in the hangar. She didn't wait, heading for the command center. She had news to catch up on, units to secure the services of. Her aerospace forces needed more Lightnings, and her partisans needed more Maskirovka advisers. There were Fedrats to repulse, and worlds to liberate. She would not fail her father. She would not fail the Confederation.
----
===Efforts Destablizating enemies of the Dragon===
Great Glacier Park
Yggdrasil, Rasalhague IV
Rasalhague Military District, Draconis Combine
18th June, 3015
----
Tai-i Harimandir Singh suppressed the shivers that threatened to overwhelm him, even through the unmarked surplus DCMS cold-weather gear he had donned. It was a cruel irony that the landscape could look so much like the salt flats of his native Chekaar, while feeling so brutally different. Not for the first time he marveled at the self-control of his liege, who was wearing much lighter, if more stylish gear.
 
"Warlord Kurita," rumbled Duke Ricol. "You have rare taste in scenery."
 
It was true enough. There was a savage beauty to the blue and white wind-carved expanse of ice they stood on. Singh's practiced eye made out likely hides for the Warlord's security team, judged possible responses against ambush. There weren't good options available. If the Warlord wanted them dead, their blood would paint the ice. Perhaps they could take the man hostage, and negotiate their escape.
 
Singh remained very still as he thought that. It wouldn't do to get killed because the security twigged to his contingency planning. No, sometimes your survival was down to luck. Luck, and being too useful to those who could snuff you without a thought.
Marcus Kurita gestured to the glacier. "It is the proper mind of the warrior in the moment of conflict."
 
"Cold," said Singh's master. "Clear. Crystalline."
 
"Empty of all but the struggle," said Marcus. "And the will to overcome. I see you have a like mind where beauty is concerned."
 
"You honor me, Warlord," said Ricol with a bowed head. "I am glad you see some pale reflection of your virtue in me."
 
"Do not play with such false modesty, Duke Ricol. You are too impressive a servant of the Dragon for these games."
 
"Ah," said Ricol. "But I am yet a servant, however exalted. I exist to help bring the universe under the watchful eye and unparalleled wisdom of the Dragon." He paused for a moment. "Does the Warlord wish for my assistance?"
 
Marcus's dark eyes, lacking the famous blue irises of the ruling line, looked over the Duke of Rodigo. "I have use of you." he said, finally.
 
"I shall obey, Warlord," said Ricol with a bow of assent.
 
Marcus turned back to the glacier. "What conflict fills your warrior mind, Duke Ricol?"
 
"The expansion of the Combine, as always," said the Red Duke. "We have a singular opportunity presented to us, one I feared we would not be able to take advantage of." At the gesture of Marcus's gloved hand, he continued. "While Katrina Steiner's reforms will do much to address Lyran military failings, the rot that infests the LCAF is deep in the marrow of their merchant's guard. To heal the damage requires medicine. Harsh medicine."
 
"That sounds like the words of an admirer, Duke," said Marcus, face turned away. 
 
"A wound is a wound, whether from a katana or a scalpel," said Ricol. "To heal, first, she has to harm. You see this in her allocation of jumpships that you have already taken advantage of."
 
"A mistake she is already starting to reverse," said Marcus.
 
"A choice," corrected Ricol. "One with consequences. She made the wager that the DCMS would not be able to support meaningful offensive operations, and looked to her economy like the merchant she is at heart. She, like I," he admitted, "was wrong about the Claws of the Dragon. Now she scrambles to reverse the damage done."
 
"You see clearly indeed," said Marcus. "And you are right, she is working to deny us the chance to consolidate our victories we have not already made complete. The Lyrans are poor soldiers and worse warriors, but they do have bodies to spare, and the weapons to arm them with. Our reserves will not last forever."
 
"No," said the Duke. "I suppose they would not."
 
Singh stared at the silence between the two exalted nobles. He knew that the source of the DCMS's supplies that had enabled this latest round of conquest was of great interest to his master, and he'd been unable to run down the source himself, other than some vague whispers that the Pillarines were involved. And the Pillarines were always involved. He shifted as a gust worked tendrils of icy air closer to his skin.
 
"We must change the situation on the border," said Marcus. "The Lyrans are bloodied, but coming together in a wall of steel. They must be broken, or our advances will not last, despite our warriors' skill."
 
