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Terra Prime, Apollo
Republic of the Outer Reaches
9 August 2577

Applause, some sincere and some merely self-congratulatory, filled the great hall that had once been throne room to the First Consuls of the Rim Worlds Republic.

Now the gallery that lined one side of the chamber, facing the tall windows, provided seating for the newly selected senators of the equally new Republic. The dais that had once held the throne occupied by Gregory Amaris now supported three chairs for the Consuls who would now hold executive authority within their respective states within the Republic.

“Ladies and gentleman of the Senate.” Rather confidently, Charlotte Grimm, Consul (and Queen) of the Oberon Confederation, had seated herself nearest the senate out of all three of the Consuls. “There has, as we all know, been a shadow over the formation of this Republic. That shadow is one of war. As we now face what must be considered imminent invasion by the Star League, I place before you a motion to elect a Strategos or Strategoi to command the armies of the Republic.”

Hakim Wbika – formerly commander of Republican Navy and now one of the senators for the world of Luanda – rose to his feet. “I move approval of this motion be accepted by acclaimation and that we proceed immediately to nominations. Do I have a second?”

He did.

“Objections?”

Despite some uneasy stirrings, none were offered.

“Thank you, Senator Wbika.” Charlotte inclined her head gracefully towards the gallery. “I would like to submit the name of John bin Bilal, Consul of the Rift Republic, as Strategos for forces responsible for protecting the attacking out of the Tamar Pact.”

The Consul in question, immediately to Charlotte’s right, managed to avoid exploding. He couldn’t refuse without appearing unpatriotic, but had no especial military expertise which meant he’d be completely out of his depth and responsible for any failures. “Thank you, Queen Charlotte,” he said instead. “I would like to also nominate you as the Strategos responsible for defending us from attacks out of Coventry Province.”

“That is very gracious of you, Consul.” Charlotte managed to appear regretful. “Unfortunately as I have just been confirmed as pregnant with my second child, I fear I might be unequal to such an active role. May I suggest instead Colonel Graham, formerly of the Amaris Household Guards, would be an individual of suitable experience?”

“You may,” bin Bilal agreed. Dammit. She’d pushed him offworld, to all practical purposes, meaning government of the new Republic would inevitably be dominated by the other two Consuls.

“All in favour of the proposed Strategoi, please stand.”

An obvious majority rose to their feet and sealed the fate of bin Bilal.

“Congratulations, Strategos.” Charlotte offered her hand to the appalled Consul, who had no choice but to accept it and then shake the hand of Jervis Siever, Consul for the Rim Worlds, who sat on his other side.

And now, before christmas, a musical number:

---

Unity City, North America
Terra, Terran Hegemony
20 August 2577

There were drums and then a squeal of what Ian recognised from his youth as the sound of an electric guitar riff. It wasn’t something that he’d expected to hear in an official video message from the Periphery.

The image that was displayed showed a simple line of six people, five in military uniforms which he now recognised as representing the Periphery states, the sixth in a simple business suit.

Over this image cut in his own voice, his own words: “We the Lords representative of the Realms of the Human Sphere -”

The preamble to the Articles of the Star League was interrupted by the lone civilian: Jack Calderon, Protector of the Taurian Concordat himself. “Stop pretending that you’ve never been bad. You’re never wrong and you’ve never been dirty.” His words, as much snarl as song, dripped sarcasm: “You’re such a saint. That’s not the way we see you.”

“You want to rule us with an iron hand.” Rachel Calderon-Davion pointed accusingly out towards the viewer, towards Ian. She, at least, could sing well. “You changed the rules and became a butcher. This isn’t Terra, you aren’t our dads and mothers.”

“They never knew anyway,” the blue-clad Savitri Centrella interjected slyly.

Marcus O’Reilly, cloak of imperial purple over the Marian Legions’ uniform, stepped past the two women. “I never walk away from what I know is right. But I’m going to turn my back on you.” And he did, cloak flaring dramatically.

