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Lycomb IntroTech, Demeter
Capellan March, Federated Suns
17 March 2778

“The site of our triumph!” Marshal Derek Quinn announced, gesturing to the factory complex. “The shame of Valexa and of Angelsey has at last been expunged.”

Baltazar Liao nodded insincerely. “I don’t suppose there’s any doubt who nuked this one,” he observed.

“The cowardly AFFS left a device as they pulled out. While our scouts couldn’t disarm it in time, there was enough warning to ensure combat units weren’t affected.”

The Chancellor’s son pursed his lips. “And as a result, we’ve captured an empty shell,” he noted. “A great deal of effort for a factory that’ll need to be completely rebuilt before it can resume production.”

“There remains the symbolic value,” the Marshal replied reprovingly. “Another Chesterton world has been liberated from Davion oppression.”

Baltazar raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure their celebration must be profound. He hadn’t noticed cheering crowds and confetti as he passed through towns on the way to this battle site. Someone had thrown dung at one of the ‘Mechs though, and – paranoid that it might have been a magnetic mine – the Victor pilot had fired his machineguns at the source.

Whether or not that had killed the source wasn’t clear but pacifying Demeter wasn’t likely to be quick or easy.

“We’re now only one step from liberating Chesterton itself,” Quinn declared.

“I can think of one or two other steps that might be required. The AFFS may have given up this location but they’re still holding out. And then there’s Tikonov.”

Quinn hesitated at the mention of his homeworld. “My nephew is vocal about where his priorities lie,” he said at last, “But I am sworn to the Confederation first and the Chancellor has made that a task for the SLDF forces.”

“Whether the troops are CCAF or SLDF, they still need supplies and we can only support one advance at this time.” The fifteen divisions of the SLDF’s Eighteenth Army had bolstered Capellan fighting power but also strained their logistics. Warehouses that had been expected to be enough to supply the regiments operating around Kathil for another twelve months now lay empty. Still, better that the supplies be used – the AFFS now only clung to one of the worlds they’d taken from the Confederation and that was well worth the price.

“I am sure that Celestial Wisdom will guide us to the correct path,” the Marshal answered piously. “Whether that is to free Chesterton or Tikonov, I will welcome her guidance. In the meantime, you are correct that fighting must continue here. Surely the Davion disregard for the nature preserves your ancestors established here must stir the hearts of Capellans to outrage.”

Baltazar restrained himself from snorting. Demeter had once been noted for its crystalline spires and for zoos hosting creatures from all across the Capellan region but that had been no work of House Liao – at most they had enjoyed brief suzerainty after the Tikonov Grand Union joined the Capellan Confederation. And what had once been a minor agrarian world was now a valuable industrial asset even with Lycomb’s factories destroyed by this battle and by the attack in 2760, back when he was just a boy.

Rather than commenting on this, he stretched. “Well, the infantry regiments I brought should let you free up some of your other units from rear area work to keep pressing the AFFS.”

“They have reinforcements as well,” admitted Quinn, the wind taken out of his sails. “The two divisions we’ve been fighting here only had about two regiments of ‘Mechs between them and the Arcadian Cuirassiers have been put under heavy pressure, but their last convoy landed what looks like a fresh division. Intelligence aren’t sure if Avalon Light Horse is a new designation or if someone mixed it up with Avalon Hussars.”

Baltazar frowned. “Both are valid.” The information about SLDF defections had been censored before it was released to the public, but surely Marshal Quinn should have been fully informed. “I’ll have my staff update yours with the latest data but the Avalon Light Horse were recently formed.”

“Ah, inexperienced troops then? That sounds promising.”

“Not very inexperienced,” Baltazar corrected him delicately. “It seems a number of former SLDF soldiers have for some reason pledged themselves to the Federated Suns.”

Quinn blinked. “That’s not quite so promising.”

“Not really, no.”

“Your excellency!”

Baltazar turned and saw his Maskirovka liaison officer pushing through the perimeter security around the two of them. One guard blocked the man and firmly insisted on checking his ID tags before letting the intelligence officer past. “Ah, well here’s the man who’ll be able to provide more details than I have on hand. Groacci, what has you in a snit now?”

Ion Groacci panted as he reached the two. “Urgent news from Capella, sir.”

“Capella?” Quinn straightened sharply. “What’s wrong on Capella, man?” Although he was born of Tikonov and currently fighting for Chesterton worlds, his formal station was Marshal of the Capellan Commonality and that was where most of his regiments had been brought in from for this operation.

“The shipyards,” the Maskirovka officer exclaimed, pausing and coughing. To be fair, there was quite a bit of dust.

“Delhi Warships or Rashpur-Owens?” asked Quinn tightly. Capella was the centre of the Capellan Navy’s operations – the two shipyards were the only ones in the Confederation capable of building anything larger than a corvette.

“Both sir. The Federated Suns Navy hit them hard.”

Baltazar paled. “But the fleet? There was a squadron of six ships stationed there, and at least that many ships from the Star League Navy.”

“All destroyed, sir.” Groacci cleared his throat. “It was a deep strike by one of their carrier groups, they caught the SLN ships with part of their crew on the surface. Details are to follow but twelve warships, including three battleships and four cruisers have been lost – along with five more that were under construction. There’s no estimate for when the yards can be returned to service.”

Quinn paled. “But the defence platforms? The fighter squadrons? The defences should have been impregnable!”

“Apparently not, sir.”

Baltazar considered the situation and then shook his head. “Davion knows just where to hit us. Without those yards, we can’t repair or replace our warship losses. Did we at least take out their carrier?” The destruction of FSS Basantapur the previous month had helped morale considerably, even if the loss of six destroyers and a corvette – along with damage to five other ships that now couldn’t be repaired anywhere in the Confederation – had had to be kept quiet.

“Unfortunately not, sir.” Groacci reported. “They lost over a hundred aerospace fighters and the pilots, of course, but none of their warships.”

Quinn seemed to shrink in on himself. “How could this have happened?”

Davion was prepared for this war, Baltazar thought. We were prepared for a war, but not for one like this. Is he that far ahead of us?


Conqueror’s Pride, Proserpina
Benjamin District, Draconis Combine
10 April 2778

Air defence installations hurled fire upwards, illuminating the planetary capital in the night, but it was too little and too late. That wasn’t to say there weren’t casualties – any hit at all from the weapons shredded the jump-infantry making the drop and it took distressingly little damage to prevent one of the VTOLs that had been pushed out of dropships into the upper atmosphere from bringing their descent under control.

But the spearhead of the landing was over three hundred heavy and assault ‘Mechs. Susan Sandoval saw the armour on her right leg depleted by more than half a ton of protection as a PPC shot hit the limb, but ‘Mechs were designed to take such a beating and keep fighting.

As the sprawl of Conqueror’s Pride grew beneath her, the MechWarrior fired the thrusters in the jump-pack strapped to her ‘Mech and the sixty-five-ton Mech’s fall slowed. Providentially, a cluster of long-range missiles tore through the sky beneath her, right where she’d have been. Still falling, she waited a moment identifying what she was falling toward and then turned the control to maximum thrust as the altimeter dropped into double-digits.

With a howl the rockets fought back against gravity’s grip and the Cestus crashed into a broad ornamental pond like a brick – but better a brick that a meteorite.

Susan ejected the pod and scanned her surroundings. The pond was one of several that softened the expanse of open ground between the centre of the city and the military district. More or less the correct landing zone then.

An autocannon fired, tracer tracking towards her position and she kicked the Cestus into motion before the fire reached her. One of the turrets mounted in the wall around the military positions. The battle computer highlighted it with a caret and Susan fired both her large lasers, ripping away protection but not quite doing enough damage to knock it out.

More ‘Mechs were hitting the ground now and she saw a Vector helicopter feathering down, just low enough for infantry to begin spilling from the rear hatch. The tracer fire switched course – the gunner must have his finger jammed down on the trigger – towards the helicopter.

Susan fired again, joined by a fusillade of autocannon fire from a Victor assault ‘Mech, and the turret fell silent. Others were lowering their weapons away from the sky to engage the threat developing on the ground.

“This is Dao-Six,” she ordered, “Group up and take out the turret guns.” Matching action to words she swept lasers across a missile launcher that was tracking towards her.

The Victor moved up obediently to do the same. “Where’s the rest of the command lance?” Smythe asked. “Shouldn’t they be here? Did they get taken out in the drop?”

“Shut up, Smythe,” an amused voice cut across the lance channel. Harrison stomped his own Victor down the road towards them. “Barclay’s ‘Mech lost its leg when he landed and the radio’s out. He’s crawled it up behind a building to cover one of the infantry assembly points.”

“Battalion status reports?” Susan called out as the turret finally gave up and exploded. “Talk to me, people.”

“First Battalion down, minimal losses but we drifted into the city a little. Maybe five minutes to reach the wall,” Bradford reported.

“Second Battalion came down straddling the wall,” Van Dorne added tersely. “I’m six ‘Mechs down, engaging what looks like the Eighth Benjamin Regulars. Trying to breach gate nine to concentrate my forces.”

There was a pause and then Gav Greaney spoke up. “Major Ryan’s jump pack was hit and he had to punch out. No contact so far, I’ve got Third Battalion moving up on gate seven.”

“Good work Captain. Fifth?” Fourth Battalion’s artillery was still aboard their dropships and wouldn’t be available to her demi-brigade until a landing zone was secured.

“Four platoons haven’t reported in,” Watsuki answered gravely. “I’m sending everyone who has towards gates nine and seven to support you.”

“Thank you Major.” Susan looked at the wall and grimaced. A Victor might be able to jump the wall but there weren’t all that many jump-capable ‘Mechs available. “Major Bradford, head for gate nine, that’s our main focus of attack. Captain Greaney, you’re on diversion.”

“We’ll make it look good, ma’am.”

Susan turned her ‘Mech towards Van Dorne’s position just as the division net chirped for attention. “Status report, all landing groups.”

“Sandoval here. We’re engaged with the Eighth Benjamin Regulars near gate nine. I’m mounting a diversionary attack on gate nine,” she reported.

“Rangers have secured a perimeter on the government centre and we’re beginning sweeps.” Colonel Daniels’ Fourth New Valencia Rangers demi-brigade made up the other half of First Brigade – three infantry battalions, one of the First Crucis Dragoons’ battalions and an aerospace squadron that was providing fire support. Unlike Susan he had all his units available.”

A less familiar voice was next. “This is Colonel Sylvester, the Heavy Guards came down inside gate three and we’re moving on the warehouses. SLDF infantry have engaged, we expect ‘Mechs and or armour to be mobilising.”

“Good work, all of you.” Major General Hammond – a couple of ranks higher than her one-time commander had ever expected to achieve – assured them. For the purposes of the assault on Prosperina the First Crucis Dragoons division had been reinforced by a brigade from the Davion Guards, giving them four entire ‘Mech regiments to spearhead operations. “Leading elements from Second and Third Brigades have a landing zone clear and dropships are on their way down with our artillery, armour and the 56th Avalon Hussars. Everything’s on the dot so far.”