"A logistics raid would not be enough," said Ricol. "And arranging a surge in pirate activity would take too long." He rubbed his heavy black beard. "My Red Hunters could attempt decapitation against the more effective Lyran commanders."
 
"It does not take much skill to stand shoulder to shoulder in front of an objective," pointed out Marcus.
 
"Just so," said the Red Duke. "No, what we need is the Lyrans to have a new plan of action. Some new way of fighting us. If they try, that will be another dose of the scalpel, leaving them ripe for a stroke of the katana." He smoothed his mustache. "There are three likely contenders for the Archonship, should Katrina be ousted. Frederick, Nondi, and Iris Steiner."
 
"Nondi has no wish for the throne," said Marcus. "She's one of the effective commanders the Lyrans have facing me, and despises politics."
 
"All the better if we can contrive to place her on the throne. Removing an effective commander and placing a political incompetent at the head of our enemy would do nicely."
 
"Getting her to that position is the issue."
 
"Yes," said Ricol. "I imagine a combination of closely-held duty and a pain that would convince her of Katrina's failings would do nicely." He paused a moment. "Her husband wouldn't happen to be anywhere close to the border, would he? Or perhaps her children?" He turned to Singh. "Look into that, Tai-i."
 
"Yes, Duke." said Singh, mind already considering which of the various sources of information he could mine for that intelligence, as well as methods to make the loss look like a tragic but untargeted consequence of the war.
 
"You all but guarantee her wrath towards the Combine," said Marcus.
 
"Let her hate us," said the Red Duke. "So long as she does so ineffectually. Iris Steiner will be more difficult to induce towards rebellion. She appears quite loyal to her kinswoman. But with Alessandro so close…it should be possible to manufacture a conspiracy, or at least the traces of one between them. I will make the suggestion to a colleague."
 
"Frederick, at least, burns with the desire for the throne." said Marcus.
 
"Should he see success where others don't, it may embolden him," agreed Ricol. "And he has the military instincts to seize on an opportunity, as well as the regrets of a man who let a chance pass him by once already. A little chaos, and he'll almost certainly make a move."
 
"You live up to your reputation, indeed," said Marcus. "A man like you is a treasure to the Dragon."
 
"You do me great honor," said Singh's master with a bow.
 
"No more than you deserve," said the Warlord, returning his focus to the glacier. "You may go. I imagine you will be quite busy."
 
Duke Hassid Ricol maintained the bow, walking backwards as per protocol, before straightening and striding away to where their hovercraft was waiting. Singh fell in at his shoulder.
 
Neither spoke until they descended a rugged icy canyon, where their vehicle nestled out of view of the landscape. Singh opened the passenger compartment, and offered his master a hand, following a quick security sweep of the empty compartment.
 
"Well," rumbled Ricol as he settled into his seat. "That went well."
 
"You are pleased, my Duke?" asked Singh, pulling the hatch close and sitting down himself as the deck trembled.
 
"Tolerably," said the Duke, stroking his beard. "It is advantageous to be in the Warlord's good graces, for all that there is tension between him and the Coordinator."
 
"It feels like Warlord Kurita's underlings often come to bad ends," said Singh as the hovercraft began to move.
 
"And partners," said Ricol. "As I said, tolerably. House Kurita cannot be seen to fight itself, so the tension must be from another source. But the danger is less for us."
 
"Because of our connection to DEST?" asked Singh.
 
"It helps," said Ricol. "And by engaging the ISF in the destabilization efforts of House Steiner we either get buy-in for operations, or a brake on unwanted ambitions."
 
"Loyalty to the Dragon," said Singh, quoting his lord. 
 
"First and foremost. It allows us to spread our loyalty to all worthy points, and maintain it with integrity," said Ricol. He didn't say anything about how it also let loyalty be withdrawn from a subject who had displeased the Dragon with no loss of face. Much needed to be left unsaid in the Combine.
 
"I do not understand how Frederick Steiner can be allowed his victories to stoke his ambitions." admitted Singh.
 
"It," said Ricol, "would be disharmonious for the Second Sword of Light to be outshone by Vasiliy Cherenkov. Not to mention Warlord Rasalhague. In any case, any gains by such a blunt instrument will be temporary in nature."
 
Focusing on the prestige of House Kurita, thought Singh. "I thank you for the wisdom I have received," he said formally.
 
"It is a lord's pleasure to help his vassal's development," said Ricol. "Especially one as promising as you, Baron."
 