The picture cut to show a plaza filled to bursting with civilians. The centre of one of their capitals? The buildings certainly looked to possess the necessary grandeur. Clearly visible over the crowd were all six Lords standing upon the balcony of one building, clearly addressing the crowd. Placards left no doubt where the sympathies of their audience lay with regard to the Star League: against it.

Overlaid across this, the song went on, all six voices raised in defiant unison. “Freedom, we’re gonna ring the bell! Freedom to rock, freedom to talk! Freedom to raise our fists and yell. Freedom to rock, freedom to talk! Freedom Ring!”

The video cut back to the six leaders, the Canopian leader now taking centre stage. “You’re playing God from your ivory tower. Back off Ian, I don’t care for your preaching. I ain’t no angel but I never felt better.”

She stepped back and allowed the man presumably representing the still almost unknown Tortugan Domain to step up. “We’re a distant future generation. We’re not the serfs you want to make us. You better leave us alone, ‘cause you sure can’t take us.”

Callum Avellar, the last of them to take the stage, moved forwards until he was glaring into the camera up close, the music that had backed the entire video fading back slightly. “No one gets to tell us how live our lives, we’re going to do that on our own.

The refrain came again, but now it wasn’t overcut with the crowd. No, this time the imagery was of a more military nature.

There were ships: big, menacing warships. Aerospace fighters flying in formation in numbers that actually did at times obscure the sun above them. Tanks and blocks of parading infantry. BattleMechs.

Ian Cameron had been a soldier, a Mechwarrior. He recognised some of the ’Mechs but there were also an incredible range of others that he didn’t. Worse: many showed what to him were the obvious tell-tales of the advanced technologies that had – less than a year ago – seemed to suggest that the SLDF would have an overwhelming advantage over the more primitive weapons of the Periphery.

“It’s not exactly the New Sydney Philharmonic Orchestra, is it.” Shandra Noruff-Cameron’s expression suggested darker thoughts than her relatively casual words implied. “I hope they don’t expect a reply in the same vein, because I’m sorry love, neither you nor Ian Marik can carry a tune in a bucket.”

“It’s different,” he told her. “Rather the point, I suspect.”

“Oh?”

“They don’t think the way we do. They don’t see events the same way we do and their reactions to those events may not mirror what we would expect.”

“You mean calling you a butcher, or a would-be tyrant?”

“I’ve been called worse.” Ian’s lips quirked. Much worse, in fact. He had take power rather irregularly after his brother’s assassination, but out of necessity rather than any form of personal ambition. “In a way I’m glad that they’ve channelled their aggression into that singing because the personal letters that each has written are almost reasonable. In tone at least.”

“Personal letters? An interesting term for something that they managed to mail to every news agency in the universe. I think the Dracs aren’t reporting it, but even the Capellans – who certainly could quash the reports – haven’t elected to do so.”

Ian shrugged. “I’m going to consider that a step in the direction of Chancellor Liao allowing something resembling a free press. Something this juicy was going to leak almost immediately anyway, no matter what the Bureau of Star League Affairs did.”

“There’s some interesting analysis in there and I don’t think all of it is the various heads of state regurgitating what they’ve been fed by their staffers. Savitri Centrella’s letter is brutally frank: she actually applauds what she describes as the Star League’s initial mission statement: Albert Marik and I wanting to put an end to the almost permanent fighting on the wars. Of course she then asserts that I’ve lost track of the mission in favour of focusing on my means – the Star League. The post script... well, you’ve read it.”

“’Fighting for peace is like fucking for virginity: someone gets screwed.’ Canopians! No doubt it will play well with the newsbites.”

“Yes, but can you imagine some script-writer suggesting to their ruler that they say something like that? They’d never have dared. That has to be something she decided on herself. I wish I had a better record of her personal history, it must be fascinating.”

Shandra smiled wryly. “Turning to a younger woman? I’m heartbroken, love.”

“The interest is entirely platonic, I assure you.” Ian shook his head. “Then we get Rachel Davion’s analysis of how the Periphery campaigns turned out in their history, with comparisons back to the Outer Reaches Rebellion two hundred and fifty years ago.”

