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Jumpship Poison Ivy, High Orbit
Canopus IV, Magistracy of Canopus
3 March 2577 (2 March 3032 local calendar)

“It doesn’t look very much like home.”

Normally looking out of a spacecraft’s window doesn’t show much but the starscape. Even from this high an orbit, however, the naked eye could pick out details of Canopus.

Canopus had been a garden world, a veritable paradise. But the world they saw now had a perpetual haze of pollution between them and the surface. Even the clouds seemed darker. Above the planet, cluttering the lower orbitals were hundreds of space stations. Factories, shipyards and more than a few sleek ovoids that traffic control had been firm about warning them off from approaching.

“I’m not surprised that it’s changed.” Margaid was making use of a connection that  to the planetary data-net. “There’s a sort of public library set up for free access. Well, more of an encyclopedia, I suppose. The entry for Canopus says the population is just short of eleven billion.”

Mela blinked and turned away from the window. “Eleven what? That’s worse than Terra!”

“About the same,” Osami told her. “Captain, just how big is the Magistracy these days?”

Margaid ran a quick search of the directory for that information. “One hundred and fifteen planets in the Magistracy. Another sixty-four in the Duchy of Andurien, which is apparently ‘in personal union’, whatever that means. Any ideas?”

“It means it’s a separate state with the same ruler, Captain.”

“Politics!” The captain made a disgusted noise. “Ah, the current Duchess is a kid and the Magestrix is her Regent. Um. I bet some of them aren’t too happy about that.”

Sara shrugged. “Is that really our problem?”

“It is if we trade that way, which admittedly probably wouldn’t be the wisest choice. It’s a major trade route and we couldn’t compete.” Margaid sighed. “Oh, and we’re apparently minor celebrities. Make sure your gladrags are clean because when we send down a shore party they can expect journalists to be asking questions.”

“Any chance of taking advantage of our celebrity-status?” asked Sara thoughtfully. “Maybe get some passengers signed up.”

“Not... actually such a bad idea,” Margaid admitted. “I’ll see what might be available.”

There was a chirp from Mela’s console and she turned to look at it. “Hold off on committing us to a job,” she declared. “We just got a squirt transmission from the Magestrix Command Centre. MIM wants to interview us all again and then for us to stay over Canopus until the Magestrix gets back – they don’t say where from – so she can interview us.” She looked up. “They are offering us a retainer though, compensation for loss of business.”

“Is it any good?”

“You’re the financial brain, captain. Is a million dollars a month good? I could do a lot of shopping on a million.”

Margaid did some swift mental calculations – payroll, consumables, operating fees. “Lower your expectations to how much shopping you can do on your salary. Dividends on your share of the company aren’t due until the end of the financial year in April.”

“We’re taking the deal?”

“Mela, we’re under their guns. Of course we’re taking the deal. But for that retainer, we’ll take the deal and smile.”


SLDS Hanover, Zenith Jump Point
Bryceland, Outworlds Alliance
13 March 2577

Everything had been going perfectly for the SLDF task force heading towards Bryceland.

For, oh, at least four hours after they jumped into the system.

That was the point at which nine warships jumped in at the same jump point that the transport flotilla carrying the Fourteenth Brigade had just left on their long, slow transit towards the system. The Outworlds Alliance didn’t have any warships. Everyone knew that.

Lieutenant General Kern Peleshenko saw the icon marking the SLS Collingwood, the corvette left to guard the jumpships, dull suddenly.

“Was it... is the Collingwood gone?” he asked in a hushed voice.

Zarina Habachi, the naval lieutenant assigned as his liason to the ships that were responsible for the space side of operations, shook her head. “That means he’s struck,” she explained. “Surrendered, I mean. I don’t think he’d have much choice.”

Peleshenko swallowed his initial response, which was to be an angry denunciation. This wasn’t like a planet – if a ship or fighter was crippled out here the crew couldn’t just go to ground. “I see.” What he saw was the jumpships that had brought his forces here surrendering in a rush now that their protector had given up the fight.