Except one point, Susan thought. “Sir, do intel have a location on the Second Proserpina Hussars?”

“Not confirmed yet, Colonel. There’s high confidence they’re based away from the capital but that’s not one hundred percent so keep your eyes peeled.”

“Roger, sir.”

Gate nine reared ahead – a much higher density of turrets than the normal extent of the wall, although many had been taken out already. Briefings had confirmed that the ground access was actually a double-gate – after entering the outer gate the road dog-legged to the left for a hundred metres – with high walls either side – before reaching the inner gate.

“Smythe, Harrison. Get your Victors over the wall to help the troops inside. I’ll stick with the non-jumpers,” Susan ordered.

Obediently the two ‘Mechs fired their jump-jets and leapt up. Harrison dropped out of sight but Smythe landed on top of the bastion to the right of the outer gate. Almost immediately LRMs started flying at her but she kicked deliberately at one turret and fired her autocannon into something out of sight – probably a turret on the inner wall, Susan guessed.

“Use cover, Smythe!” she barked and almost sulkily the eighty-ton machine jumped again, this time beyond the wall.

The outer gate was a wreck, its massive armour panels battered and torn by weapons fire – and by kicks from Van Dorne’s Warhammer which had joined three other ‘Mechs in trying to force it open.

Susan was tempted to try the same solution that had worked on Tikograd but unlike the Capellan city, there wasn’t a second line of defences to screen the actual residential areas of the city from secondary effects of a fusion bomb. “Focus fire on the edges,” she ordered. “Van Dorne, back up so we can get clear shots.”

The major shuffled his ‘Mechs away and the assembled ‘Mechs – more than fifty now that First Battalion was arriving – directed lasers and PPCs to carve a rough square out of the door panels.

Watsuki’s infantry were just beginning to arrive as the section finally gave way and fell back into the interior of the gatehouse.

Van Dorne lead a dozen ‘Mechs into to the interior. “Take out the turrets,” he ordered. “Major Watsuki, can your sappers get the next door?”

“Just keep the machine guns off us,” the one-time sergeant replied, and sappers began to rush after the ‘Mechs, clutching demolition packs and the other tools of their trade.


Deber City, Benjamin
Benjamin District, Draconis Combine
29 May 2778

It had occurred to Minoru Kurita once or twice that the Star League was inconveniently centred on Terra. In order to participate in this meeting of the Council he’d had to leave his forward headquarters and visit one of the worlds on the double HPG loop between Terra and Luthien. And of course, that also made the communications dependent upon Jerome Blake’s organisation. That hadn’t been too concerning when Keith Cameron was in charge – the last Director-General of that family had been reasonably pliable. It wasn’t clear that McEvedy wouldn’t get ambitious.

That was probably why none of his peers had returned to Terra either. Ex-SLDF, ex-HAF and John Davion’s words of years ago remained a sound warning. What would keep McEvedy from quietly detaining them while they were at the centre of his power?

Evidence that the new Director-General was behind his predecessor’s assassination was proving frustratingly hard to establish. Such leverage would be very useful – specifically to gain access to the LTV Aerospace shipyards at Inglesmond. Liberated from Amaris in 2771, the LTV yards were back in limited service and with the recent devastation of the Combine’s shipyard at Chatham by Davion’s raiders, it might be the only way to keep the Draconis Combine Admiralty’s warships in service.

“How hard can it be to bring one lunatic to heel?” Kenyon Marik asked as reports of the fighting against the Federated Suns reached the current situation. “One realm out of six, and one noted more for its rural backwaters than its industry? And their military hardly covered themselves with glory out in the Periphery.”

“The Periphery Uprising was more than ten years ago,” Barbara Liao replied curtly. Her forces still held several Federated Suns worlds but with her own shipyards gutted, further advances had stalled. A push to retake Tikonov or to seize Chesterton and Kathil would require more confidence that her navy could afford to take the likely losses. “They learned hard lessons in the fighting, perhaps you would understand if you’d actually fought in a war.”

“Perhaps I should take the opportunity,” Kenyon agreed. “I take it, Coordinator, that the AFFS you’re facing differs from the force that crumbled in the face of the DCMS fifty years ago.”

“Fifty years ago, few of the soldiers now in service were alive. They – like you – had not been born.” Minoru felt his years now. “John Davion remembers that war though. He may have been a child then, but he learned his lessons well.” The DCMS hadn’t been pushed back off every world they’d taken in their first push on Robinson, they still had Marduk and its prized BattleMech factory as well as a few others. Davion’s decision to open a second front by attacking Proserpina had seen heads roll in ISF command.

Robert Steiner cleared his throat. “Even the vaunted SLDF seems to be having difficulty. General Baptiste reached Marlette in weeks but how far has General Lucas gone?”

“General Baptiste’s forces were welcomed and faced only nominal opposition,” answered General Lucas. “Her forces were geared to defect. My divisions aren’t and the AFFS knows it. Nonetheless, we’ve taken Caselton, which should isolate Tikonov from the Federated Suns and together with Cartago we now have staging areas into the Crucis March.”

“Your losses?” asked Minoru cautiously. “I trust they are not too steep.”

“Two divisions are no longer combat-capable. Their personnel and equipment are being redistributed. We estimate that AFFS casualties are roughly comparable. Fighter losses are another matter but we’ve thus far managed to avoid further encounters such as that over New Hessen.”

“The defeat of an entire carrier group hurts the Federated Suns Navy far more heavily than the losses taken, General.”

Lucas shook his head. “Chancellor, the Federated Suns seems able to replace such losses. The shipyards available to me are struggling to carry out necessary maintenance and to slowly return damaged ships to service. And that will be harder for us now given the attacks launched on your infrastructure and Lord Kurita’s.”

Kenyon Marik smiled thinly. “Indeed, terrible losses. And I must confess that the soldiers must be demoralised – their enemies fight for their prince, a man who can claim to stand for high principles and also cloak them in the romantic appeal of an outlaw. Our own soldiers though, are fighting for the Council. For a committee. It’s hard to feel that they are so motivated. I propose that we return to an earlier order of business and elect a new First Lord for the Star League.”

For the first time, McEvedy spoke up. “You have yourself in mind I suppose?”

“Naturally. With respect to my colleagues, we are no longer in a position for half-measures. We have treated this thus far as a limited war to dethrone John Davion as if that would restore matters to how they should be. We can no longer pretend that this is the case. Instead we must mobilise our full strength – which should certainly include bringing the industrial might of the Lyran Commonwealth and the Free Worlds League to bear upon the demands of the war.”

Marik rose to his feet. “And we must understand that the Federated Suns must be end this war diminished such that they can never again pose such a threat to the unity of the human race. The Capellan and Draconis Marches should be stripped away and their worlds placed under the government of the Houses that have already fought so hard to restrain Davion’s ambitions.”

“So nice of you to include me in your offer of further – expensive no doubt – support of efforts in the Suns,” Steiner grumbled.

Minoru ignored the Archon’s complaint. The offer was tempting – it would expand the Combine’s borders widely and leave him in a strong position to absorb the Outworlds Alliance as well – the periphery state was ridiculously weak with dozens of worlds defecting to the new Pentagon League. On the other hand, could Marik deliver? He did have a respectable navy and shipyards that hadn’t been damaged by the fighting.

“It’s easy to talk about reducing the Federated Suns to a territorial state but harder to deliver upon that,” Chancellor Liao responded sharply. “Send your regiments and ships through the Hegemony to support the war and deliver some victories for our case. Why should I support someone who cannot even do that?”

“That is true. You might as well be offering to place my cousin Vincent in his rightful place as First Prince for all the evidence we have that you can deliver such prizes.”

Marik’s face went red, giving him something of a resemblance to his father for once. “You can’t seriously think that I’d give your House not only the border worlds but core regions of the Suns!”

“Or that any of us would support seeing the dragon banner waving over a third of the Inner Sphere,” added Steiner.

Reining his anger in, Minoru sat back in his chair. “No more and no less realistic than the likelihood of the Marik eagle or Steiner fist becoming the banner of the Star League when none of you have stepped up to act on its behalf. The Chancellor is correct, if you expect to garner votes then do something to earn them.”

As the rest of the table descended into further back-biting and insults, Minoru looked again at the map marking the limited gains made by the offensives against the Federated Suns. Was it worth participating in this farce any longer? Davion was right, the Star League was a rotting carcass that they were wrapping in fine silks to pretend that all was well. But to leave the war with nothing to claim for it would diminish the authority he could pass on to Zabu.

What would it say to give up on the cause that had already cost him one son? Unavoidably his eyes went back to Robinson. As dreadful as it was to consider his son lost to a masterstroke, the ISF had been able to provide solid evidence that he’d simply had the appalling luck to arrive when several carrier groups could be rapidly assembled and reserve squadrons were present at Robinson.

Those squadrons had been used up fighting Jinjiro’s invasion force. It had been less than a year and all evidence was that the carriers operating in the Draconis March were still filling out their ranks with squadrons pulled from planetary reserves and fleshed out with new graduates from their flight schools. The attack on Chatham had been daring but even there losses had been taken among their fighter wings…

Four, perhaps five carrier groups in the Draconis March. If they were confirmed as out of position to reinforce the district capital then…

Did he dare? Could the Kurita dynasty survive a defeat if he was wrong?

“I’m sorry, Coordinator, are we boring you?”

Minoru looked up at McEvedy’s question. “Yes, yes you are. We have a war to fight and we are wasting time arguing over precedence. John Davion must find us a sad joke.” He reached out to the controls. “I have campaigns to prepare for. Perhaps we shall have more promising news to discuss when we next meet.”

Cutting the channel before they could annoy him with further babbling he looked again at Robinson. The one thing he could not afford was to be pushed onto the defensive. Strike for Robinson and Davion must divert his efforts away from Prosperina, redeem his son’s efforts…

He thumbed a control. “Summon Warlord Fujiwara and his staff to the command centre. Inform them the time has come for the dragon to rise.”


Avalon City, New Avalon
Crucis March, Federated Suns
1 July 2778

John found Hanse in the command centre, looking at the displays as they scrolled through data from all across the Federated Suns – and beyond it in some cases. Jerome Blake’s analysts had identified some of the coded messages being sent across the border but most was lost in the flood of ordinary communications. And so far, the threat of reciprocation had kept the Star League from banning HPG transmission into the Federated Suns.

Much of the best data wasn’t coded at all – just relaying national, planetary and local news back to the Suns gave Francesca Reznick’s analysts a huge amount of information to work with. A second data centre had been authorised under the last budget – hundreds more analysts and computers to store data and to run the search programmes that filtered it for reports that helped build up the big picture.

Hanse had been slumped in John’s own seat but the redhead rose and made way for him. “Early morning or late night?” the First Prince asked under his breath as he took his seat. It was the former for him – he’d arrived before the rest of the high command.