“What I wonder there is why she’s spelling out the problems we had in their history.” Shandra Noruff-Cameron had only briefly led the Star League Defense Forces but she had led the Hegemony Armed Forces before that for decades. “That can’t do anything but help us avoid making those same mistakes.”

“Probably she doesn’t intend this war to be anything like that history. After all, according to their history, we win.”

“After, if she’s telling the truth, killing more soldiers and civilians than every other war since the invention of the Kearny-Fuchida drive... combined.”

“True.” That one word cost Ian Cameron more than he would have believed possible when he was ‘just’ a senior general. “Unfortunately there is also the letter of Jack Calderon.”

Ah yes.

That letter took pride of place. It laid out the situation in stark terms: the Pollux Proclaimation had linked the Star League inextricably to the policy of forcing the Periphery in compliance with the League’s government. Therefore either the Periphery submitted, which they had elected not to do, or the Star League must be destroyed.

The letter finished with an ultimatum: if the Star League disbanded of its own free will then the independent states of the periphery would be delighted to sign binding peace treaties with the various member states. The Protector had not felt it necessary to spell out the alternative.

---

House of Government, Atreus
Marik Commonwealth, Free Worlds League
25 August 2577

It was exactly three months to the day since Jacquelynn Ortega had briefed Parliament on the Magistracy of Canopus, to which she had been ambassador since 3025. Since that time she’d been being debriefed by the National Intelligence Agency on an astonishing range of topics, ranging from the history of the Succession Wars to the brands of food she had purchased when she was a student on Aitutaki in her late teens.

There was no surprise that on being summoned to see the new Captain-General there was a FWLN officer in the antechamber of the subterranean command centre beneath the League’s centre of government.

But finding that she knew the officer in question was a surprise. “Captain Jones?”

Grace Jones of FWLS Harpy rose from her chair (institutional, thinly padded and generic) to look at her. “Ma’am?”

“Ambassador Ortega. We met three years ago when the Harpy was representing the League at the Canopian Naval Review.”

Jones nodded, recognition dawning. “Of course, now I remember. I’d be surprised the Canopians hadn’t interned you if I wasn’t still astonished that Marcus O’Reilly let me leave with the Harpy.”

It was impossible for Ortega not to whistle softly at that revelation. “That’s unbelievable, surely he would have to know that he’s ceding much of his technological advantage by doing so.”

“God bless that old Roman sense of honour,” the Captain said. “Although maybe it’s just his cruel streak: it’s killing me to see the Harpy opened up by what passes for dockworkers in this era.”

Ortega shook her head. “It’s not long since that they were pirates. Hard to think that he’s representative of them all.”

The door opened and an aide looked out. “Captain Jones, Ambassador Ortega, the Captain-General will see you now.”

Inside, Ian Marik sat behind a towering desk and motioned the two women towards seats facing him. “Tea, coffee?” When both declined, he waved off the steward who was attending on him with a small tea trolley and also the aide.

“Thank you for both coming,” he said, as if they’d had any reasonable alternative to accepting their respective summons. “I’d like your opinion of the Star League’s proposed strategy over the next year.” Ian pushed folders across the desk to them, each clearly only containing a few sheets of paper. “Obviously, this is highly classified.”

Ortega skimmed the documents and then went back over few points she felt needed more scrutiny while Jones apparently preferred to read the entire document steadily. Of course, as a military officer, some of the terminology probably was more familiar to her, the diplomat thought.

“There are a couple of things that stand out, sir,” Jones began. “Firstly, it assumes a degree of passivity on the part of the Canopians. My own experience is that the Magestrix feels warfare is better practised on worlds outside her own domain. The business on Tellman’s World is an excellent example.”

“Do you agree, Ambassador?”

“I do, sir. The Magestrix is extremely protective of her industries and civilian population. She will not want any confrontation to take place inside the Magistracy or the Duchy of Andurien.”

“I was afraid you’d say that. And the Marians?”

“Hard to guess, but my suspicion is that they will be looking to use the Rim Worlds to tie up Star League resources. Expect that campaign to be rather harder than this anticipates. It was the second longest-fought theatre in the Reunification War.”