Instead he looked at the larger display, the one showing the entire system. “Unless I mistake this, our only real chance is to get to the planet, and hopefully have one of our escorts charge their drive enough to jump out from a pirate point and get help. Is that a viable course of action?”

Habachi looked at the plot. “It depends on how fast those ships are – or at least how willing they are to run down their fuel reserves chasing us.”

“Do any better alternatives suggest themselves?” He made a mental note to get another liaison officer if the opportunity arose. Prying answers out Habachi was turning out to be more of a bonus than a benefit.

She looked at the tactical plot and he saw sweat on her face. “Given the number of fighters that they’re launching I’m not sure that it will work, sir,” she answered at last.

Peleshenko felt his face tighten. “Not quite an answer to my question, lieutenant. Please contact the Commodore for me so that I may consult him directly.”

There were three more corvettes in the force. In theory, they and the brigade’s aero-squadrons should have been enough to beat off any credible threat by Outworlds fighters. That clearly wasn’t going to be the case now.

While Habachi was engaged in setting up the call he walked over to the intelligence section. “Do you have any interesting data for us to send out to Corps HQ?”

The Major heading up the section frowned. “Possibly. We’re intercepting a certain amount of traffic between the ships and the surface and to be honest, Outworlder codes are pretty rudimentary.”

He paused in thought for a moment and then nodded. “I’m fairly sure that Friexa didn’t know they were coming. In fact, I’m not sure she has any idea who they are.” Freixa, the planetary Chairman (an actual military rank in the Outworlds, Peleshenko had been amused to learn) of Bryceland and the adversary he’d been preparing to face in battle on the surface.

“That’s quite a well kept secret if it’s true.” Peleshenko scratched his chin. “I’m not really involved in that business but I wouldn’t have thought it would be feasible to hide warship construction.”

“There are various shell games that can be played,” the Major allowed judiciously. “But those generally involve masking what is being built at a shipyard. Hiding the existence of a shipyard – or more specifically the movement of supplies to a shipyard since the actual location can be quite easily obscured – is quite difficult. And all our sources agree that the Alliance simply does not have the capability to build that fleet. So either our sources are hopelessly ill-informed or the ships came from elsewhere.”

“The Taurians?”

“Well they don’t match anything we have them on record as building but it is possible.”

Peleshenko nodded sharply towards him. “Put together some files. We’ll try to slip one of the corvettes to a pirate point so it can jump to Niles and warn General Forlough about this.” He grinned slightly. “Look on the bright side, at this rate the Outworlders may kill us before Angry Amos gets his paws on you.”

“That’s very reassuring sir. I look forward to it.”

The general laughed, a short bitter bark of laughter at the gallows humour and then turned to check on Habachi’s progress. It was going to be a long week, if they survived it. Possibly less than a week if the convoy poured on the thrust. Normally that would be a waste of fuel but the fact of the matter was, with that flotilla on their tail, the only concern was getting to Bryceland’s surface. After that, the dropships wouldn’t need any fuel.

Crystal Palace, Crimson
Canopus IV, Magistracy of Canopus
25 March 2577 (24 March 3032 local calendar)

Brion Marik thought he might be in shock as the helicopter conveyed him towards the capital of the Canopus.

The fact that he was being taken to what his memory told him wasn’t even the correct city barely even registered. While Crimson housed the majority of government bodies, his previous visit had been to the ceremonial capital of Delphi and the Magestrix’ palace there.

The weather was wet and unpleasantly humid, although he might have put that down to the season rather than the planet itself. Below him, the streets of the city were marked by colourful umbrellas and shopping districts could be picked out from the awnings that stretched out from shop-fronts to cover the pavement in front of them.

The young Marik barely noticed the colours, or the glass and steel palace ahead of him. His mind was still focused on what he’d seen as the dropship descended through the low orbitals and towards the spaceport.

It could only have been deliberate that their course had been set to go past a military shipyard that he could have sword was not there when he visited in 2574. A shipyard with its construction slips very plainly in the process of assembling two dozen cruiser or frigate-sized ships. The military threat of such a force was for one of his aides to estimate, but the financial investment was something that Brion – familiar with the naval budget of the Free Worlds League – was concerned about. The ships in that yard represented at least sixty billion Eagles of investment, which was rather more than his previous best guess at what Canopus could afford. And if the yards were new, which seemed likely? At least half again as much as his previous investment.