“It’s morning?” his ghostly descendant asked in feigned surprise. “Where does the time go?”

“The same place it usually does, I expect.” He looked at the displays but before he could ask what had Hanse’s attention, one of the support staff came in and – after giving John a startled salute – began reloading the coffee maker. John returned the salute and gave Hanse a questioning look.

“Kurita is making his move and it isn’t to reinforce Proserpina.” Hanse walked over to one of the maps and pointed out several border raids. “These are intended to pull reaction forces away from Marduk and Galtor, either to bolster our defences or counter-strike. In particular warships – he’s being just a little too tempting with the destroyers that hit Barlow’s End.”

John frowned. The Tancredi and her escorts had returned triumphantly from the deep strike on the Stellar Trek shipyards at Chatham. In addition to three partly constructed Narukami-class destroyers, Admiral Jones had reported that two Aegis-class cruisers and one of the even older Cruiser-class cruisers had been in dock with their cargo bays being replaced with flight decks for expanded aerospace wings. The old cruisers didn’t have the engines to compete with the mobility of a Federated Suns carrier group but they could increase the number of fighters the Draconis Combine Admiralty could field. “Might it be an attempt to entrap one of our carriers, the way the Basantapur was lost?”

“It could be, but we can’t ignore the threat.” Hanse stepped back from the map. “And responding means most of the carrier groups in the Draconis March won’t be able to rally to the Robinson region if Kurita pushes there again.”

“Would he do that?” John asked, bringing up a more detailed display on the holo fields in the middle of the conference table.

“Do what?” enquired Joshua from the doorway. “Ah, coffee.” He poured himself a steaming mug. “Do you want some, father?”

“Please. You know how I like it.” John finished setting up the display. “The recent raids and movements by the Combine could be intended to draw our reserves away from the Marduk-Robinson theatre.”

His son blinked. “The Coordinator pushing for Robinson? After what happened to his son there? That would be… unexpected.”

“For that very reason it could work.”

Placing a mug beside John, Joshua took the chair to his right. “Hmm. The entire Terran end of the Draconis March is pretty bare, isn’t it?”

“They’re catching the brunt of Lucas’ attacking out of Hegemony and we haven’t managed to get the DCMS off Tripoli or Royal yet.” John rubbed his face. “That’s tying up a lot of reserves. If the PDZs at the Outworlds border are pinned down then we have limited resources available.” He was beginning to regret his ultimatum to the Council Lords. Hanse had suggested simply sitting back and waiting, without issuing that challenge.

Perhaps it would have worked. No, it probably would have worked. But how long could he have borne living the lie of pretending he was still loyal to a dead Star League and still considered Steiner, Marik and the others to be fit to lead the League?

“I hate to say it then,” his son said slowly, “But that might mean cancelling the next wave of operations in Prosperina Prefecture. The divisions at Xhosa VII are the nearest thing we have to a reserve force right now. Clovis PDZ isn’t particularly threatened since Lucas seems intent on driving past it into the Crucis March.”

Hanse shook his head. “Bad idea. If Minoru can force us back on the defensive then we’re back where we started. If their worlds are safe and ours aren’t then the fighting can only end one way.”

John nodded. “I see where you’re going with that Joshua, but we can’t afford to take the pressure off Kurita and Liao. If the war is only fought on our soil then they’ve nothing to lose. The only way we can convince them to break off is by making it painful for them.”

He entered commands on the console and unit designations expanded. “It’s possible I’m jumping at shadows but reinforcing Robinson would be generally wise anyway – a reserve is always useful.”

“Where do we pull them from though? The Crucis March doesn’t have any formed divisions we can spare.”

“Then we’ll need to see what we can pull together.” John looked at the options. “The Seventh Federated Suns Lancers and the Fourth Avalon Light Horse haven’t shipped out yet. If we divert them, we’ve got two BattleMech demi-brigades. Add the Fourth Ceti Hussars and we’ve the core of a division.”

“The Fourth are green as grass,” protested Joshua. “Not just the troops, but Colonel Waterson’s not been posted outside the Crucis March in her entire career. Are you going to give her a division?”

John closed his eyes for a moment. Who could he pick? The brigade and division commanders that had been built up were mostly already in the field. You couldn’t just bring them up through academies, they needed to see action and get experience at managing thousands of people…

When he realised where his thoughts were going his eyes snapped open. Behind Joshua, he saw two blue eyes widen in sympathy.

“Your mother’s going to kill me, but no. I’m giving you the divisional command slot. Waterson should make a decent chief of staff.”

“You’re…” Joshua stared at his father and then took a gulp from his mug. “I must be half-asleep still. It sounded as if you said you were giving me command of the reinforcements.”

That got a thin smile from John. “I am.”

“But I’ve never commanded more than a company!”

“You’ve commanded the Department of Administration. Are you trying to say that that’s less of a responsibility than a division of soldiers?”

“No, of course not, but it’s entirely different.”

John shook his head. “Commanding a division – or a corps or even an army – is nine-tenths administration. You aren’t leading the troops in the field, you’re managing the people who do. I won’t deny that I’d rather I’d taken the time to run you through a staff officer’s course, but that’s water under the bridge. You’re an academy graduate, you’re a combat veteran and you’ve shown you can handle a large organisation. Anything you need beyond that, you’d better start figuring out.”

His son ran his fingers back through his hair. “Are we seriously this short on senior officers?”

“We have almost enough, which is more than I could have said fifteen years ago. I’ve cut a lot of deadwood out of the AFFS since the Border War,” John confided. If he'd had more time... The thought was tempting but it was too late to regret now. “Bringing in SLDF officers has helped, and I’ve been picking out promising young veterans for years. You’re not as prepared as some of them, but the experience with Administration and with the negotiations you’ve been carrying out for me puts you well ahead in some ways.”

“What happens if there’s another crisis? Do you have to go to the front?”

He nodded. “Maybe not if we need another division commander. There are some Brigadiers who are almost ready, I think. But generals and field marshals… we’ve got enough to fill the seats, not enough that I can be sure of them for the real crunch points. Michael Stopec, Thomas Green-Davion, Grover Simons… that sort of talent is rare. Your brother-in-law has potential too. One day he might be your Champion.”

“I’m in no rush. And however badly mother might take my going out,” Joshua pointed out, “She’d never forgive me if I had to bring you back in pieces. You stay safe here on New Avalon, okay?”

John shook his head. “My mother had to forgive my Uncle Richard for surviving when father and grandfather didn’t. Your mother will do what she has to. She’s a tremendously strong woman.”

“I’d offer to hold the door while you have your moment,” Hanse observed, “But I can’t do that and I think I hear some of the staff coming into the hall.”

The First Prince lifted his coffee mug and leant back in his chair as John Waynewright entered. The old Field Marshal didn’t have the same energy he’d shown back when he was helping ram the new doctrines through the AFFS officer corps, but he was a steady hand and had managed the withdrawal ahead of Baptiste’s forces brilliantly. Now a second SLDF offensive seemed primed to blast into his Operational Area and there was grim determination on his face – this offensive wouldn’t be stopped with soft words.

“Your highness. Your highness.” He bowed to his ruler and the heir. “Plotting the future of the Inner Sphere before we get here?”

“Something like that. I’ve got some concerns about the Draconis March…”

Avalon City, New Avalon
Crucis March, Federated Suns
12 October 2778

They were back where their interactions had begun – well, unless you counted the dream of walking across the Peace Park. John had just exited his bathroom and found Hanse pacing back and forth across the small antechamber. “What’s happened?” he asked the redhead as he lifted the flask of coffee from the waiting trolley and filled a mug. It was cheap novelty his daughter-in-law had found somewhere and presented to him – it had a rather poor representation of his face on one side and the legend ‘The Rogue Prince of the Star League!!’ on the other. It would have been tacky even without the double exclamation marks but Edwina thought it was hilarious so John had assigned it to his breakfast trolley where the public were very unlikely to ever learn of it.

“It’s what didn’t happen,” Hanse observed. “Joshua’s let us down.”

“That’s my son you’re talking about. And your ancestor.”

“It seems not, that chain of causality has now been broken.”

“Oh?”

“It just occurred to me that the next ancestor in succession should have been born a month ago.” Hanse threw his hands in the air. “And as far as I know, his wife hasn’t even been pregnant yet. Did I distract you from telling him about the birds and the bees?”

“You’re not about to fade away, are you?”

Hanse paused and blinked. “I have no idea. I assume that if it was a factor then it would have happened at some point when she didn’t gestate.”

“It would be fairly inappropriate for me to question my son and Mary about their sex lives,” John told him and sipped on the sweet sweet caffeine, which did more to banish sleep than the cold water from his sink. “So, I would have had a… grandson last month in your history?”

“Paul Davion II, one of our greatest First Princes.”

“Given how circumstantial history is, he might not have turned out the way he did in your timeline anyway. And if I recall my middle school biology correctly, it’s a coin toss whether or not I’d have a grandson or a granddaughter.” John thought back through the dates. “So conceived around Christmas, maybe a little later?”

“I assume so. Exact details weren’t recorded for obvious reasons.”

John nodded. “It’s the DeChevilier’s fault then. Joshua had to rush off to Tancredi IV to mediate with David Avellar over the Pentagon League forming.”

“Instead of doing his dynastic duty,” Hanse grumped but his eyes had something of their normal twinkle now. “Couldn’t you send Mary to Robinson to get things started?”

“That’s probably not a good idea, but if it bothers you that much I’ll try to keep him on New Avalon for a while if no fresh new disasters develop. Edwina would surely like grandchildren.”

“Thank you.”

John opened the door to his dressing room and found the suit he’d be wearing this morning hung ready for him. He’d have been astonished if it wasn’t, of course. “What did this now unavailable grand-child of mine do? A great peace-maker?”

“I’m afraid not,” the ghost told him. “He took the throne at the darkest hour of the First Succession War and led us out of it. The seeds of turning things around were there already of course, and you were cer-” He broke off, a look of chagrin on his face. “I’m sorry John.”

A flush of anger rushed through the First Prince and he forced himself to calm. “I can’t say I’d not suspected that Joshua wouldn’t succeed me. Predeceased?”

“More or less simultaneous, I’m sorry to say.” Hanse spread his hands. “An assassin caught you together in your field headquarters. As I said, it was the lowest point in the Federated Suns, losing both the First Prince and his heir at once.”

“The height of Jinjiro Kurita’s offensive, I take it.” John tried to finish buttoning his shirt but found that his fingers were shaking. He looked at the coffee and then simply splashed some milk into his mug and sipped it, slightly darkened by the dregs of coffee that had still been in the bottom. “Not something we have to worry about now, is it?”

“I suppose not. And Jack Lucas doesn’t seem likely to order a massacre on Kentares.”

“That’s a great relief to me.” John considered the world for a moment. It had fallen twice to the SLDF, if the first occupation by Baptiste’s soldiers could be counted. Only a few light years from Cartago, the headquarters of the Polymorphous Defense Zone covering the short border with the Terran Hegemony, Kentares IV was unlikely to be strategically important unless General Lucas agreed to divert forces from the advance that was slowly creeping towards New Avalon and used it as a staging area to recover Mara and David for the Draconis Combine.

