SotU3 Chpt 22

=Chapter 22=
==State of the Union - Book 3==
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The Triad, Tharkad
Donegal Province, Federated Commonwealth
November 18th, 3067
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Peter Steiner-Davion slumped into his favorite armchair. It had once belonged to Alessandro Steiner, but the twenty-eighth Archon had left the chair and the suite behind when he abdicated in 3007. The rooms had been largely unused during the reign of Peter’s grandmother, Katrina, then Peter and his brother Arthur had shared them during their childhood visits to Tharkad.
After Kathrina’s reign, Peter had elected not to use the same rooms she had used; instead going back to these rooms. Yvonne presumably didn’t feel the same way so what had been the Archon’s rooms for three generations had been relabeled the Regent’s suite. Such changes had been made before, inevitable with House Steiner having occupied the Triad complex ever since the capital moved to Tharkad from Arcturus.
“So what should I call you, after the wedding?” he asked his younger sister.
“I would prefer Yvonne.” she answered from where she was sitting primly on the couch.
“Yes, it would be confusing if you changed it to Katherine.” agreed Catherine Steiner-Davion, who was occupying the armchair matching Peter’s. The only difference was that Peter’s chair was slightly less faded, since it was further from the window. Neither chair was shabby, but they hadn’t been reupholstered since he was a boy and the difference was just about visible.
“Very funny.” Peter rubbed his forehead. “I meant your surname. I mean, Sandoval-Steiner-Davion is a bit of a mouthful, but that’s about the easiest way to triple-barrel your name.”
“There is precedent.” Yvonne admitted, “That’s what I’ll use officially, but Tancred and I agreed that I’ll just use Steiner-Davion most of the time. Our children will probably have to decide between Steiner-Davion, Sandoval or Luvon.”
“You want to revive that name?” he asked.
“It was our grandfather’s - and as you told me when you foisted Donegal off on me. The name still has standing there.”
“I object to the word foist -” Peter began and then broke off when there was a knock on the door. “What is it?”
The door opened a crack. “I’m sorry, sir. Precentor William Blane of the Word of Blake has arrived and requests a private meeting with yourself or any of the other Steiner-Davions on a matter of utmost importance.”
Peter checked his mental list of the arrivals for the Whitting Conference. “Did he come directly from the spaceport?”
“Yes sir. When he arrived at the gates the sentries thought he had been misdirected regarding his quarters, but he was very insistent and he is an honored guest. Security is checking him now, but we’re confident that this is the Precentor.” The security officer looked embarrassed. “He doesn’t appear to be armed, but the situation is highly unusual.”
“It’s a hell of a breach of protocol on his part.” Peter glanced at Catherine. “What do you think?”
“I wouldn’t be confident that we can find any... weapons that might be hidden.” she replied after a moment’s thought. “But however angry he might be about Odessa, I don’t think he’d be suicidal.”
Peter rubbed his jaw. “Better that we don’t all meet him though. No, don’t get up.” he added to Yvonne. “I don’t want him in my quarters either. I’ll speak to him in… ah, I suppose the throne room won’t be in use for anything.”
Catherine chuckled. “It’s not a very intimate meeting place, Peter.”
“I’m not feeling very intimate. And I’ll have a couple of ‘Mechs to hide behind if this really is some sort of trap.” As well as a couple of snipers in the shadows of the gallery.
He pulled himself to his feet and straightened his robe. Like most of the casual robes he wore, it was a plain Lyran blue without any particular trimmings; but it was neat enough and it covered his undershirt, which was less presentable after the day he’d had. Peter shoved his feet into his boots, glad he’d still been wearing his uniform pants and left his sisters to their conversation. Even four years on, they were still getting used to each other - although Yvonne coming to Tharkad had slowed that process considerably so that was probably his fault too.
The throne room was deserted at the moment - it would serve very little role during the Star League Council meetings since, for obvious reasons, none of the council members was seated above the others. The formal discussions would take place in the similarly cavernous ballroom. As Peter walked in, two carefully concealed doors on the back wall opened and a pair of Griffin BattleMechs walked in, positioning themselves flanking the throne. Both ‘Mechs saluted him as he walked down the carpeted strip leading to the throne - text book if not for the fact that they used their left hands rather than waving around the weapons secured in the right fists of the Griffins.