“Damn. Is there any chance that we can convince them to side with us,” Ian asked. “We were allies in the thirty-first century, after all.”

Ortega frowned. “I wouldn’t rule it out but you’d have to make a very solid offer.”

“So you don’t think he could be convinced to join the Free Worlds League as another province?” Ian asked. “Because perhaps I’m guilty of some over-optimism, but allowing the Harpy to come home to us... even without some of her databanks...”

“That probably is over-optimistic, sir.” Jones leant forwards, ignoring the comment on the paucity of electronic records the Harpy had provided about the Marians. “I don’t think you quite appreciate how unpopular the Star League is in the Periphery. I wouldn’t have entirely ruled out the possibility of an eventual merger in the thirty-first century but that was really extraordinary given that it was based on Kristen Marik establishing a close relationship despite the Caesar having killed her half-brother Thomas back in ’25.”

“So what do you recommend then, Captain?”

“Honestly sir? Play the diplomatic game and hope like hell that the Lucies and the Crappies get themselves carved up.”

“Am I detecting a bit of aggression towards our allies in the Star League?” asked the Captain-General.

She held up two fingers, one on each hand. “Perhaps just a smidgen, sir. We have history.”

“Part of that history is that right now, we’re allies. Try to keep that in mind.”

“Sir, I’m going to be straight up: with an ally like Viola Steiner-Dinessen you don’t need enemies.”

All of a sudden i get the feeling there might be a civil war comming up in the not to distent future.

First...

All the other L Points other then L1 are not valid jump-points.


Two... shouldn't they be a tad more surprised.. given that to their knowledge... the ships would have to jump out again to send the nav coordinates for ALL the ships?

Vhen:

L1 points are stable jump points, if harder to calculate for. The other Lagrange points tend to be transient but can be used if your numbers are spot on. And the uptimers have a much larger body of records to work from when it comes to that.
Edit: hmm, re-read that part. I'm wrong, you're right.
Rewriting would be... rather tricky at this stage. It's not the only time I've used other L points. I'll keep it in mind though. Thanks for the catch.


And it's come up before: the existence of HPGs has leaked to the Star League. More precisely, the Periphery states have concluded that it has. See the discussion following Marcus advising the other Lords that he let the Hydra leave.

Shadow Wraith:

I intend to continue daily posts.

Helbrent
Rim Worlds Republic
19 October 2577

The Sixth Amaris Legionnaires had marched through the cold desert night to avoid stressing the heatsinks of their BattleMechs but this meant that they would be forced to fight under the sun now. Major Janalynn Pajitnov happened to think that that was foolishness, but Colonel Mion was intent on reaching the enemy before they could move too far from their dropships and so Janalynn was slowly baking inside the cockpit of her Taurian-import Talos.

Hipparch tanks of the cavalry squadrons ranged out ahead of the three columns of infantry carriers – trucks essentially – and the BattleMechs escorting them. The cavalrymen had been sent out with the expectation that they would find trouble and it was no surprise that they succeeded.

“Mechanical noises picked up ahead. Distance perhaps fourteen kilometres from you, dead ahead.”

Janalynn checked who was speaking. “Confirmed Outrider Four. Check it out.” Then she switched to the command channel. “Legion Six. Possible contact reported, estimated fourteen kilometres ahead of my column. I request permission to take battle formation.”

“Negative, Legion Two. Permission is denied until contact with the enemy is confirmed.”

“Six, I don’t have any Marsdens with me so we can change formation without slowing. Staying in column could easily have my ‘Mechs chopped apart like a sausage.” Even the eight Talos in her own company could outpace the heavy tanks in the other two battalions that were setting the pace for the entire regiment. The lances of Phoenixs in Baker and Charlie companies were even faster.

“Negative, I repeat, negative. Just obey orders, Tagmatarchis.”

Tagmatarchis, her actual rank rather than the English equivalent commonly used. These days it was more closely associated with the RRA. Janalynn had been part of the RRA until it was banned. Even quitting at that point hadn’t erased the stigma from her record. She cut the channel back to the recon screen. “Outriders, what have you got for us?”