“Hanse, we may be at a low point now. Our garrison on Tikonov is hanging on by its fingernails, Robinson’s still in the balance and Marlette can’t hold out much longer against Lucas’ forces.”

The redhead nodded quietly. “We’re getting near to a turning point, I agree. But just like my history, the tools we need to turn this around are pretty much in place. The Federated Suns Lancers are securing our rear areas and freeing up the regiments we need in order to turn this around.”

John swirled the remaining milk around the bottom of his mug and then set it down without drinking. “If this doesn’t work…”

“Those are the same stakes that the First Prince has to weigh every day. It’s the nature of the position.”

“I can’t help but think sometimes that you expect the Combine and Confederation to be the same wrecks you faced and don’t see they’re as much stronger now as the AFFS is compared to what you’re facing.”

Hanse laughed. “John, I was raised to believe the SLDF was a glorious invincible army that might one day come out of the periphery to restore the Star League and make everything right. Now I’m helping you fight them.”

“Is that what they thought they were doing, in your day?”

“They probably did. They were just as wrong as my teachers were. What we’re facing isn’t the Star League as it once was. Every loss Lucas takes now – both to battle and defections – is irreplaceable because no one’s really supporting him. You’ve seen the figures Reznick is turning up – the SLDF’s withering away when any rational war effort would be building it up. The only question is how long before it collapses… and the price to be paid until that happens.”

“It’s a price that will be paid by our soldiers,” John said harshly.

Hanse nodded. “It always was and probably always will be. If this was happening forty years ago, you’d be one of those young soldiers, wouldn’t you?”

The fifty-eight-year-old First Prince nodded grudgingly. Good lord, so long ago? It was less than a month until he was fifty-nine. Hanse must be… he did the maths. Almost ninety counting both his lifetime and then the years with John.

“Now we have the job of making sure those sacrifices are worthwhile.”

“And as limited as possible.” John qualified firmly.

“As possible,” agreed the ghost with just a bit of emphasis to the words. “Sorry to spoil the start of the day,” he added. “Are you going to finish closing the shirt or are you going to show your chest off to your staff this morning?”

“Haven’t you heard?” John asked, turning the mug. “I’m a rogue prince.”


Leightonville, Robinson
Draconis March, Federated Suns
20 October 2778

Two guards on the door made to stall Joshua but shrank back as he glared at them. “Open this,” he ordered.

“This is a secure space, general.”

“You know who I am and you know I’m authorised. Get it open.”

One of them raised a comm-gauntlet and Joshua reached out and grabbed it. “I didn’t say ask for permission.”

Two of Joshua’s bodyguards stepped forwards and the second guard wisely made no move to use either his comm-gauntlet or the submachinegun in his other hand. Pulling his access card out, Joshua swiped it through the lock mechanism. It bleeped defiantly.

The prince’s eyes narrowed. His access codes had been locked out. He produced a second card and this time the lights at the lock went green and bolts withdrew.

Leaving the guards to his own people, Joshua pushed the door open and stepped through into the planetary command centre.

A large holo table took up the centre of the room, the equipment recessed into the floor. Two concentric circles of raised work-stations looked down on it, offset so that all the personnel could view the centre. One of the stations on the outer ring was reserved for the senior officer present and a Sandoval was seated there, but it wasn’t Duke Vasily.

“Your highness.” Reuben Sandoval rose to his feet and bowed. “I thought you were with your division on the east coast.”

“And I thought your father was here.” Joshua decided not to mention his codes being removed from the door. It would just side-track things and he’d have to explain why he’d got a copy of the Duke of Robinson’s access codes. “With the reinforcements arriving, we need to adjust our deployments so we can really secure Solomon.”

“That’s not exactly the plan,” admitted Reuben. The heir to the Draconis March gestured to the workstation next to him. “Take a seat and I’ll brief you in.”

Joshua looked at the holo table as he worked his way around the room. There were dropships in the sky over Robinson, golden icons charting their positions and courses. Some of them bore identifiers that tallied to the expected regiments, descending from the cover of the Tancredi and her escorts. But not all of them. “A plan that involves six of my division’s dropships?”

“They’re AFFS dropships,” the other Major General replied in a reasonable tone. “Not your personal property. We didn’t have enough dropships for a brigade lift without them.”

“They’re assigned to my division. You know damn well that if they’re needed elsewhere I should be told they’re not available.”

Reuben’s eyes widened innocently. “Didn’t you receive a message? My sincerest apologies, I’ll find out who didn’t -”

“Explanation.” Joshua thumped the workstation with his fist rather than activating it. “Now.”

The other man took a deep breath. “Reinforcing our position is the expected move, General Davion. Instead, we’re adding the Seventh Robinson Chevaliers and their brigade to their force and carrying out an assault on Canaan. Elements of the Fifth Chevaliers have been moving into position to secure a drop-zone and with local superiority, we can secure the southern peninsula and wipe out the two DCMS divisions there with relative ease.”

Another look at the holo table confirmed that the dropships trajectories did seem to come together where the long, sprawling peninsula connected with the main body of the continent. If the DCMS’ positions were correct then landing there would isolate the First and Fifth Dieron Regulars from the rest of the invasion force.

“The forces there are understrength, they took losses trying to take Kedamon last month. Thanks to your quick response, intelligence assets indicate they only have around one hundred sixty ‘Mechs between the two divisions and might have lost as many as half of their infantry,” Reuben added.

Joshua nodded grimly. That matched his own understanding – although it left out that the Seventh Federated Suns Lancers had taken over a battalion of casualties and lost most of their helicopter support containing the landing long enough for the rest of the division to consolidate and force the DCMS back into their landing craft. “They might not stand and fight in that case – they should still have the transports they used to cross to Megiddo, so they could simple re-embark and join the rest of the DCMS forces outside the peninsula.”

“That wouldn’t be ideal, but we’d have liberated the southern peninsula and that would give us a foothold to begin more aggressive operations to push the DCMS off-world entirely. We aren’t the only ones who can call in reinforcements, after all.”

“And where’s your father in all of this?”

Reuben pointed into the holo tank. “Right where he should be, at the head of our forces.”

“He’s what?”

“Your father took the lead in the Border War, is it so surprising that my father would do the same?”

Joshua shook his head. “My father took command, that’s not the same thing as personally leading a division-sized drop onto hostile territory.”

He got a pitying look from Reuben. “That territory is only hostile to the Snakes, Prince Joshua. It’s Robinson soil.”

Something told Joshua that pointing out that the soil of a world more than two hundred light years from Terra probably cared very little which particular band of ape-descendants were in charge wasn’t going to be a winning argument. “I hope you’re right. If it doesn’t then almost half of our forces here are gone. You couldn’t have waited until the Dragoons got here?”

“That was the plan. Then my dear sister got delayed.”

The prince arched an eyebrow at the sarcasm. “A busted hydrogen seal can happen to anyone.”

“I haven’t seen Susan in years. She was up for a regimental command in the Chevaliers… turned it down to stay with the Crucis Dragoons.” Reuben’s face was cast into shadow as the holo-display flickered, updating with new data. “She cares about Robinson as little as your father does.”

“Watch what you say.”

“Abstractly he’d like us to succeed, but he has other priorities. Are you going to tell me I’m wrong?”

“Who do you think sent me here?”

Reuben eyed Joshua, looking for something… the Davion wasn’t sure what but he got the disturbing idea that he came up short. “Yes, not the Guards, or the Hussars. Or his new Dragoons. A division of green soldiers and SLDF deserters… He must think highly of you.”

Any response was cut off as new data appeared on the holo-display and both men turned as staff officers’ voices rose in excitement.

“Landing beacons are up!” one declared.

Another nodded. “Dropships are entering descent stage, Seventh Chevaliers are preparing for orbital drop.”

“Do we have movement by the Snakes?” asked Reuben urgently. “They must be aware of the dropships.”

“No confirmed moves, but radio traffic is up. Way up.”

Secure communication would usually be routed through satellites or landlines to avoid more obvious signs that could be picked up by the enemy. Of course, satellites were very vulnerable targets and detachments of the Fifth Robinson Chevaliers had made a point of taking out several vulnerable points of Canaan’s landline network, forcing the invaders to use radio. Megiddo and Solomon, on the other hand, still had intact landlines so their communications weren’t open in the same way.

“Good.” Reuben leant over and pointed at one of the Tower-class ships. Joshua noted it was the same Orinoco that had brought him to Robinson. “Father’s on that ship,” the commander of the March Militia reported.

“He’s dropping?”

“No, that battalion will be making planetfall – we don’t have enough jump-packs for the entire regiment and his Warhammer doesn’t have jump-jets.”

Like snowflakes, trails of tiny icons began to drop from the leading dropships – two battalions of the Seventh Robinson Chevaliers. Additional trails appeared from the some of the reinforcements – the proportion was about the same, each dropping two-thirds of their ‘Mech strength while the rest of the brigades remained with the second wave who would land in their dropships. Another pattern marked jump infantry making their own descent.

As the troops fell, beacons popped up marking Fifth Robinson Chevalier companies that had occupied the drop zone to confirm its safety. Five understrength companies had made it there.

The first wave reached the surface and Joshua noted the artistry of the location chosen – perfectly suited to minimise casualties by those dropping but with good overlooking positions that could be taken swiftly to cover for the dropships. Vasily Sandoval’s choice, no doubt.

“Movement on the peninsula,” came a report. “First Dieron Regulars confirmed as moving north. Numbers suggest that elements of the Fifth Regulars are with them.”

“They’re not withdrawing?” asked Joshua in surprise. They must realise that the dropships would land enough forces to put them in a disadvantageous position.

“Their honour compels them to face the enemy,” Reuben said sarcastically. “Either that or they think they can take on twice their number in ‘Mechs.”

“Even with intact armour and artillery that seems rather bold.” Most DCMS armoured regiments had fifty hover tanks and as many heavy tanks, backed up by twenty-five artillery pieces. While they lacked the prestige of ‘Mechs, Combine tankers loved the panache of their hover tanks and Regular formations usually sported massive Rhino and Puma heavy tanks bought from SLDF suppliers. Two artillery battalions and five of Tiger medium tanks wasn’t an ideal match for that alone but with the Chevalier’s ‘Mechs it would be more than enough.

“I’m not going to complain about them making a mistake.”

That, Joshua thought, assumed that it was a mistake. What didn’t they know about the Combine’s movements?

Or maybe he was just being paranoid.

As the dropships were reported down Joshua logged onto the workstation and pulled up the latest data on the positions of the other DCMS divisions. The Otomo, as the Coordinator’s bodyguard, were last reported around the city of Huston which probably Kurita’s headquarters. That still left the other four divisions and various smaller units.