Peter nodded to the pair, who probably hadn’t expected that they would be called to duty at this time of the evening. Both wore the colors of the Royal Guards, with the only difference the lion’s head on the chest of one and the pschent on the other’s, marking them as representing the First and the Fifth Royal Guards respectively.
Taking his seat, Peter smoothed his robes and checked the discreet comm built into the arm of the throne. The rest of the security team were moving into place, while holocameras were running to record everything said for further analysis. Other security measures, such as a subtle air-conditioning that blew air away from Peter, sprang to life.
Only a moment later, with the doors to the ‘Mechbay closed and only visible if you knew exactly where to look, the robed figure of William Blane entered the throne room. Like Peter, he was robed; although his were, of course, those of a Word of Blake Precentor. With his hood back, it was possible to see that he looked bemused at the venue. The man reached the foot of the shallow stairs leading to the throne and paused, bowing his head. “The peace of Blake be upon you, Archon.”
“May it be upon us both.” Peter replied. “I didn’t expect to be formally greeting you at this hour, Precentor. However, I am informed that you wish to discuss a matter of some urgency.”
“Yes.” Blane hesitated. “Several closely related matters, in fact.” He produced a small electronic device from his pocket. “May I activate this projector?”
Peter frowned, but presumably security had checked it already. “Go ahead.”
The Blakist held the device steady and the image of a young woman in an Acolyte’s robes appeared between the two of them, life-size. Her hood was up, but not so much as to obscure her face… and Peter took a deep breath as he saw familiar features. “Who is this?”
“Acolyte Kathleen Madison.” Blane answered. “This image was taken when she first entered ComStar in 3050 at the age of seventeen. She was pulled out of her early training for a more specialized course that doesn’t appear to actually have existed - or rather, was secret even from most of ROM. And after early 3052 she simply vanishes from our records. Admittedly, the schism between ComStar and the Word of Blake might have had something to do with it.”
“She could fit in among my cousins and no one would think she wasn’t one of the Steiners.” Peter said at last. “Or even my own family.”
“There is more than a passing resemblance to your mother and grandmother.” agreed the precentor. “Her mother died in a traffic accident during Acolyte Madison’s teens, her father we have no record of - although I believe such records once existed and were destroyed.” He paused. “She resurfaced in 3064, endorsed as an Adept-13 by Cameron St. Jamais with considerable discretion. To the point that we of the Ruling Conclave knew nothing of it until the handover of his office to Laura Chang earlier this year.” He adjusted the controls and the image changed.
Peter was half-out of the throne before he realized it. “Where is she?!” he demanded, glaring at Blane through the image of his alleged sister Katherine, wearing Blakist robes.
“I wish I had an answer for you.” Blane shook his head sadly. “She was on Terra near the start of this year, playing a role within the reformation of the sects that are broadly considered Shunners. She is, unsurprisingly perhaps, a convincing speaker. However, with St. Jamais’ departure to serve on Highspire, she also dropped out of sight. On assignment through ROM, but the nature of that assignment is mysteriously ill-defined in our records.”
“Convenient.” he grated, settling back into the throne.
“I wouldn’t use that word.” The precentor shook his head again. “Rather the reverse. With Laura now serving as Precentor-Martial, there has been a shake-up of the Ruling Conclave. Rather than electing another Expatriate, the former Shunners seem likely to resume their seat… although I believe their new leaders prefer to call themselves Terran-focused or even Terra-ists.”
“You’re joking about this?”
Blane scowled. “I am entirely serious. Alas, so are they.”
“That’s in incredibly poor taste.”, Peter said
“I know!” The aged precentor shook his head. “There was a real possibility Madison would have emerged as their candidate. I can only thank our blessed founder that our… negotiations over Odessa have spared us both that for now.”
Peter covered his eyes for a moment and counted down from ten. “You’re telling me that my brother’s thrones were usurped by a Blakist agent and that that same agent might become part of your Ruling Conclave?”
“The Word of Blake did not exist at the time.” Blane pointed out. “I cannot confirm that Madison did indeed spend her twelve years of absence purporting to be a member of your family. Alas, her medical records are also notable for their paucity. However, there is a very real possibility that what you are saying is correct. Please be assured that I find this as horrifying as you do.”
“My god…” He shook his head. “And you said related matters, what more is there?”