“Getting closer, ma’am. Magscan says we’re looking at a lot of tonnage there could be a whole regi-” The report cut off abruptly.

“Outrider. Outrider!” Janalynn grit her teeth. “Outrider Five, check on Outrider Four. Be aware he may be under fire.” She examined the terrain ahead and then switched to battalion command. “Take up battle formation. Infantry prepare to take up position on the valley sides.”

With smooth efficiency the sixteen Battlemechs under her command fanned out into a double line, trucks moving up behind them. At some point in the geologically remote past, a glacier had carved out a valley through what was now desert mountains, creating an obvious route through them. If it had been better placed with regard to the major settlements, no doubt there would be a road here.

“Legion Two, this is Outrider Five. We have smoke and... under fire, multiple hostile ‘Mechs! Five, I repeat five, BattleMechs. Magscan says this is just a vanguard.”

“Give me an estimate, Outrider.”

“Looks like a battalion to me, Legion. They’re too hot to handle, I’ve gotta get clear.”

“Do it, Outrider.” Janalynn punched the button to change channel. “Six, this is Legion Two. My scouts are under fire from an estimated battalion. I‘m moving to secure the mouth of the Lysander valley.”

To his credit, Mion didn’t question her this time. “Confirmed, Legion Two. I’m bringing my battalion to back you up. Third Battalion will take a side valley and try to outflank them.”

---

It took almost a quarter of an hour for the invaders to arrive, which was good because Mion managed to get there in less than ten minutes, bringing with him eight more Talos and sixteen Lyran-built heavy tanks, along with additional infantry platoons and the regiment’s tracked missile launcher vehicles.

The first sight of the invaders did not inspire confidence in the Sixth Legionnaire’s ability to withstand them. For a start there were rather more than a battalion of them.

For another, their force appeared to be entirely made up of BattleMechs.

The enemy ‘Mechs were moving strangely – two thunderous steps and then a little skip that brought both feet down together. There must have been almost a hundred of them, although such a motley of designs that Janalynn for a moment thought that each was unique before realised that they apparently mixed different designs in each lance. The warbook picked out mostly Terran designs – Wasps, Griffins and Mackies but also several of the Toro design that the Taurian Concordat had refused to export to the Rim Worlds. There were other designs that she couldn’t identify, such as a great skull-headed powerhouse that led the centre of their line.

Nonetheless they moved in terrifying unison and each little sequence of steps brought them ten metres closer.

And then, from the external speakers, the leaders seemed to sing out. Rationally, she knew that it was the mechwarriors inside doing the singing. Irrationally, it seemed as if heavy-footed choir of metal giants was charging at her battalion, singing:

“Buddy you’re boy make a big noise. Playin’ in the street, gonna be a big man some day. You got mud on your face, you big disgrace. Kicking your can all over the place. Sing it!”

Like thunder, amplified to what must have been their maximum volume to be heard over the footsteps of their ‘Mechs, the entire legion roared out:

“WE WILL, WE WILL ROCK YOU.”

“WE WILL, WE WILL ROCK YOU.”

And then they opened fire on the Rim Worlds ‘Mechs.

The rocky ground of the valley didn’t give much cover and what little there was had been occupied by the tanks, which needed to protect their vulnerable tracks. As a result, the out-numbered Talos and Phoenixs were exposed to withering fire as they tried to fight back.

For Janalynn the relative satisfaction of seeing her long range missiles peeling armour off the arm of a Wasp was more than counterbalanced by the pair of Griffins that it was apparently scouting for tearing gaping holes in her defences with their PPCs before peppering her with their own LRMs. The armour diagram on her status monitor made it clear that another combined salvo could easily penetrate and her right torso, with two cavernous ammunition bins, was looking particularly vulnerable.