The nearest reinforcements the Dieron Regulars could call on were the Twelfth Galedon Regulars Division, which would take at least a day to reach the area by monorail from where their hover tanks had been sighted patrolling the coast. Next was the Third Arkab Legion, currently policing some of the mining areas and a day and a half by the fastest route from their infantry outposts.

Both sightings had had ‘Mechs in support, so the odds were good that the only support the Regulars would have would be aerospace fighters from the wings their navy had landed to support them. Joshua checked the main holo-display and confirmed that they weren’t doing more than normal patrols. In any case, if they did move then the AFFS ground forces had enough aerospace support to…

Reuben frowned. “Why aren’t their aerospace assets moving?”

“I was just thinking the same,” Joshua admitted. “With the squadrons you have ready they should be able move in and intercept if they do move but right now with everything in holding patterns… no one has anything in the air over the continent. Did the dropships pick anything up as they were landing?”

“What would they pick up?”

Joshua scrolled through the data. Every sighting for the last three days of the Galedon Regulars and the Arkab Legion forces came from the Fifth Robinson Chevaliers, not from any of the other intelligence assets on Canaan that were reporting on the Dieron Regulars. “If you’re right, nothing. If not, we could have a…

He was about to say problem, but sudden red flares on the map made that word entirely insufficient.

“Hostile artillery fire!” reported an observer. “They’re firing on the dropships.”

“That area should be clear!” Reuben protested. “The Fifth swept it before we landed.”

“Nuclear detonations! Sir, the artillery’s firing Davy Crocketts!”

Joshua winced. Modern military dropships were tough but they were also large targets and in atmosphere a low yield tactical nuclear weapon like a Crockett was far more damaging than similar weapons used in space.

“Sir! We’re getting a signal from the Duke.”

Reuben Sandoval pointed at the ceiling and the technician transferred the message to the speakers.

“- Val, calling Planetary HQ. Do you read me?”

“We read you, sir,” Reuben replied quietly.

Vasily’s voice was grim. “We’ve been betrayed.” The signal crackled. “The Fifth Chevalier forces aren’t who we thought, some of them must have been captured without us knowing.”

“There are less than fifty ‘Mechs! They can’t be a threat!”

“We’re wiping them out, but their artillery has crippled our dropships. They can't take off so we’ve no way out,” the Duke told him. “The Dracs are fighting fanatically and there must be more troops on the way.”

Joshua raised his voice. “Field Marshal, this is Joshua Davion. The last reported position of the Galedon Regulars and Arkab Legion forces in the area came from the same detachments that have been compromised.”

Static burst across the line.

Reuben and Joshua exchanged looks. “Send in the aerospace,” Joshua ordered. “Maybe he can get down the peninsula to the port and take transports if we give them air cover.”

But as AFFS fighters streaked into battle, there were DCMS squadrons racing to intercept them. On the map, red lines outlined four DCMS divisions closing in on the reinforcements Vasily Sandoval had hoped would be the salvation of his world.


Geneva, Terra
Alliance Core, Terran Hegemony
27 October 2778

James McEvedy had promised to complete the restoration of the Terran Hegemony government to its traditional location in Geneva that Keith Cameron had begun after his election. It hadn’t been the most important of the former Director-General’s campaign promises but it promised some continuity between the two administrations.

Work on the Congress building was still underway – despite repeated attempts to cleanse it with everything up to and including controlled fires, the final consensus had been to tear the historic building down and rebuild it entirely. The site was currently bare and Congressional approval of some modest modernisations was expected to be done in another couple of months. Nonetheless, the executive buildings had been completed and today was the first time that McEvedy could assemble his cabinet in their chamber near the top of one of the towering buildings.

“Sit down, all of you,” he directed. “I’m not going to overdo the formality. We have work to do.”

Daniel Mattlov saw some questioning looks as he laid claim to a chair. Most of them didn’t seem to know who he was or what he was doing here but years of jostling for position in military wardrooms served him well and he secured a place opposite a woman around his own age in Hegemony Armed Forces uniform, above the midpoint of the table.

McEvedy rapped a knuckle on the table for attention and received it immediately. “Most of you know each other,” he observed. “General Hayes has attended to support me on military affairs, since I don’t have the hours in the day to manage it as closely as I once did.”

“Should we assume she’s formally taking on the duties of Commanding General?” asked the oldest man at the table. Mattlov recognised him as Jens Pinera, who’d served as Director-General during Richard Cameron’s childhood and overseen Keith Cameron’s election. The old man served as something of a minister without portfolio. Some of the rumours – Mattlov wasn’t so daft as to get into politics without getting an ear to the ground fast – suggested his position on the cabinet was more to keep his criticisms inside the government instead of becoming the focus of opposition.

“Not quite, Jens. But I’m taking your advice at last and making some changes to the command structure of the Armed Forces so I’m not overloading myself with being Director-General and Commanding General.” McEvedy leant back in his chair. “In order to handle oversee the administration and to help me to formulate military policy, I’m naming General Hayes as the Minister of the Army and Duke Mattlov as the Minster of the Navy.”

Across from Mattlov, the soldier’s brow furrowed. She didn’t seem pleased with the decision. Perhaps she hadn’t been fully briefed in? Nonetheless, she gave him a nod across the table. “I look forward to working with you, your grace.”

“You probably shouldn’t, General McEvedy didn’t bring me in for my charming disposition,” he shot back.

“So I can see.” Hayes gave him another searching look. “You have military experience?”

“Yeah. Plenty of it.”

“Flight Academy of Graham, like many fine naval officers,” Jens Pinera offered from further down the table. “I must say that this isn’t quite what I had in mind, Director-General, but the Duke of Caph’s determination will surely serve the Hegemony well in his new role.”

“I’m trying to place you, but I can’t say I’m familiar with Caph. SLDF service?”

“Eleventh Royal BattleMech Division,” Mattlov replied. “Flew in the Canopian, Rim Worlds and Hegemony. Fifty-three confirmed kills before they invalided me out before Terra.”

“Ah, a ground forces pilot. You didn’t serve with naval wings?”

He shook his head. “Worked with them, never served in one. I know what I’m doing.”

“Does the Hegemony Navy really merit having a cabinet level position?” asked a suited man. The minster for health services, Mattlov thought. What was his name, Samson? Some glorified physician who couldn’t hack actual surgery and went into administration. “No offense to his grace the Duke of Caph but twelve ships isn’t even the force that James McKenna had on hand when he formed the Hegemony.”

“A navy’s a helluva a lot more than warships,” Mattlov shot back. “And someone’s got to build it back up to something that wouldn’t disintegrate if Johnny Davion sneezed in our general direction.”

“Mmm.” McEvedy brought the room’s attention back to himself. “The Lutyen attack rather underscores that the Star League Navy can’t be everywhere at once in sufficient strength. Now, all credit to them, part of the issue with them assembling a response force was ensuring that our worlds remained sufficiently secured but that it was a Marik force that, to take them at face value, ran off the attackers doesn’t please me. That was Terran space and our navy was nowhere to be seen.”

“And how can we redress that? The SLDF is occupying every major shipyard with its own maintenance and repairs, not to mention that there’s no budget for new ships.”

“Like I said, Samson, there’s more to a fleet than warships.”

“Sampson,” the man corrected, popping the P for emphasis.

“Look, one of the things that didn’t get wrecked on Caph when it was liberated were the dropship factories. Well, not entirely. Couple of buildings got levelled but it’s a lot better than most.”

“You want a fleet of piddling little dropships?” asked Sampson. “What can they do?”

Hayes gave the man a scornful look. “Ask anyone who had to face the SDS networks. Caspars might have been the toughest nuts but there were thousands of M-3 drones that were almost as much of a problem – and isn’t that what was built on Caph?”

Faces went white around the table. Jens Pinera coughed furiously and grasped his water cup, sipping from it and then coughing up the water into a handkerchief. Everyone stopped as the elder statesman struggled and finally quelled the reaction. “I do beg your pardon,” he said humbly. “Director-General, I hope that you aren’t considering reviving the SDS drones that Amaris used.”

McEvedy gave the room a reassuring smile and Mattlov realised that he’d expected such a reaction and let it happen, sure that it would make their actual proposal seem more reasonable by comparison. “Nothing of the sort, Jens. Please accept my apologies for any concern I’ve caused you.”

“The M-3 drone was based on the SLDF’s Pentagon-class of assault dropships,” Mattlov explained. “I’ve spoken to engineering staff and it should be very easy to put the design back into mass production. A small squadron of dropships is a reasonable substitute for a corvette when it comes to patrolling orbitals and jump points – maybe not against a serious attack but a corvette wouldn’t survive that anyway.”

“A plan that brings a lot of money into your homeworld. How very providential for you.”

The Director-General smacked the table before Mattlov could respond. “That’s enough, Sampson. Daniel has no financial stakes in the dropship yards. The only reward he’ll get from the HAF buying from those yards is the respect of his people, which he deserves anyway as a SLDF veteran and a loyalist.”

The doctor paled slightly and pushed back his chair. Standing, he bowed to Mattlov. “My apologies, Duke Mattlov. My remark was ill chosen and I regret any offense I may have given.”

“I’ve heard worse.” The pilot considered a moment and then decided to yank the facts out before they were thrown in his face. “My sister Misha and her husband chose to support Amaris, you see. If the resistance hadn’t take care of it, I’d have had to see her face trial for collaboration. My family has a lot of work to do before that stain is erased.”

“Your service here is a fine start on that,” Hayes said quietly.

“Moving on to the actual agenda,” McEvedy continued. “I believe there’s some fresh news from the war fronts.”

The man next to Mattlov opened a folder. “Yes sir. Coordinator Kurita reports the capture of Duke Vasily Sandoval on Robinson. The leader of the Draconis March is presumed to be a font of knowledge about AFFS operations but there’s no sign of a collapse in Federated Suns defences so it doesn’t seem to be having an immediate effect on morale or on their command integrity.”

Leightonville, Robinson
Draconis March, Federated Suns
4 January 2779

John knew he looked hollow-eyed. Rushing from New Avalon to Robinson had reminded him he was no longer young enough to shrug off repeated jumps in succession. Anticipation of the next jump had left him unable to sleep easily even where there had been hours between them and the eight-hour transit from the Robinson-Bethel proximity point to the surface had been his first decent night’s sleep for a week.

Apparently even the prospect of intercept by the Draconis Combine was less worrying than hyperspace, Hanse had quipped. Of course, with the Tancredi as his escort he was as safe as he could ask for and the Remagen, was near enough to reinforce if needed. The two carriers would be busy covering more arrivals over the next few weeks as more reinforcements finally became available.

The office he was using was the same one his son had been using but unlike Joshua he had guards in the room as well when Reuben Sandoval was brought in. The duke wasn’t shackled but he wasn’t wearing a belt or the MechWarrior spurs on his boots. His pants didn’t seem likely to fall down but from the way Reuben hitched them up impatiently, without a belt they were hanging lower than he was comfortable with.

“What am I going to do with you?” John asked, half-rhetorically.