Showing them off to him wasn’t just pride. It was a threat: Canopus had more resources than had been guessed at.

Thunder rattled the sky as the helicopter settled down onto one of a clover-leaf of landing pads tucked behind the Crystal Palace. No sooner had the rotor come to a stop than the entire pad began to sink smoothly into hill below, obviously being brought to a hanger beneath the palace.

The resulting hanger was far too clean to be a working hanger – Brion glanced back out of the window and spotted a sliding door that probably led to the actual maintenance and repair bays – but it did sport a rotating doorway such as those used by hotels and two functionaries were unrolling a red carpet from the doorway to the hatch of the VTOL.

“The literal red carpet treatment,” mused Elise. “It’s rather fun to be royalty.”

Brion looked over at his wife and wished private that she’d been willing to go back to Atreus with his father or stay on Cole Harbour. Anywhere, in fact, other than joining him on this mission. If the Marik clan had been any smaller then he could have laid responsibility for their children onto her, but honestly they both knew that the family would care for them if the worst came to worst.

Instead of commenting, he stood and then offered his arm. “Shall we go?”

She smiled and accepted his arm.

Outside the VTOL hatch a handful of soldiers in dark blue uniforms had formed up as an honour guard. Brion paused at the hatch as they came to attention. The officer at their head bowed sharply at the waist rather than saluting. “Duke Marik, Duchess Marik. Quarters have been arranged for you at the Free Worlds League embassy once you have presented your credentials, but the Magestrix was hoping you would be willing to speak to her immediately.”

Brion nodded automatically. “Of course.” Was this good, or bad?”

He expected to be led to an elevator up into the surface portions of the building but instead the officer led them down a gently descending passageway – wide and lined with potted bushes. There was a conveyor built into the floor and the man led them onto it, turning to speak to them as the moving floor carried them down into the depths. There were doors every few metres, each with discreet brass name panels.

“There aren’t any dungeons down here,” their guide promised. “The Magestrix simply felt it would be a discreet place to meet without too much public attention.”

There certainly wasn’t a great deal of attention being paid to the three of them, although they passed several men and women either walking to either side of the conveyor or riding it in the other direction. A few wore uniform but most wore business dress, albeit in subtly different styles from those Brion had seen in the Inner Sphere.

A moment later they were ushered off the conveyer and down a short side corridor into a warmly furnished antechamber. “The Magestrix will be here in a moment,” the man promised, before closing the double doors behind them.

Brion automatically looked at the other doors, which were almost identical and then looked at Elise when she released his arm and walked to examine the fireplace that occupied one of the long sides to the room. The other had a comfortable looking couch.

“It’s a bit risqué,” observed Elise of the carved decoration around the fireplace, most of which were representing the nude human form and appeared almost but not quite grecian.

“In my experience, the Canopians can be quite liberal,” he told her. “And their entertainment industry is quite successful.”

There was a small click and the door into the inner chamber opened. The woman standing there was evidently not Crystalla Centrella, but at the same time she was certainly someone of importance. A golden tiara held thick black hair from blue eyes and a dusky complexion. Although Brion would have guessed she was around his own age she stood no higher than his chin. Then again, neither had his great-grandfather Albert. The knee-length plaid skirt and white blouse gave her a school-girl air but she wore a crimson mantle over it.

“Welcome to Canopus, your grace,” she said, looking at him before turning to Elise. “And greetings to you, Duchess Marik. Please join me.”

The room behind had several chairs around the walls but the dominating furniture was an ornate desk with two well-stuffed armchairs in front of it. The woman waved them towards the armchairs and moved to sit behind the desk. “Normally, of course, you would present your credentials to my foreign minister, but I would prefer to keep this informal.” She settled herself and Brion guessed that the chair was slightly elevated to make up for her lack of height. “I imagine that you were expecting Crystalla but I, Savitri Centrella, am now Magestrix.”