Singh bowed his head in acknowledgement of the compliment.
 
"Now," said Ricol. "We have targets to run down, and some very delicate conversations to have."
 
"Do you think, my Duke," said Singh, "that it might be worth provoking House Kelswa as well?"
 
Ricol paused for a moment, then burst out into deep belly laughter. "Oh, very good, Baron! Yes, that may bear fruit indeed." He smiled indulgently to his vassal. "I leave that in your hands," he said with an almost fatherly chuckle.
 
Singh nodded, and looked out to the icy wasteland. Here in the hovercraft, with the heater up, it almost looked like home.
----
===Political Strife in the League===
Atreus City
Ionia, Atreus III
Marik Commonwealth, Free Worlds League
25th June, 3015
----
"I am reporting the facts as they stand to you, Janos." snapped Stephanie Alvarez. "I'm aware you don't like the news. You'd like being blindsided by the vote even less."
 
Paul Marik's father grunted in acknowledgement of the point, looking out the windows onto the Atrean skyline, just now starting to come alive with neon, incandescent, and holographic lighting. 
 
Paul himself slipped into the room, top-of-the-line noteputer clutched to his chest. He didn't know why father insisted on he and his sister attending these informal meetings. He wasn't going to change his opinion about politics, and if he wasn't going to, his sister certainly wasn't!
 
"You're late," hissed Kristen Marik as he slipped into the chair next to her. A mulish impression was painted across her face.
 
"I got held up," said Paul. "Bad news?" he asked, hoping to shift the conversation. 
 
Kristen scoffed. "You think?" She nodded to the Speaker of Parliament, who was going on about some type of political strategy with their father. "She just told him that she's not confident in having the votes for getting the Council approved in January."
 
Paul gaped a moment. "Really? Stephanie's worried?"
 
Kristen rolled her eyes. "You sound just like father."
 
Paul grimaced, and looked down at his noteputer "I knew it was bad," he whispered. "I just…" He imagined the campaign maps he was privy to as a member of the Captain-General's family. Would Wolf kill him in revenge for his brother? Because he was Janos's son? "And so will those who stand with him," he mumbled under his breath. 
 
Kristen gave him a…look, he didn't know what type. "It's been going on since March. It got worse in April."
 
"I've been busy," he said. It sounded lame, even to him.
 
Kristen let out a sigh. "Yeah, nose in your circuits." 
 
Paul hunched down on himself. "I've had projects," he said. "I even had an offer for when I finish training." For all that meant now, anyway. There was a long pause. "How's your training going?" he asked, trying to fill the dead air. He didn't want to listen into the rapidly heating argument between his father and Alvarez.
 
"Mmm," said Kristen. "Things are okay. Working on fine-tuned myomer actuators right now. The…"
 
"It was your idea!" exploded Janos, cutting through the sibling's bubble. "Yours, Stephanie!"
 
"Yes, it was!" yelled back the Speaker. "And EO 1136 was the right call! Even with the Capellans backing Anton, you are not popular, Janos. I may agree with you that the League needs more centralization to deal with the Succession Wars, but that's practically blasphemy to a third of MPs on a personal level, and plenty of others know that it's political poison to their constituencies. We needed that greed to blind the ambitious to the opportunities Anton's rebellion offered. Without it, who knows what could happen." She folded her arms.
 
Paul knew this was a long-argued point, one which enraged father to no end. Janos smoothed his mustache and beard with a hand which twitched with nervous energy. "We just need more time," he said. "Once the new weapons can be fielded, Anton's forces will fall apart like leaves in a gale." He drew in a breath. "What can we do?"
 
"I doubt these new weapons will do as much as you hope, Janos," said Stephanie. "The bolt-on units may have won a few early engagements, but Anton's forces are already fielding the damn things. And things have been turning against us since February at least. We need more forces, and we cannot…cannot, I tell you…seize any provincial forces without triggering an immediate vote of no confidence."
 
"The bolt-on units are still developing," said Janos. "And it isn't their immediate effect that is important. It's how they make lighter units more dangerous, give more utility to what we have. They will change the paradigm of warfare. Understanding that first will give us a major edge. Combined with our new munition programs…"
 
"We don't have the time," snapped Alvarez. "This political crisis is on us now. There's still time to reverse it, but we need victories. And don't forget, any unit, any province that declares for Anton is lost to us."
 