Reuben didn’t meet his eyes. “I... imagine I’ll face a court martial sir.”

“Do you want one? It would be a hell of a scandal for your family. Not exactly the sort of thing the March needs. Given that only you and Joshua were here it would be your word against his.”

“I… don’t dispute striking him, sir.”

“Striking him? I gather it was more strangling.” John glared over the desk. “You lost your temper and you tried to murder my son. Given that he’s confirmed as my heir, any halfway competent prosecutor could hang a high treason charge on that. I’d have to drag you back to New Avalon to find enough senior officers to form a jury, turning the entire thing into a circus. You want that?”

“I wasn’t aware there was an alternative,” the younger man said in confusion.

“My wife wants me to throw the book at you. Joshua may be a grown man now but he’s still her son. If I was in a more vindictive mood I could probably have you stoned to death with lawbooks, but that would harken back to some of my less admirable ancestors. Perhaps she’ll be satisfied with medical reports about you pissing blood.”

That got a pained look. According to medical reports, Joshua’s impromptu stabbing had penetrated one of Reuben’s kidneys. Quick medical attention meant he hadn’t lost it but he’d spent most of the last couple of weeks in a hospital bed.

“Rein it in, John,” warned Hanse. “If he loses his temper again then you’ll have to follow through with the court martial. And don’t bring up his father.”

John paused and shook his head. “I suggest you throw yourself on my mercy while I still have some.”

“You mean… informal unit discipline? As if we were a couple of enlisted men who got into a drunken punch-up?”

“It’s about the level of maturity I’m seeing from you. Of course, I generally expect more from senior officers than from junior enlisted.”

Reuben paled at the reminder. “Thank you, sir. I’ll accept informal discipline.”

John kept him sweating for a long moment before nodding. “Since you admit to initiating the… fight… I’m reducing you in rank to Colonel. Busting you two grades is more than I’d do if you and Joshua were sergeants but as I said, more is expected at your rank.”

“Yes sir.”

“Obviously that’s not compatible with the customary promotion to Field Marshal so I’ll appoint someone else as Marshal of the Draconis March until such time as it seems you can be trusted to keep your head. If you have a candidate in mind, I’ll consider their qualifications…?”

Reuben stared at him, blinking.

When it seemed that he wouldn’t say anything, John shrugged. “Think it over -”

“Sorry, sir. My sister, Brigadier Sandoval. I think your son would endorse her.”

“Colonel of the Fifth Crucis Dragoons,” Hanse reminded John. “Went from lance commander to battalion command in the border war, served in the Hegemony as in command of a demi-brigade. Brigadier is a recent brevet but probably overdue and Joshua put her in charge until you got here.”

John feigned consideration for Reuben’s sake as he listened to Hanse. He remembered Susan Sandoval being mentioned in despatches as far back as the Border War –  and both his son and Michael Stopec thought highly of her. “A good officer and politically it would be preferable to appoint a member of House Sandoval. I’ll offer her the post.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Don’t thank me, I’m not done yet. I’m also deferring your appointment as Minister of the Draconis March. More specifically, I want you to spend a couple of years on New Avalon learning the ropes at the ministry offices there. And of course, good luck avoiding my wife while you’re there. I had to drop all the Christmas and New Year formalities on her while I came here so she has two very good reasons to be annoyed with you.”

“Two years, sir?”

“Yes. I don’t think you’ve left the Draconis March in years as I understand it. Broadening your horizons may do you good and Thomas Green-Davion can handle the Ministerial responsibilities in your absence.”

“He won’t thank you for that,” Hanse noted.

Reuben looked subdued. “I accept the punishment, sir,” he said repentantly. “It was wrong of me to take out my anger on Prince Joshua and you’re being fair.”

“I try to be.” John rose to his feet and walked to the door. “You don’t think I was right to withdraw from the Star League, I hear?”

There was a pause. “No sir. It’s killed tens of thousands of our soldiers. And for what?”

“Do you think the Star League has a future?”

The younger man paused. “I don’t know, sir. But now we have to fight them and we’re terribly outnumbered.”

“You went to an academy, Sandoval. Surely you know the weakness of a divided command? And most of the Star League Council have military training, but they still can’t agree on a First Lord to lead them in war. Jack Lucas is a subordinate commander, not the commander-in-chief. And large portions of the DCMS and CCAF are stationed to watch their borders with the Lyrans and the Free Worlds League, neither of which has offered more than token support.”

“That still leaves the SLDF, sir. And frankly, while we might have held the Capellans and Draconians back, Lucas’ advance is half-way to New Avalon.”

“Yes, the most aggressive commander in the SLDF and fielding more than thirty divisions he’s taken less than thirty worlds in a year – two years if we count the advance under Baptiste. In ’67 I took six SLDF divisions and we took seven worlds in four months. The fact is that the SLDF is a shadow of its former self,” John pointed out. “Your father complained about Proserpina, but together with Tikonov it provides me with the secure forward bases I need to threaten the flanks of Lucas’ advance and forces the Combine and Confederation to look to their own defences. I don’t intend to lose Robinson, but I don’t think your father understood that strategically it’s a sideshow.”

“But why fight them at all? Why not just wait until it collapses? Why be the first to move?”

John considered and then turned, looking at Hanse for a moment before giving Reuben his full attention. “Because we’re too evenly balanced. If the League collapses from squabbling over the leadership we could be fighting for decades without a resolution. But if it fails to stand then the wars that follow will be for individual causes, conflicts between two realms not a pointless five-sided struggle for dominance that no one can win and that everyone will lose.”


Atreus City, Atreus
Marik Commonwealth, Free Worlds League
21 January 2779

Carl had been up late the previous evening – the banquet to congratulate his younger brother on promotion to Captain in the Free Worlds League Navy had run long and the drink had flowed. After capping the speeches by announcing that Thaddeus would be taking command of the brand-new League-class destroyer Ospina, his father had retired early. There was a distinct lack of sympathy in Kenyon’s eyes as Carl gulped down black coffee provided by a steward.

“Getting enough sleep is one of those things you’ll value more than drinking once you’re Captain-General,” his father told him – more of a command than a prediction, he thought.

“I didn’t drink that much. I was talking shop with a couple of Regulan officers into the small hours.”

“Even small talk has to be scheduled at times. There are only twenty-three and a half hours in a local day.”

“That’s something in favour of running affairs of state from Marik,” Carl offered in jest. While the Atrean day was a little shorter than Terran standard, the time taken for homeworld of their family to rotate was almost exactly twenty-five hours.

Kenyon gave the jest a slight smile. “That’s a more honourable reason to do so than some I’ve heard,” he conceded. “But the heart of the League’s government is here, Parliament and the ministries, so we should never be away for too long even if an extra hour and a half tempts us.”

“Gentlemen, the Grand Duke of Oriente,” a staffer Carl didn’t know warned.

“Thank you, Collins.” His father wasn’t similarly at a loss and rose a moment before the door admitted Carter Allison.

The Grand Duke was only a few years older than Carl and had inherited recently – his father Cedro had only ruled for a little over two decades, inheriting late in life from his own father. Had this been a social occasion, the woman on his arm wouldn’t have been surprising – Allison was probably the most eligible man in the League since Carl and Thaddeus had married – but this was a business meeting.

“My lords Marik.” Allison shook their hands briskly. “May I introduce Julia Hughes, my principal economic advisor.”

The both shook hands with her and Kenyon asked: “Any relation to Edward Hughes?”

“He’s my uncle, sir.” She shrugged her shoulders. “The Bureau of Star League Affairs might not offer my family a route of advancement but there are other patrons who find a background in economics, particularly in interstellar trade, to be valuable.”

“How very forward thinking. We can’t prosper by clinging to the past in favour of the situation we face.” Although his father sounded approving, Carl thought that before the day was out a detailed dossier on Ms. Hughes would be on the Captain-General’s desk.

David Stewart and Elsa Cameron-Jones arrived shortly, the Duchess of Regulus with an aide of her own – Jared Humphreys, who Carl knew slightly from his time at Princefield Military Academy where they’d been a year apart. A nod from Kenyon had the door closed and they took seats around the table.

“I called you here to discuss these.” Kenyon dropped a dollar bill on the table and then followed it with a three more banknotes that Carl didn’t recognise.

Glancing at his father for permission he picked them up and sorted through them. “Concordat Bull, Alliance Escudo, Federated Suns Pound,” he identified them.

“Secessionist currencies?” asked Allison. “What’s your point?”

“According to some of our more recent intelligence on the economics of the realms in question, these two trade at about equal level,” Kenyon told them, holding up the dollar and taking the bull back from Carl. “It’s been assumed that the damage done to the Concordat in ’65 and ’66 would cripple them economically but they seem to be clawing their way out of that and with the inflation we’ve seen over the last few years the dollar has been slumping.”

“Does that mean we should expect the Magistracy to be setting up their own currency?” asked Cameron-Jones. “I know there’s still some trade going on across the border, a smuggling ring was caught late last year and they’re facing tax evasion charges as well as treason.”

“It seems likely but that’s not quite where I’m going with that.” Kenyon took the other two bills. “The escudo isn’t quite on par with the bull but if the dollar keeps slipping then before long it’ll have the same worth as this periphery toilet paper.”

Carl saw Hughes’ eyes narrow. “May I ask where the Federated Suns pound stands, Lord Marik? I’d understood that it dropped compared to the dollar after Lord Davion introduced it.”

“Dipped, yes. But while none of these can buy what a dollar could have bought back when I first inherited the leadership of the League, the pound is currently the strongest currency in the Inner Sphere by a margin I find uncomfortable.”

“How have they managed that?” asked Allison.

“Their inflation is about one and a half percent lower than the Star League’s average,” Stewart told him. The Earl rubbed his chin. “Ms. Hughes, the dollar was extremely stable for most of my lifetime and probably before. Why are we seeing the slide now?”

The young woman looked uncomfortable. “My understanding is that the stability required constant fine-tuning of the money-supply on planetary, national and league-wide levels by the BSLA, Lord Stewart. An enormous amount of computer power was put to predicting spending and saving patterns across thousands of worlds. Of course, it’s been almost fifteen years since that was the case. The last major adjustment to the mints and banks were based on the upswing in SLDF spending to pay for operations in the Periphery. I’m not privy to what the remaining BSLA offices have been doing since, but the Hegemony’s isolation and then the loss of factories there has severely affected the supply of manufactured goods, so there’s less to buy and the prices of such goods will naturally rise unless the currency in circulation is constrained to counterbalance it.”

Cameron-Jones leant forwards. “And that isn’t happening in the Federated Suns? They’ve hardly been held up as a model of tight economic control over the years.”

“I’m sure it is. I really couldn’t say why the Star League is seeing more inflation than they are.”

“You mentioned the money supply.” Allison was looking intently at his advisor. “I’ve wondered how Barbara Liao was paying for her military operations against the Federated Suns when her own economy is slumping. What if she’s just printing more dollars to do so?”