The Major turned her Talos to screen the damaged flank, bringing the right arm autocannon around to fire, not at the Griffins but at the Wasp. With the smaller ‘Mech already damaged, it was possible that the powerful cannon could cripple it immediately. Unless the invaders were whittled down quickly, it was unlikely that Third Battalion could arrive in time to turn the tide – besides, with the temperatures outside rising, the Griffins would probably have to let their machines cool before they could fire their PPCs again.

She was half-right. Either the autocannon shells or the pattern of SRMS she sent after it – the burning heat inside her cockpit seeming to suck the air from her lungs – found something critical inside Wasp, which toppled onto the ground and did not rise. It wasn’t alone though: the Griffins had continued to fire their full arsenal into Janalynn’s Talos and the battered ‘Mech fell onto its damaged side as the sheer brutal pounding tore away entire tons of protection from it.

Janalynn closed her eyes as she felt the balance reach tipping point. Ejecting in mid-fall would be risky at best, but if the fall set off the ammunition in the chest of the Talos...

Blackness.

---

When Janalynn opened her eyes, she had to blink away blood that covered her face. The straps restraining her to the command couch must have snapped because she was lying on the side of her cockpit. The fact she wasn’t blasted to bits made it clear that the ammunition bins were intact, although if the battle was still raging then that might not last.

A quick look around made it clear that she wasn’t going to be standing the ‘Mech up again, even if she was desperate enough to make the attempt without proper restraints. The armour around the cockpit was visibly deformed and although the fusion reactor was still humming audibly, virtually none of the controls were lit up.

With a groan Janalynn wrestled the remains of the restraints away. While none of her bones appeared broken, her body was advising her rather bluntly of a considerable amount of bruising. Climbing out would not be fun, unless she could get the hatch open.

She was about to get to work on that when a thump betrayed that something had just landed on top of the fallen Talos. A moment later two metal claws punched through the hatch and tried to yank it out. Janalynn yelped – not screamed, she was a military officer and definitely not a screamer – and pressed herself against the floor, which was now the opposite wall.

“Centurion!” a male voice shouted from above. “Sounds like we’ve got a live one.” There was a clang on the hatch, as if someone had banged on it with a wrench. “Hey, rescue crew’s here. Are you hurt?”

Janalynn glanced out of the canopy but could not make out who might be there. “Nothing serious. Who are you?”

“Like I said, rescue crew.” The voice paused. “From your perspective, I guess I’m on the wrong side. Do you surrender or do I have to... well, you know.”

“Are you asking for surrender under the terms set out in the Ares Convention?” she called back, looking for the survival pack built into her ejection seat. There should be a knife in there. No gun though. Janalynn made a mental note to keep one with her in the cockpit in the future, assuming she ever got the chance again.

“As long as you’re surrendering according to those conventions, sure.”

“Good enough for me. Are you going to keep vandalising the hatch or can I try undogging it?”

There was a laugh. “Ladies first.”

Wincing, Janalynn moved forward and started turning the handle for the manual controls – somehow, she didn’t think that the powered controls would work. One of the four bolts had apparently been sheared away at some point – probably by whatever those claws were – because it popped free immediately but with some effort, she was unable to unlock the other three.

At that point, of course, the hatch proceeded to stick. “It’s not locked, but I think it’s jammed.”

“Okay, I’ve got this one.” Janalynn stood back a little and watched as the claws were jammed through again and then dragged the hatch clear.

Blinking away tears as the bright desert sun entered the cockpit, unfiltered by the darkened canopy glass, it took her a moment to realise the mechanised nature of her rescuer. “What the hell... are you a robot?”

“Nope.” The metal-clad man banged one clawed gauntlet against his chest. “This is battle armour. Welcome to the warfare of the thirty-first century.”

Battle Armor? they were still pre-Clan Invasion before the time jump right?

Awesome story though, I am interested why the RRA can get the newer Talos but not the older Toro from the TC and why overheating is an issue in the Talos (it's actually quite a heat efficient Mech, especially for level 1 tech)

These things don't take away from the story however, very nice. I especially enjoy that the periphery is keeping with the Ares Convention, after retreading Reunification War recently I'm not interested in seeing casualty counts in the millions again.