"We've stopped his advance dead," shot back Janos. "With Regulus turning coat, he was in striking range of Atreus. Now he's bogged down, bleeding men and machines."
 
Paul and Kristen winced at what their father had said.
 
The Speaker threw her hands into the air. "Think about what you just said, Janos! Anton is in striking range of the capital world, one of your most reliable allies has been deposed, maybe killed, and you had to light a province on fire to slow down Anton's advance!" She jabbed a finger at him. "This is why we have this problem!"
 
"What would you have me do? Abdicate to a treasonous Capellan puppet?" Janos smashed his fist against an end table. "I have a duty to my nation, damn your eyes!"
 
"We need a victory, Janos," said Alvarez, collapsing into an armchair and rubbing her forehead with a pained expression. "A real one. One without caveats or asterisks. A meaningful one. And it has to be our forces who win it. It can't be mercenaries."
 
Kristen sucked her teeth at that. Paul frowned, but he saw what the Speaker was getting at. The federal forces had to retain their reputation, or they'd just be facing a second crisis as soon as this one was over. Assuming they won, anyway.
 
"Without fresh units," said Janos. "I can't promise that. Not without the new munitions, or phase two of the bolt-ons. Even then, I can't guarantee it. War is not pretty, nor is it predictable."
 
"No, it certainly is not," said Earl Eastwick, limping through the door. "Apologies, Janos. I was held up at the Comstar compound."
 
Janos turned to his hook-handed friend and waved away the apology. "Nothing to forgive. Good news I hope?"
 
"Some good, some bad." Eastwick clumped up and patted Paul's shoulder with his hook. "How're things with Sherryl, son?"
 
Paul blushed and looked at his lap. "G-good, Uncle Shane." He looked up to see with some horror, a look of comprehension on his sister's face. Malf! He had hoped she wouldn't figure out why he'd been late.
 
"Oh ho ho," whispered Kristen. "Good huh?"
 
"Shut up." Paul hissed back, now focusing on his father and his allies to avoid this conversation.
 
"...Jason's leg is still touch and go," said the Earl. "He'll certainly not be piloting for a while, so he's traveling here. That should help some with keeping the coalition together."
 
"What about the unit he was putting together?" asked Janos.
 
Eastwick shook his head. "His older son will be taking over Jason's Orion, but the attack by the Highlanders left them in rough shape. They might be able to take a lightly defended world, but they're not a credible threat to New Delos, even in the best scenario."
"So much for a story of patriotic fervor to rally around," sighed the Speaker. "That could have played well for us."
 
"Jason's war wounds will be some utility," said Eastwick, gesturing to himself. "Showing the willingness to sacrifice demonstrates sincerity." He huffed as he lowered himself into a seat. "Not that I wish Jason such poor luck with his leg as mine, of course."
 
Alvarez shook her head. "It plays well for some people. But they're mostly the ones we still have a lock on. War wounds for no gain just harden our opposition. You know how many MPs argue that the wars are a drain on profits and the quality of our citizens' lives." She rapped her knuckles on the arm of her chair. "And you know how many voters agree with that."
 
"Fools," said Janos and Eastwick simultaneously.
 
"That may be," said the Speaker, "but you need to find a way to convince them."
 
Paul frowned. "What..?" he said to himself.
 
The earl scoffed, but Janos leaned forward. "You have an idea," said Paul's father.
 
Stephanie nodded, still with a pained look on her face, rubbing at one temple. "You won't like it," she said. "But I think you need to throw Amity a bone and reach out to Katrina Steiner for a formal truce."
 
"WHAT?" exploded Eastwick. He jabbed his hook at the Speaker. "Bow to those naive dupes? Abandon the sacrifices of our warriors? Sell off their flesh and blood?"
 
The Speaker shook her head. "It'll never last," she acknowledged. "But you need fresh units to have a chance of winning this. They must be federal units, and we can't uncover the Capellan border. For all they're dealing with the Suns, we can't give them an opportunity to support Anton with direct action."
 
"Or provoke Humphries to open rebellion herself," grumbled Eastwick. "Selfish bitch."
 
Janos cursed. "That, at least, would hurt Anton as well. It galls to watch her forces take over independent worlds, but it's not something we can address so long as Anton draws breath."
 