“It’s probably not a matter of physical coinage,” Hughes said thoughtfully. “Most of the mints are on Hegemony worlds, after all. Electronic fraud could ‘create’ money on a grand scale but I’d think the banks would balk.”

“If her economic ministers are anything like mine, we’d have heard of wholesale heart attacks on Sian,” Kenyon grunted. “They did suggest that high levels of borrowing and spending – which is up across the Star League – could mean money is circulating faster which would somehow have the same effect. The cause ultimately doesn’t matter. What matters is what we do about it.”

Stewart drummed his fingers on the table. “As long as we’re dealing with a Star League-wide currency, we can’t impose the sort of controls that used to exist – anything we do could be entirely offset by differing policies on Sian, Luthien and Tharkad.”

“Not to mention Terra,” Kenyon agreed. “As long, as you say, as we’re dealing with a Star League-wide currency.”

All eyes went back to the three foreign banknotes on the table.

“It would be very disruptive to leave the dollar,” Jared Humphreys warned, the first time he’d spoken since he arrived. “We saw that in the Federated Suns.”

“In the short term,” Carl pointed out quietly. “But in the long run – John Davion is somehow keeping his currency stable while he’s fighting off the entire Star League.” Or at least those parts of the Star League that cared.

Allison rested his elbow on the table and rubbed his chin. “It’s… an interesting thought.”

“Isn’t it?” Kenyon agreed. “McEvedy would howl, but we’re less tied to the Hegemony’s economy than we have been in decades. It’s been fifty years since the Credit Crisis, but some of us must remember how the Hegemony looted us to correct the trade imbalance. I’m comfortable with increasing our economic distance a little if it can avert that from happening again.”


Bathsheba, Robinson
Draconis March, Federated Suns
1 February 2779

A mix of landing ships and dropships had already disembarked the spearhead of the landing force. John had been advised by both his own staff and Joshua’s not to join the first wave. He hadn’t needed much persuading, Vasily Sandoval’s fate was ample evidence of how much of a mistake that could be.

This time there was no trap though. Colonel Perez had led the way, a dozen Leopard-class dropships skimming the waves with half the Sixth Davion Guards leaping from them to secure a foothold around the docks. Bathsheba’s garrison, armour and infantry from the Third Arkab Legion, had rushed to repel them and left the way open for the other half of Perez’ regiment to make a more conventional landing and seize the drop port.

“We’re seeing movement by ‘Mechs,” Marion Cook reported as John’s Cyclops splashed ashore from landing ship. On paper the military intelligence officer was part of the Davion Assault Guards but with the regiment dispersed to several brigades, their command group acted as the core of the division’s staff. Marion’s Emperor wasn’t quite as fast as John’s ‘Mech but it waded determinedly after him up the beach.

“What sort of movement?”

“Harassing attacks, hit and run.” John heard Marion exhale in relief as she was at last off sand and on the ferrocrete ramp up out of the water. It would be all too easy for their assault ‘Mechs to get mired down on soft ground. “Colonel Perez thinks they’re trying to create an opening for their troops to get out.”

“You disagree?”

“My understanding is that DCMS doctrine would be for them to press aggressively, accepting losses for the chance to catch us unloading.”

First Prince or not, John moved up to join the other ‘Mechs securing the ferry docks. Roll On/Roll Off ships were waiting to move in and use them to disembark heavy tanks and mechanised infantry. “The Arkab Legion are a little out of step with the rest of the DCMS, Marion. Azami can certainly fight fanatically when they must but they’re more sensitive to losses and prefer to fight mobile campaigns. As a rule, anyway. Barring direct orders to stop us at any cost they’d rather give ground and look for reinforcements when they’re outnumbered.”

“Do you expect them to receive orders to stand and fight?”

“Probably not. Minoru’s not stupid. One understrength DCMS division isn’t going to stop a fresh division from the Corps of Guards.”

It had taken some shuffling – fortunately begun when Vasily Sandoval first demanded reinforcements rather than after his death – to pry loose a full division. In the end, John had had to order Stopec to withdraw from Johnsondale where the SLDF were pushing hard and divert the forces intended to reinforce the world.

That put Jack Lucas just a little closer to New Avalon and John was uncomfortably aware that the garrison there might not be able to keep the capital secure if Lucas decided to throw a heavy force forwards without securing his supply lines. There were four regiments of ‘Mechs between the two divisions stationed there – but two of them were only Academy Cadres. If there was an attack then the defence would hinge on the armour and infantry carrying much of the load.

The trade-off was that John had been able to bring a truly powerful force to Robinson – a reinforced division with four brigades built around the Davion Assault Guards, Colonel Perez’ Sixth Davion Guards – eager to win their first battle honour – and First Dragonlords.

Engineers confirmed that the docks had been checked for mines and other sabotage and confirmed as safe. John moved his Cyclops behind the wall of a warehouse, partly to clear the road for traffic and partly to avoid standing still and making himself a target. Up above, fighters from one of the divisional aerospace battalions were circling lazily.

The first RO/RO ship nudged up against the dock, dropping its ramp. Illuminated wands waved to signal and the first tanks rolled out. Merkavas were in the lead and John saw that most had their top hatches open, the helmeted heads of their commanders searching the area for threats. One threw a salute at his Cyclops.

“Marion, tell the commander of the…” John paused to check the unit markings. “Third Federation Armored Regiment to remind his crews that saluting in the field is sniper bait.”

“On it, sir.”

John twisted the torso of his ‘Mech and swept the targeting reticule across the port buildings and the city beyond. There were occasional pings on his sensors as the targeting computer picked up what might be hostile units or might just be perfectly innocent heat or magnetic signatures that happened to be in the right size or temperature bands to be picked out.

A second ferry moved up and this one had Manticores aboard.

“Marshal Davion, the tanks are taking over the perimeter, do you wish to join Major Stephenson’s battalion as they move up?”

“Let’s do that,” John decided.

Behind him in the jump seat, Hanse looked at the ‘Mechs of the battalion. The Cyclops, at ninety tons, out massed most ‘Mechs but here it was among the lightest. “Now this isn’t something I’d have expected to see in my time.”

John cut his microphone. “I thought the Assault Guards were still around in your day.”

“I don’t mean the mass, I mean the fact that two thirds of them are the same design.”

“Your logistics must have been a nightmare.” Stephenson’s battalion was built around two companies of Mackie assault ‘Mechs. Weighing in at a hundred tons each, the Mackie was the very first BattleMech design although these were MSK-9H models, almost as far removed from their distant ancestor as John’s own Cyclops. The Federated Suns had built copies of earlier Mackie variants before the Star League but these ‘Mechs had been claimed as salvage from Rim Worlds forces in the Hegemony, taken either from militia stockpiles or built for Amaris at Skobel Mechworks. The rest of the battalion was made up of two lances of Longbows, six Emperors and a pair of brand new Nightstars from General Motors’ Kathil factories. John wasn’t entirely convinced of the latter’s utility as command ‘Mechs but a number of officers liked to treat it as a ‘super Marauder’.

Hanse laughed. “I prefer to think of them as challenging. We lived or died by our technicians – none of the glory but by god, they deserved it sometimes.”

As John and Marion brought their ‘Mechs into the battalions’ command group a pair of Battleaxes trailed after them. Edwina had sprung that on him with Michael Stopec’s connivance: bodyguards pulled from his old regiment, the Third Guards, charged to stay by his side whichever unit he was accompanying and keep him alive.

It seemed a little excessive to John – it wasn’t as if he planned to seek out action himself, he was mostly in his Cyclops because he’d be harder to pick out as one more ‘Mech on the ground rather than in a fixed headquarters bunker. The battle computer let his staff keep him up to speed on what was going on almost as well as they could in a command centre anyway.

On the other hand, when your wife and two top military advisors (Hanse had concurred enthusiastically) think bodyguards are a good idea, it’s usually wisest to nod and agree.

“Kosigan and Patril must be getting awfully bored,” he observed before turning the microphone on.

“Bored is good,” Hanse reminded him. “No one’s bored when they’re getting shot at, for example.”


Geneva, Terra
Alliance Core, Terran Hegemony
25 February 2779

“The expansion of the docks at Titan are going well,” Daniel Mattlov reported to the cabinet. “The director advises me they should be able to begin working on warships massing up to a megaton within a few more months.”

“I take it that the SLDF are claiming priority for use of the yards?” asked Pinera wryly.

“They asked for that, yes.” The Director-General leant back in his chair. “In the end they settled for eighty percent of the work done with those docks, which seems reasonable.”

“Even eighty percent is generous of them given the relative size of the warship fleets,” pointed out Lauren Hayes. “Docks that size can handle anything up to a battlecruiser and our largest ships are a pair of cruisers.”

“They can also maintain destroyers, which we otherwise have limited capacity for,” Mattlov replied. “Although the exact arrangement is that the yards will work entirely on rebuilding wrecked SLDF cruisers with every fifth hull worked on transferred to the Terran Hegemony Navy.”

There was a murmur of approval from around the room.

Hayes leaned forwards. “How many ships can we expect to receive from this deal?”

James McEvedy looked over at Mattlov. “The initial contract is for forty ships, isn’t it?” The Director-General had intended to be closely involved in negotiations but the demands of reconstruction on Terra and dozens of other worlds had forced him to cancel attendance for more than half the meetings.

“Yes, we’re going to be reconstructing forty Sovetskii Soyuz-class ships into the new Kerensky-class fast carriers. For those deficient in maths, that’s eight for us and thirty-two for the SLDF.”

“I’ve never considered the Sovetskii’s to be fast.”

“It’s not a small refit, we’re looking at replacing the current engine block with a cluster of Rolls le Fey engines that should double the thrust/mass ratio of the class,” Mattlov said smugly. “That’s not far off a Vincent-class corvette’s performance – or more relevantly, the Federated Suns’ fast carriers.”

“Impressive. How long is it expected to take?”

“Years, unfortunately. Building the docks was one thing but we’re having to train up the orbital workforce.”

Pinera frowned. “Wasn’t there a drive to recruit workers from shipyards destroyed by Amaris? Surely there must be thousands of trained engineers available.”

McEvedy’s face was chagrined. “We would have thought.”

“We did get a good number of Martian workers from the old Bluenose Clippership yards,” Mattlov offered. “Unfortunately, that’s more the exception than the rule. When we started looking for people who’d been working for Boeing Interstellar we hit the other extreme on the scale – virtually all of them are gone.”

“Damn Amaris.”

The pilot-turned-minister laughed sharply. “For once, not his fault. Rare, I know.”

“Then what happened?”

“A pied piper by the name of Davion,” McEvedy told them. “Boeing’s New Earth and Terran megaplexes were destroyed but they still have the Galax facilities in the Federated Suns. A very large number of Boeing’s workforce elected to emigrate there – after all it’s less of a jump into the unknown when you have a job waiting for you.”

Hayes rubbed her face. “Davion never sent recruiters around the SLDF the way Liao, Kurita and the other two did. I suppose it must have escaped Kerensky’s attention that it didn’t mean the Federated Suns had no recruiters, just that they had other targets.”