“You would be correct in your assumption,” Brion admitted, mind racing. “It seems that there have been a great many sudden changes of late.”

“More than you may realise.” Savitri shrugged slightly. “Let us first deal with your accreditation.”

“Of course.” Brion produced the slim document case and placed it upon the desk in front of his hostess.

She opened it and read the contents swiftly. One eyebrow arched. “Irony is alive and well it seems.”

“I beg your pardon?” Elise asked.

“Ah.” Savitri appeared embarrassed. “Merely thinking out loud. Duke Marik I acknowledge your accreditation to my court as Ambassador Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary on behalf of the Free Worlds League.” She returned the paperwork. “Since this is issued in the name of Captain-General Ian Marik, would I be correct in assuming that your grandmother was somewhere along our mutual border during the Christmas festivities?”

“On Kanata.”

“Ah. And no doubt you are concerned for her wellbeing and whereabouts.” The Magestrix gave them both a rueful look. “I can only guess, I am afraid. However, I do have a reasonable idea of what happened that Christmas Night, if not why.”

Brion sat back in the chair. “And what did happen?”

“A region of space was moved backwards or forwards precisely four hundred and fifty-five calendar years.”

The two Mariks blinked at her.

“Ludicrous isn’t it?” she admitted. “I can’t even tell you if it was the Star League being moved forward in time or the Periphery being sent back in time, although I am leaning towards the latter, as it is our political boundaries that seem to be being used as guidelines.”

“Is this... are you joking? How could that possibly happen?”

“If it’s a joke, then it’s on us.” Savitri smiled. “I can only assume, since political boundaries were respected and the transition has left our calendars almost perfectly aligned – it was perfect up until the end of February since this is a leap year for us – that this is something done deliberately and with great precision. But I cannot claim responsibility for it happening. It might as well have been an act of God.”

Elise frowned. “Are you suggesting that the reason that the stars are not quite where they used to be is because they weren’t transported to the correct locations?”

“That’s one possibility,” Savitri agreed. “However comparing our star charts suggests that it’s actually perfectly ordinary stellar drift. Your charts don’t account for centuries of the stars moving and ours anticipate it as having taken place – which of course means that we’re both missing our targets when we cross the boundaries between... uptime and downtime shall we say?” She shrugged. “Your own astronomers can probably work out the maths and it should let you find us. More’s the pity.”

There was a silence.

“You mean the Star League.”

“Precisely.” There was no smile on Savitri’s face. “I am fully familiar with the fatuous pomposity of the Pollux Proclaimation. So let me make this perfectly clear: the Star League’s right to pontificate ends at its borders. You are not facing the periphery states of the twenty-sixth century any more. You are facing nations that are older, richer and more powerful than you. And on this, if nothing else, we stand united.”

She rested one small fist on the desk between them. “In 3025, the heads of House Kurita, House Davion, House Steiner and House Marik offered formal apologies to the Periphery for their acquiescence with the Star League’s abuses, a list that starts with the Pollux Proclaimation and goes on for two hundred years. My people know exactly where the victory of the Star League leads and we will not subject ourselves to centuries as a conquered, exploited province of Terra.”

“How can you claim to be older?” protested Elise. “Canopus was colonised by, well, by deserters from the Free Worlds League Military!”

“Yes, but from our perspective the colonisation of Canopus was just over five hundred years ago. It’s less than two years since we celebrated our fifth centennial. When was Marik colonised? Four hundred and twenty years ago?” Savitri’s smile was a trifle smug.

Brion stood. “You’ve quite a bombshell on me, Magestrix and I’m rather tired from the journey. Perhaps we could continue this conversation another time?”

“Perhaps that might be best,” Savitri agreed. “But first, in answer to the original question that we seem to have drifted away from, I can think of three possible answers to the question of where Marion Marik might be.”

“If it is the Star League that was moved, then she is precisely where she was previously: in the twenty-sixth century. Presumably wondering where you have all gone to. Or if it is we who were moved, she is either back where we came from in the thirty-first century... or she was destroyed in the instant of our arrival.”


It wasn’t until he entered the banqueting hall of the Embassy that Brion realised that the almost excessive deference he was being shown was historical reverence.