"The point," said Alvarez, "is that we can't draw forces from that border. And we need to maintain forces to deter piracy. But the Lyrans are being pressed hard by the DCMS, and the Archon has been maintaining a policy of keeping her hands off of our worlds during this crisis. If we can formalize that, we can free up federal units and bring the peace advocates into the coalition." She rubbed her temple again, and stared at Janos. "And such a grand gesture could give you a reputation for strokes of statecraft you dearly need, Janos."
 
Rage smoldered in Janos's eyes, and he pinched his chin between thumb and forefinger.
 
Earl Eastwick kicked the floor with a thump. "And what of the people who understand the need for defense?" He slashed his hook to the side. "This will send them howling," he said.
 
Paul knew that the Earl was one of the hawks. Uncle Shane, for all that he had been wounded against the Capellans, had a healthy hatred for the Steiners as well.
 
"That would be your job," grated out Janos, smoothing his beard. "Anyone with half a military mind understands the need to focus on objectives. Anton's treason is the overriding threat. If I can secure my border with a scrap of paper, and that allows me to finally burn out this cancer, it is the right choice." He seemed to deflate before Paul's eyes. "Can I count on you, Shane?"
 
Earl Eastwick swallowed back what looked like some angry retort. He took a deep breath, and nodded. "Yes, my friend. House Eastwick stands with House Marik. That will not change."
 
Janos nodded in gratitude. "Your support is a treasure beyond price, Shane. It makes my duty that much easier to bear." He turned to the Speaker. "Stephanie. Find me a treaty I can propose, and do it fast. Nothing that binds our hands indefinitely. Perhaps give them three months past Anton swinging from a noose?" He looked back to Earl Eastwick. "I know it goes against the grain, but we need to sell this to our people. Focus on the need to address the traitors, and that we maintain all of our claims."
 
"It will be done, Captain-General," said the Earl.
 
Paul looked back to his sister, to see a look of open shock on her face. He couldn't blame her.
 
"I didn't think it was possible," said Kristen.
 
"Me too," said Paul. He thought about the position with SAFE's computer intelligence division that was awaiting him as soon as he finished his schooling. What would a treaty with the Lyrans mean for SAFE? Sure, it wasn't supposed to last, but he knew just how many corporations looked at the vast natural resources in Steiner space and their inefficient distribution of manufactured goods and salivated at the profits to be made. If that happened, what would SAFE need to change into for an economic war?
 
"Capellans backing Anton," mused Kristen. "Do you think they'll start calling father a Steiner puppet?"
 
Paul's heart dropped into his stomach. For all that some people called for peace with the Lyran Commonwealth, there would be others that saw any ground given to the Steiners as a betrayal of the highest order. He had no idea how'd they'd take it.
 
He had no idea how Sherryl'd take it. But he didn't see what choice his father had.
 
He hated sitting in these meetings.
 
He hated politics.
----
===Conversation between former Mentor and Student===
Hilton Head
North America, Terra
Solar System, Comstar Protectorate
4th July, 3015
----
…with the voice of Humanity held in our hands, it is our responsibility to shepard the unwise masses into the glorious future that awaits our race. We may not shirk this duty, may not choose one of the factions that tears apart humanity as victor. We, the enlightened who heard Blake's call, must bring humanity to this future ourselves. We may not choose the 'lesser evil' of the jackals who have kept the embers of the pyre of humanity's destiny stoked with their petty, nay, futile struggles for a throne none of them had any moral justification to.
 
We seek the unity and prosperity of mankind." So spoke our founder as he set us on this path. We are those with the blessed destiny of bringing mankind to its glory….
"I recognize those words," said the voice of Julian Tiepolo. "Are you planning a second edition, Precentor Rusenstein?"
 
Allen Rusenstein, Precentor St. Ives and former holder of the Primacy, turned to see his successor in the door to his suite, flanked by a tall, dark skinned man with heavy eyebrows. "Primus," he greeted the glasses wearing man, knees creaking as he came to his feet. "I had not expected a visit." He looked back to the screen. "I don't know about a second edition, but I find myself unable to let the words go. There must be some way to get my thoughts across more clearly…" He sighed. "The curse of an author with only one work, I suppose. Please, come in."
 
The other two men did, Tiepolo taking a comfortable seat across from him, while the tall man stood in a corner, dark tarpit eyes sweeping the room beneath his heavy brows. "I'm glad I was able to catch you before you left Terra, teacher." said the Primus.
 
 
"Oh, you only had to ask," said Allen, taking another seat. "I would have been happy to delay my trip. These old bones don't take well to space travel these days. What is this about?"
 