“The first clue we had leading us to Madison was a covert signal to the Precentor Martial’s office a month ago.” Blane deactivated the holoprojector, returning it to his sleeve. “Presumably by someone unaware that St. Jamais had stepped down. Once decrypted, the message requested supply for a warship that no one could identify, or at least no one was willing to admit to knowing about. As the location was within the solar system, Precentor Chung agreed to send dropships with supplies, instead loading them with marine infantry. With some difficulty - and sadly, quite heavy losses - they boarded and seized control of the vessel in question.”
Peter thought back to the data recovered from Odessa. “The Lucien Davion. Cameron St Jamais had recovered it the same time he welcomed this Madison woman back into the Blakist fold.”
thumb|right|lost Avalon Class Cruiser, Lucien Davion
“I cannot see any other way that a Toyamist crew would claim to be operating an Avalon-class cruiser.” Blane agreed. “And this does very much support the conclusions we are both drawing about Madison. It is not proof, but the circumstances are beyond suspicious. We will, of course, return the vessel to you - if you prefer not to send a crew into the Terran star system, we can provide a temporary crew to pilot it to any nearby system of the Federated Commonwealth.”
“I’ll get back to you.” So many questions that he had asked himself for years, but now that he had answers they only raised more issues. “And you have no idea where she is?”
“Having departed months ago, she could be almost anywhere in the Inner Sphere. If we find more, then by all means I will pass it on, but you understand why I wished to speak to you in person about this matter without any further delays.” Blane folded his hands. “Any HPG communication would pass through ComStar hands, and I am not prepared to risk this being decrypted by them until you were made aware.”
“I can understand that.” Peter allowed grudgingly. This would be worse than Odessa if it became public, Gavin Dow and Sharilar Mori would have no difficulty torpedoing the Word’s membership in the Star League - and who knew how the Blakists’ extremists would handle that. As much as Peter would prefer to be done with them, right now that wasn’t a luxury he had. The AFFC was in no position to respond effectively if the Blakists decided to sever the Terran Corridor. One of the major arguments for fighting the Clans this year was to have a free hand if that became an issue in the future. “What does St. Jamais have to say for himself?”
“So far he is denying all knowledge of Madison or of the Sword of Purity.”
“The what?”
Blane blinked. “Oh, er - my apologies. That was what the crew were calling your cruiser.”
Peter took a deep breath. “Purity. I - see.” This was not going to put him in the ideal mood to sleep tonight. “I assume that I’m not the only one here to find his protests less than convincing.”
The old Blakist shook his head. “Unfortunately, I lack the political capital to bring him back from Highspire, particularly as that was presented as a face-saving way to meet your requirements. We’ll continue to investigate but I can’t promise you quick answers.”
“Your honesty is appreciated. Is there something else?”
“Not so much something to tell you as a possibility you may wish to consider.” The precentor looked tired. “I don’t know if I’ll be the representative at future Whitting Conferences. The political situation within the conclave is… turbulent. I can’t rule out that Adept Madison may not be that representative and given the manner in which First Lords are selected she might even become First Lord.”
“What a wonderful prospect.”
“I understand that you will be seeking the office for the next three years and for what it’s worth, you will have my vote. However, there is also the question of whether new members will be eligible to serve before other houses have a chance to be elected again. If not, only yourself and whoever may be serving as Captain-General in three years - if anyone - are currently eligible. It assures you of election this year. However, after that it would be hard to predict. If the other seats are eligible, it will be fifteen years before House Liao or House Kurita can stand.”
“However, it would almost guarantee that there will be a Word of Blake First Lord within that time and assumes a viable Marik.”
Blane nodded. “But if you were not elected, or if our representative in three years is not Madison…”
“Ah…” Peter tapped his fingers on the arm of the throne. “Then the Word of Blake will have its turn and she can’t claim the seat for several years - and would be competing with many other candidates when that time comes.”
“It is something to consider, your highness. I believe Protector Shraplen is quite eager to become First Lord to prop himself up given domestic discontent within his rule.”
“And this isn’t you wanting the office of the First Lord for yourself?” he asked cynically.
Blane laughed lightly. “In my experience, Lord Steiner-Davion, no one takes you seriously in politics unless you have some aspirations to dominate the entire Inner Sphere. The importance is to remain realistic about them.”
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