“I was... would be Captain-General?” he asked, looking at the oil portrait that was almost what he saw in the mirror each morning.

The ambassador, a woman named Jacquelynn Ortega, nodded her head. “You were elected after your grandmother’s death in 2698, sir.”

“My grandmother is currently missing. My father is provisionally acting as Captain-General.” He glanced around. “I suppose there’s room for one more portrait somewhere.”

There was a gasp from Elise and Brion saw her staring at the next portrait along. His own jaw fell. “Rhean?” he asked, and then checked the dates. “Only three years in office? Did she stand down?”

Ortega winced.

“She’d only be forty-eight!” Elise protested.

“I’m afraid it was... will be  cancer,” the ambassador explained. She glanced along the line of portraits. “Actually I believe three of your children and three grandchildren all served at one time or another in the next century although Rhean Marik was the only one to die in office. And medical science has come a long way...”

“We’ll take it under advisement,” Brion told her dryly, concious of his wife’s death-grip upon his arm. “We do have thirty years or so to take her to see a doctor.”

He ushered Elise to a chair. “Much as I’m almost afraid to hear about it, I think we need to know about the history that we’ve missed out on. Perhaps nothing so personal though, if you please.”

Ortega took a seat opposite them. “I’m not sure how much you know already, so... I was appointed by the fiftieth Captain-General, Kristen Marik, following the War of Andurien Secession. I served during the Capellan Crisis the following year, which was seven years ago. Since then relations have been fairly warm – pragmatically, the League and the Magistracy are close trading partners and have mutual interests in blocking the further expansion of the Federated Commonwealth.”

“Alright, that suggests a few questions. I gather from the Magestrix that the Star League is no longer a concern?”

“Ah, no. The Star League dissolved in 2780, although the Succession Wars, which lasted until 3020 were notionally over the throne of the First Star Lord.”

“And this Capellan Crisis? What was the outcome there?”

Ortega pursed her lips. “Essentially? The Treaty of Sian formalised the dissolution of the Confederation with territorial concessions to the Free Worlds League, Federated Suns, Taurian Concordat and Duchy of Andurien. The assembled House Lords also agreed to form several international bodies, headquartered on the moons of Sian to act as a moderating force on international politics. Oh, and the Ares Conventions were formally re-instated.”

“That sounds fairly drastic, I take it that House Liao was... not a factor in this conference.”

“No sir. The last Chancellor was a Liao by marriage alone and frankly, it was her... actions that spurred a coalition to form against the Confederation. The last Liao of the principal lineage was her step-daughter Candace Liao-Hasek, who was assassinated two years following, along with her husband the Duke of New Syrtis, who was then the Heir Presumptive to the Federated Suns.”

“I see, I think. And what led to the Andurien Secession?”

“A rather complicated matter, sir.” Ortega looked uncomfortable. “I would have to say that relations with House Humphreys had been poor for some time and the Captain-General at the time was pursuing some contentious financial policies. There was considerable rumbling, but the actual trigger was the invasion of the Marian League. Ah, you wouldn’t have heard of them – a Periphery realm founded in the early thirtieth century. I believe Duggan Marik wanted a short victorious war to extend the Free Worlds League and bolster his support...”

“I take it things didn’t go well.”

The ambassador looked pained. “He appointed his brother Thomas, whose background was... well, that’s rather complicated. He was an academic and Duggan appointed him as commander of the invasion. Putting it mildly...”

“A disaster?”

She nodded. “The invasion had been compromised, badly, and they walked into a trap. Thomas Marik was killed in a duel against Caesar Marcus O’Reilly and his regiments were crushed by a huge force of mercenaries. Almost fifteen percent of the FWLM was wiped out in four days. Provinces were pulling out even before the news arrived and the MAgistracy of Canopus moved in to prop up Andurien and the Canopian March, the latter of which voted to be annexed almost immediately.”

“It was pre-planned of course. It had been Canopian agents who uncovered plans to invade the Marians and they’d already been negotiating secretly with Duchess Humphreys. And while Duggan was subduing the other breakaway provinces they sent a task force stampeding through the central League, raiding as far away as Keystone.”