The Primus paused, then nodded. "I thought you would like to know. Vesar succeeded. Your choice was the right one."
 
Allen thought back to 3005, and just who had suggested the sharp and ambitious Kristofur for the slot of Precentor ROM. "Oh, I believe you can take credit for that, Precentor Atreus," he said, with a trace of bitterness. 
 
Tiepolo frowned. "Yes, well. That seems likely."
 
The ex-Primus leaned forward. "So are the suspicions true? Are they from the SLDF?"
 
The current Primus set aside his spectacles. "After a fashion. They would certainly claim so."
 
"Ah?"
 
Tiepolo laced his fingers together in front of him. "Kerensky brought the seeds of the Succession Wars with him. He died a broken man, with those he wanted to protect clawing for knives to gut each other with."
 
"How…" Allen searched for the word, "...disappointing."
 
"How predictable," spat the Primus. "Any fool could see that an effort at colonization for, by, and composed of primarily traumatized veterans would fall into ruin. Far better had he done as some of them had suspected, and led them out to die starving in the vacuum of space. No, instead we have a warped collection of military juntas, existing to support and breed a finer…" he sneered, "...example of warriors, in a society which has no neighbors to speak of. They breed outlaws to sharpen their fangs on, then hone themselves against each other in ritualized combat to the death, all while preaching an aversion to waste!"
 
Allen suddenly felt every one of his years. His bones ached, his joints grated, his muscles quivered. It had been a foolish hope that Kerensky had maintained a torch of civilization. A boyhood dream. Kerensky had been a beaten man, one who could not, did not ever show the flexibility to face the real challenges. He had lived by the sword, and had been constrained by it. The only tool that near-mythical man had was one specifically designed to kill other humans. He had been doomed to failure from the start. "The road ahead is clear," he quoted. "We shall continue ahead, no matter the difficulties."The pain remained, but Blake's vision buoyed him.
 
"The only hope," said the Primus. He smiled. "I do not take you lightly, Allen."
 
Rusenstein bowed his head in thanks.
 
The two of them sat in what felt like companionable silence. "Why did you agree to the Jolly Roger Plan?" asked Tiepolo. "I don't think I ever asked you."
 
Allen shifted himself, trying to find a more comfortable position. "You didn't," he agreed. "I imagine that I did was sufficient at the time. And that I took some credit for the early successes."
 
"It was," said the Primus, without shame. "But why?"
 
The old man sighed. "Why did you adopt my policies for the Guard and the C-bill upon your Primacy?" he asked rhetorically. "Because the plan was sound." At Tiepolo's surprised look, he nodded. "Oh yes. We were doing well enough with recruitment without investment in the Periphery, but that wouldn't last. The First Circuit was right, we could only maintain that state of affairs for so long. Rumors travelling by dropship would eventually undermine our goodwill. We needed a reason why Comstar's 'investment' wasn't showing returns. And diverting the ambitious into piracy keeps them from forming grander ambitions. Supplying them with weapons keeps them from developing their own industrial base. A pirate threat that we could kick the legs out from under was an optimal choice…or something close to it."
 
"And it would turn the eyes of the Successor States outwards," pointed out Tiepolo, in reflection of his arguments back then.
 
"That as well," said Allen. "Now, it ended up an embarrassment, and too much was done to closely stage-manage things, but how do our brothers from Sandhurst say it? A tactical failure, but a strategic victory, yes?"
 
"I imagine they might not view the affair so kindly," said the Primus. The Holy Order of Sandhurst's members had gotten quite the bloody nose at the hands of the pirates, despite their superior equipment.
 
"Oh, their pride was wounded," agreed Rusenstein. "But they learned that they were not up to the task at that price. They learned where they needed to change to better serve the Blessed Blake's will. Imagine if they had failed during a critical task. Yes, we lost HPGs. But they are only holy for what they allow us to do. It was a dear price, but Comstar stands stronger for paying it."
 
"And your Primacy?" asked Tiepolo.
 
Allen sighed. "You and I have opposed each other at times, but at no point have I ever thought you a poor servant of the Founder's vision. You handle the First Circuit more deftly than I ever did. There is a pain to be cast aside," he admitted. "But I do not worry for the Order under your guidance."
 
The Primus paused a long moment. "Perhaps you should."
 