“Keystone is the other side of Atreus,” Brion protested.

“Yes, it is. Parliament was in a panic, when Duggan Marik keeled over dead, our current Captain-General was elected with a mandate on any even half-way acceptable terms.”

“What you’re saying is that the Canopians were powerful enough to be considered rivals.”

“Very nearly.” Ortega spread her hands apologetically. “Even after the Capellan settlement, the League is still the smallest of the four remaining Successor States and it’s a toss-up between the Taurians and Canopus-Andurien as to which is the strongest state outside the Inner Sphere. We could beat either one of them if it came to war, but not without leaving ourselves vulnerable to the Lyrans or the Suns.”

“We think the collapse of ComStar in the 3020s when the Toyamaists fled the Inner Sphere neutralised a lot of their previous advantages when it came to information-gathering but their spies are still considered a cut above average.”

“Excuse me,” Brion interjected, “But I don’t follow. Who were ComStar?”

“Ah, the remains of the Star League’s Ministry of Communications.” Ortega shrugged. “They went through a political schism in the early 3020s when a faction felt it was time to share the technological data they had hoarded until the Succession Wars were over. The faction that preferred to continue hoarding, the Toyama faction, won the resultant war for control of ComStar and refugees from the losers played a valuable role in our own rebuilding. Somehow the Magestrix managed to turn several key Toyamaist managers and covertly usurp control of large sections of ComStar. It was possibly the greatest intelligence coup in history.”

“So she controlled their courier ships?”

Ortega shook her head. “I’m sorry sir, there is so much to tell... ComStar operated a network of hyper-pulse generators, essentially allowing real-time communication across short interstellar distances. They had an effective monopoly on internal and external communication by the Successor States.”

“And the Canopians - all the Periphery states – still have them?”

She nodded.

Brion’s face was almost bloodless. “Ambassador, do you think the Canopians will let you leave?”

“Um... I believe they would respect my diplomatic status, yes.”

“You need to talk to my father. And probably the entire Star League Council. Right away.”

“It will take weeks, months even, to reach Atreus.”

“I know, dammit!”

Niles City, Niles
SLDF OZ, Outworlds Alliance
28 March 2577

Amos Forlough had come to Niles as a conqueror. From his tread as he walked into the relatively humble government building, no one could have told that under his uniform tunic bandages still wrapped around his ribs and one shoulder. Any stiffness was easily ascribed to military posture.

And any pain was just weakness leaving the body.

But while his physical condition might be disguised, there was no doubt that his emotional state was wrathful. The campaign had taken more than a week to complete. The main force of II Corps had been faced with what should have been a cakewalk. According to the intelligence agencies, the only defenders should have been no more than local militia. The only reason he’d brought seven entire brigades here had been to use it as a staging area for the next wave.

Except...

He ground his teeth.

One regiment. One Damned regiment of ‘Mechs had been on planet. Outnumbered beyond belief and still they had run rings around his crack forces.

Not enough to stop him, of course. But enough to sting his pride. Enough to bleed his divisions. The ambush at Everstone River had been only the first shock that the ‘Wolfshead’ regiment – no one, not even the local yokels, seemed to know their actual name – had inflicted.

A raid here, a brief but bloody defense there. They fought like ghosts, fading into the backdrop and then lunging out to savage isolated forces. For a man who had cultivated a repuation for implacability, it was not to be endured.

And now? They escaped.

He’d wrapped the planet in a total blockade. Wherever they were going, the corvettes and destroyers at his disposal should have stopped them from leaving.

Should have.

Except that somehow they had all the right codes and authorisations to get past the initial queries, something that heads would roll over. And they’d rode that advantage to build up just enough of a lead to reach a pirate point where a pair of jumpships had been waiting to take them out of his reach.

Forlough didn’t wait for the door to be opened for him. One hand caught the handle before the sentry could and his boot, a good honest mechwarrior boot, kicked it the rest of the way open.