Allen straightened. "What do you mean?" When he didn't get an answer, he tried again. "Julian, what has you asking all this of me? I'm simply a humble Precentor these days."
 
"I don't think there is anyone else I can talk to who might understand," said Tiepolo, finally. "I imagine that my situation is somewhat like yours, watching your protege push forward for the sake of their ambition."
 
Ah, thought Allen. "Vesar," he said.
 
"Vesar," confirmed the Primus. "I knew he was ambitious, of course. No one rises so high without the hunger. But he was always overfocused. He needed to be hands-on for his projects. It limited him."
 
"He made a good figurehead, and an effective agent."
 
"And a poor politician," said Tiepolo. "ROM has little loyalty to him. But lately…"
 
"I take it he's behind the push back towards wars?" asked Rusenstein.
 
"I've had to co-sign much of it," said the Primus, "if only because so much of it was already done. It fits ROM's mission and more importantly, the ambitions of those below Vesar."
 
"I see why you've asked about the Jolly Roger Affair," said Rusenstein.
 
"I thought you might." Tiepolo spread his hands. "He's extended the Marik Civil War, propped up the Capellans, and supplied the Draconis Combine so that they can apply pressure on both the Lyrans and Suns. And that's just the large-scale moves." 
 
"It makes sense," said Allen. At Julian's aghast expression, he explained. "Oh, I don't think it's a safe move for Comstar, but I understand it. The Kuritans can be counted on to overextend, especially with their supplies being dependent on our non-existent goodwill. And with the fight over glory an all-fronts offensive will amount to, there will be plenty of fractures to exploit there. The Davions need to be taken down a peg, what with that NAIS project, and now is the time to do it, with their vaunted military in disarray and political conflicts flaring back up. The Lyrans too, need to be addressed before Katrina's reforms can tell, especially with the League's economic damage leaving them a weaker competitor."
 
"You think he intends to fracture the Great Houses?" asked the Primus.
 
"It would put Comstar in a position in greater relative power to any one small polity," pointed out Rusenstein. "The Terran Hegemony was well served by technical and military overmatch. And with communications in our hands, well…" he shrugged. "Of course, this is incredibly risky, and would require a new path forward for the Order."
 
"And that would require a new Primus," snorted Tiepolo.
 
"I could be wrong," said Allen. "He may just be looking to build a base of power in the aftermath of the Marik Civil War, between the League and the Confederation. Damaging the other major players would serve that as well. But, yes, I imagine he is allowing his ambition to override his caution."
 
"A masterful understatement," said the Primus. "I do believe he missed the point you were trying to make in your book about direct action needing to be covert."
 
Rusenstein smiled. "Well, you did catch me editing my words, Primus. But perhaps not." He gestured back to the computer. "For as much havoc and danger as Precentor ROM exposes us to, he has accomplished this largely through our control of communications and resources. The pen, not the sword."
 
Tiepolo nodded. "Words to meditate on." He picked up his spectacles and slid them back on his face. "I won't take up any more of your time. Please continue your edits. I would look forward to a revision of Blessed Destiny." He stood, waving the ex-Primus back down as Allen tried to stand as well. "Adept Rachan here will help you get your draft to the printers."
 
Allen looked over to the man with the tarpit eyes, still standing in the corner, a brooding expression on his face. "Very kind of you, Primus. It was a pleasure to speak with you. Goodbye."
 
Tiepolo nodded. "Blake's Blessings be upon you, Allen." He left.
 
The ex-Primus sat there for a long while, before moving back to his computer. "This will only take a bit, Adept," he said, starting his typing back up, searching for the words he needed to set down for posterity. His fingers flew, more dexterous than they had felt in years. Perhaps now he would be able to bridge the gap from the crystalline truth in his head to the words on the page.
 
When the needle entered his vein, it was no surprise. 
 
Primuses did not die of natural causes.
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Book 2 Begins
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*;Notes from the Author : And so we begin. (Again.) For those of you who have been with me for a while, I've been promising a check in on the great game of Inner Sphere politics. Here it is. With my intention for this book to cleave closer to the format of the CBT novels, this is a reflection of the 'context chapters' that bookend the more focused stories of the novel proper. As you can see, the Inner Sphere is, to paraphrase the MW3 intro, 'once again at war'. Everyone is grasping at opportunities. Everyone is making mistakes. Not all the moves are clear yet. Canon is well and truly off the rails.
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