Inside the doors, a cluster of government officials were waiting for him. The entry hall was lined with buolic artwork, the flag of the Outworlds Alliance still on the wall at the far end. That affront was enough to slow, if not stop, the General. “Take that rag down,” he demanded harshly, not caring if the unfortunate man he was eyeing was a janitor or a minister of state.

The suit and the ineptness at unfastening the flag suggested the latter, but Forlough had already moved, climbing the stairs to the governor’s office, which overlooked the gardens to the rear. Behind him the officials stared at each other, wondering if they should follow him or continue to wait. The platoon of military police arriving to take them into custody answered that question.

Upstairs, Forlough displaced the Governor from his seat and now glared at him across the desk. “Niles is now under martial law,” he declared. “How long that lasts depends on how co-operative your people are.”

“If I understand your meaning, then martial law deprives me of any authority to obtain that co-operation,” the man told him quietly. “However with our militia defeated, we have no means to resist you.”

“Do you take me for a fool?”

“We both know that it isn’t that simple.” Forlough eyed the man. Not a fighter, he concluded. “Martial law can take many flavours. Your assistance can make this occupation a great deal easier for the people of Niles. Your interference can make it a great deal harder.”

“What do you want of me?”

The general smiled coldly. “Tell me about these ‘Wolfshead’ BattleMechs that fought against my forces.”

“I know very little, although they refer to themselves as the Wolf Dragoons. They arrived perhaps a week before your fleet entered the system under the leadership of a man named Colonel Wolf. At first we thought they were part of the SLDF but Colonel Wolf stated that they had been sent from Alpheratz to defend us.”

The governor drew himself up slightly. “I am not a military person. I placed them in contact with the Chairman of our militia and allowed them to act as they saw fit, since I had no means to prevent them from doing so.”

“Well your defenders ran off-planet forty-eight hours ago,” Forlough told him. “No doubt your Chairman can tell us more about them. Now, you are going to record a public announcement welcoming the SLDF to Niles and supporting our efforts to restore order.”

“There was no disorder here until you arrived,” the man protested.

“When I want your opinion, Outworlder, I will tell you what it is. Will you obey my orders or shall I place you in a cell and ask the same of your deputy.”

Terra Prime, Apollo
Rim Worlds Republic
7 April 2577

Unbeknownst to Katherine Dormax, Charlotte Grimm wasn’t as far from her as she might have thought. The Confederation-class Destroyer/Carrier OCS Black Pearl wasn’t only present to escort the two regiments that she had sent to retrieve Amaris, but also to ensure the maximum possible security for their queen.

The door to her stateroom – as near to a throne room as could be managed under the circumstances – opened and two infantrymen in the uniforms of Oberon’s regular army escorted a man in manacles into the room with her. Charlotte looked at him inquisitively, as if unsure of his presence, while the guards attached the chains to a pair of loops set in the deck.

“Please don’t step too close, your highness,” the senior of the pair requested. “He’s had at least some military training.”

The use of the honorific drew the attention of the prisoner and he looked up at her. “You. Who are you?” he demanded.

Charlotte smiled slightly. “My, such a rude guest. Should one not offer their own name first?”

“You already know who I am.”

“Humour me. It’s not as if you have anything but time on your hands right now.”

If looks could have killed then his glare would have not only reduced the queen to ashes but also burned through the bulkhead behind her. “Ladies first.”

That drew a laugh. “I’m a lot of things, but a Lady? Please.” Charlotte glanced over to the junior of the two guards, then back to her prisoner. “Now you can play nicely, or I can have you put across the knee of one of these strapping young men and have your backside paddled like a naughty child. Last chance.”

The situation was bizarre enough that the extraordinary threat seemed entirely plausible when to him. “First Consul Gregory Amaris, as you know.”

“Good boy. Are you sure about that First Consul bit?”

“I am. And once the my loyal soldiers and my allies in the Star League put down the rebellion, you will pay for this indignity.”

Charlotte giggled. “Oh dear, you’re so naive. But I’m forgetting my own manners. I am Queen Charlotte Grimm of the Oberon Confederation.”

“Are you sure about that?” Amaris queried sarcastically.

“Let me check. Boys, am I your queen? In the non-dominatrix sense of course.” They nodded, the younger even throwing in a salute. “There, you see. Feel free to try the same if you want.”

“I’ll pass.”

“A wise decision.” Charlotte crossed the stateroom to her chair, an armchair that looked formal enough to pass for a field-expedient throne. “Unlike some of your previous ones. I must admit to being a poor scholar of history, Mr. Amaris, and I’ve been wondering of late, why in the world did you want to join the Star League. It has, after all, cost you your throne.”

“They are all fools. Membership in the Star League offers priceless political and economic advantages. With that, the Republic could at last be the equal of the other states.”

Charlotte shook her head. “Really? I was right to call you naive. You think the Star League is coming to your rescue? They’re doing nothing of the sort. Right at the moment they are gearing up for the invasion of the Magistracy and the Concordat. It’ll be years before they can spare any serious resources from those campaigns to deal with you, and even they you’ll be lower in their priorities than even the Alliance.”

“As for equality, don’t make me laugh. The Republic will be treated just the same as the other periphery realms: they’ll be territories of the Star League, with a voice but no vote at all in the leadership of the League. Oh, they’ll let you and your heirs govern the Republic but you’ll never be equals. And one day, generations from now, one of those heirs will have had enough and he will tear it all down.”

“You’re insane.” Amaris pulled at his chains. “You’re not a prophetess, you’re a jumped up pirate with delusions of a grandeur.”

Charlotte giggled. “Oh I’m a little more than that, Mr. Amaris. But my father? He was a pirate, oh yes indeed. And so were his ancestors, going back another three generations. And sometimes, Mr. Amaris, I feel that blood a little more strongly than others. Would you like me to have you walk the plank? I could do that, you know. Let you die by decompression. Ugly way to die.”

Amaris’ breathing was shallow. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“You’d be surprised what I dare,” she told him matter of factly. “But I’m not cruel enough to make yours a solitary fate. If I decide to send you outside without a suit, I’ll make sure you have company. Your son, Richard wasn’t it? He’s been demanding to see that you’re alright. I’m sure he’d be very happy to keep you company.”

“I...” Amaris’ eyes were wide.

“Did that hit a nerve?” Charlotte glanced around the cabin and then picked up a piece of paper and a pen. The paper was taken from Amaris’ own study in his redoubt. “Well, I’m feeling generous. Must be something in the air. I’ll make you a deal, Gregory. If you’ll do one little thing for me, I promise you faithfully that I won’t harm a hair on your son’s head. All I want is one little autograph, right here at the bottom.”

“B-but that’s blank.” Amaris shook his head. “You could put anything on that.”

“You know what, you’re right.” Charlotte feigned a look of deep contemplation. “And what does it matter to you what I do with it? It’s not as if you have anything at all to lose.”

He took the pen and looked at it as if he had never seen one before. “I should trust the word of a pirate?”

“Oh it’s worse than that. You’re having to trust the word of a politican.” Charlotte placed the paper on a small table and pushed it forward towards him. “Still at least I’m not a lawyer.”

Amaris laughed bitterly. “You make a good point.” He scrawled his signature on the paper and then closed up the pen. “So what now. You hand me over to someone that isn’t bound by your promise?”

“Oh good heaven’s no.” Charlotte took the pen and paper, placing them neatly in a drawer next to Amaris’ personal seal which one of the strike team had retreived. “You’re going back to your cell, right next to your son’s. And then we’ll drop the pair of you off on a nice, discreet little asteroid with all the supplies you’ll need to live out the rest of your life. Nothing very appetizing of course, but I’m sure you’ll get used to military field rations eventually.”

She nodded to the guards. “Take him away boys. I don’t need him anymore.”

The door didn’t close immediately after Amaris was taken out of the stateroom. The reason became evident as Jerric entered the room. “How did it go?”

She nodded, eyes still fixed on the door as it slid closed. “I got what I wanted.” Her eyes went wide. “You might want to – urp...”

And then she bent over and started throwing up her dinner all over her lap.

I finally reread and caught up to you on this, very nice! I look forward to the continuation.

Nice to see the story line progressing! I like how the canopians are going by the Ares Convention!  Keep it up!!