“And not just aerospace engineers,” the Director-General agreed. “We could go A to Z with professions he’s been recruiting.”

“Zoologists?” asked someone sarcastically.

“The entire Zoology department of the James McKenna University in Glasgow were invited to go to New Syrtis and join the University of Saso.” McEvedy’s voice was flat. “He’s thorough, I’ll give him that. And although I don’t think he still has recruiters in the Hegemony people continue to leave. And a disproportionate number of them are ending up in the Federated Suns despite the little detail that they’re leaving the Star League to go there.”

“Where’s Glasgow?” Doctor Sampson asked someone next to him in a whisper.

“Only a few hundred miles from here, Doctor,” Hayes told him sharply.

“Can’t we do something about this migration?” the man asked, quickly changing the subject. “Set up a blockade or something?”

Mattlov shook his head. Idiot. “Space is rather large and jumpships avoid attention quite easily by travelling through uninhabited systems. It’s how the Star League Navy operated in the Hegemony while Amaris was in power and now refugee ships are using it to cross the war zone to enter the Federated Suns. If you want to stop the flow then you need to go to the source of the problem.”

“There’s no way I can set guards at every spaceport!” protested Hayes. “Not unless I give up all our other commitments. And how can we tell who’s going to the Suns and who’s just moving to another Hegemony world?”

“Bloody hell, Lauren, that’s not what I was meaning.”

“Well what do you mean?”

“I meant, we need to get a handle on why people would rather go to the Federated Suns than stay here,” Mattlov snarled. “General Lucas is halfway to New Avalon and the vaunted AFFS can slow him but they aren’t stopping him. We all know how this secession is going to end, but people are still going there. Why?”

Pinera sighed and steepled his fingers. “Duke Mattlov may be less than diplomatic, but he makes a good point. For whatever reason, the Federated Suns is drawing in millions -”

“Hundreds of millions, probably over a billion by now.”

“Thank you, Director General.” The old man looked around the table. “Setting aside allusions to the Pied Piper of Hamelin, the Federated Suns and its government must seem more appealing to many of our citizens than the Terran Hegemony and its government. A worrying situation.”

“We are the Terran Hegemony’s government!” exclaimed Sampson.

“I hope that’s concern, not discovery, I’m hearing,” Mattlov sniped.

“That’s enough from both of you.” James McEvedy rose to his feet. “Minister Pinera, please make this your first priority. Find out why people are leaving the Hegemony and give me some recommendations on how we can make the prospect less appealing – with an emphasis on the carrot over the stick. I have no wish to seem like the next Amaris.”

New Haifa, Robinson
Draconis March, Federated Suns
17 March 2779

Seeing New Haifa again hit Susan Sandoval like a hammer blow. It had been more than ten years since she’d returned to the Sandoval’s ancestral home and as the dropship came in to land she saw pillars of smoke rising from the city.

The Otomo wouldn’t leave without the Coordinator and the dropship crews wouldn’t leave without the soldiers they’d brought here. Susan had brought Gav Greaney’s battalion with her to join the first wave of reinforcements. As her heavy and assault ‘Mechs had disembarked to begin rooting the DCMS out of the city, she saw an entire battalion of Carronade artillery vehicles unlimbering and preparing to bombard the enemy landing zone.

That had been a full day ago. She hadn’t slept, although hopefully her troops were. Her family home had taken some incidental damage – a small force had been looking for the First Prince but moved on quickly once they didn’t find him. She, on the other hand, found him in the library.

“Your highness.” Susan drew herself up and saluted.

He returned the salute crisply. “Marshal Sandoval, welcome home.”

That gave her a moment’s pause. “Thank you, sire.”

“You have reservations?”

“It’s been a while since I considered anywhere but the Dao Dragoons to be my home,” Susan admitted. “Even once I made Brigadier it hadn’t really sunk in that I wasn’t their CO anymore.”

John Davion nodded. “You had command of them for a long time. I wish I could promise that they’d be at your disposal to secure the Draconis March, but the demands of war mean that’s a promise I might not be able to keep… and I prefer to be honest about such matters.”

“I understand, sire.”

The First Prince reached out and put a printout on the table. “We’ve had reports from our remaining agents in Canaan about the situation there. You’ll want to sit down.”

Taking a chair – at the same table she’d been shouting at her father across when they last met – Susan unfolded the paper and scanned it. Then her stomach plummeted and she read it again, more carefully. That… “That can’t be true.”

“It’s a preliminary report, but we have multiple sources saying the same,” he told her.

“Almost a hundred thousand people?”

It was no secret that the DCMS had established work camps at Canaan’s major mines and were running three shifts, keeping the miners on site and isolated from their families. Military Intelligence had inserted dozens of officers into the occupied continent and unlike the trap laid for her father, the work camps hadn’t been protected by Draconian counter-intelligence.

Before they withdrew their garrison infantry, the Combine had marched all the workers into the barracks thrown up to house them… and then they’d pumped VX gas into the buildings.

The First Prince nodded. “We know the regiments that did it. And we know who the orders came from.”

“Kurita?” she demanded. “He knew?”

“The regiments were instructed by General Thomas Kurita of the DCMS, the Coordinator’s deputy within the invasion force.” He paused. “Of course, as a deputy his only authority is to speak on the Coordinator’s behalf.”

Susan closed her eyes, choked down the fury inside of her. Shouting and screaming wouldn’t get her anywhere with John Davion. “Your highness, this can’t be allowed to pass.”

“I agree. They are my people and yours. We – I – have already failed to protect them. If we don’t even avenge them then what is our protection worth?” He rose to his feet. “Come with me, please.”

There were no dungeons in the manor but the security set up had a few detention rooms, for use in case of intruders and the like. Susan had found the rooms in exploration as a child, thought nothing of them and gone on. It was shocking to see Minoru Kurita sitting in one of them. He’d been shackled to a chair, both hands in bandages. When she looked for a monster, all she saw was an old, tired man.

“Ah, Davion.” His voice was slightly slurred. “And you must be the new Sandoval. I would rise, but…” He pulled on the chains loosely.

“Coordinator.” The First Prince folded his arms behind him. “It’s been a long time since Terra.”

“Yes. Once you would have made me First Lord. Now you have me in chains. I should tell you that I have no value as a hostage.”

“What is it today with people keep telling me things I already know?”

Susan glanced at her ultimate superior. Immediate superior now, as well. “You would have made him First Lord?”

“At the time I considered that to be the lesser evil than the war we’re fighting now. Fortunately, it turned out to be a mistake I don’t have to live with.”

Kurita smiled tightly. “You didn’t dare to face me as a MechWarrior, but I suppose a firing squad is your solution?”

John shook his head. “You’re not entitled to a warrior’s death. I have people on Canaan now. We know what you did to the workers.”

“Yes, it will take you time to put those mines back to work.”

“You’re a savage,” Susan accused.

The Coordinator raised his chin. “I am a ruler. One must make the best decision for their realm first and foremost.”

“There were a hundred thousand people in those camps!”

“My people do not shrink from capital punishment. Across the Combine’s four hundred worlds, how many do you suppose have been executed for various crimes over the last fourteen years?” Kurita shook his head. “You are naïve, which I suppose is also to the Combine’s benefit.”

“The Ares Conventions prohibit the use of chemical warfare,” John said quietly. “As well as the sort of urban warfare we’ve seen so much over the last few years.”

“The Ares Conventions were renounced two hundred years ago, when we brought the Outworlders and the Taurians to heel,” Kurita reminded them. “There’s no legal weight to them anymore.”

“They remain a pretty good guideline to what is and isn’t, shall we say, civilised.” The First Prince turned a chair around and sat on it, facing the prisoner. “So, from one barbarian to another, do you know why the Ares Conventions never specified a consequence for breaking their guidelines?”

Susan blinked. She’d never actually read them. Was that true?

“I’ve never given them thought.”

“The conventions are just that, conventions. What they codify are what might be called natural laws of war. A… social contract, if you will. Unspoken, which is where the Conventions came in handy, laying out what was and wasn’t allowed. The consequences were obvious: retaliation in kind.”

“Do you think that threatening Combine workers will strike fear into the heart of my son? Zabu is of stronger fibre than that.”

John shook his head in dismissal. “As you say, you’ve executed thousands of your own people. I’m sure that killing a hundred thousand of your people would leave you and your son totally unmoved.” He paused. “But we know who carried out this atrocity. We know the regiments and getting their rosters is simply a matter of investigation. I have an entire Ministry for that sort of work and I am going to hold every person from the lowliest private to the most senior officer in the chain of command personally accountable. So, when your son is next advised to wage war on a civilian population, he’ll know that at least one state won’t excuse it.”

“You’re talking about assassination.”

“I’m talking about responsibility. Your responsibility.” The First Prince rose to his feet. “I suppose Francesca Reznick will be annoyed that you aren’t available for extended interrogation, but nothing you know is as important as reminding the Inner Sphere that I have a very low tolerance for those who wage war on civilians.”

Kurita looked up at him. “Perhaps you are less naïve than I thought,” he conceded.

“If it won’t be a firing squad, how will he die?”

“We don’t have VX gas of our own to use,” Davion said coldly. “Or at least, not conveniently here on Robinson. I imagine the stock from Nagayan would include some. We’re assembling a gas chamber though and this is an industrial world, so finding some sort of lethal gas won’t be hard. Carbon monoxide would do in a pinch. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, a painful choking death for a painful choking death. Die knowing that thousands of your soldiers will follow you the same way, Lord Kurita. Quite the legacy to leave for your son.”


Atreus City, Atreus
Marik Commonwealth, Free Worlds League
3 April 2779

The screens displayed both imagery and the preliminary analysis of the damage done. The debris that had once been space-stations next to graphs detailing the impact on construction and maintenance schedules over the five years it was estimated that would be needed to restore the SelaSys yards at Loyalty to full productivity.

“It was an extremely economic attack.” Kellogg Winslow was delivering the briefing and if he was moved by being the bearer of bad news to the Captain-General and a parliamentary committee, it didn’t show on his face. The Director of SAFE remained composed.

Carl leant forwards. “You sound almost as if you admire it.”

“As a patriot, Lord Marik, I’m outraged. As a professional, I want to learn everything I can about the operation so I can better defend against similar attacks – or emulate it should I be ordered to do so.”

Beside Carl his father nodded. His own face was stony. “What have you discovered so far?”

“Twenty operatives in total – four long term infiltrators, four more recent arrivals who risked using relatively insecure cover IDs, and a twelve-man strike team who were completely black. Seven were killed rather than be captured and it’s believed that thirteen of them escaped the yards. At this time there’s only one jumpship they could have used to escape the system and we’re looking for it – if not then they’ve gone to ground somewhere on Loyalty.”

“Twenty men and women have cost us more than a billion dollars a head – and more than that, they’ve cost us time. You’re correct to call this economic,” Kenyon Marik agreed. “The drive assembly station alone will keep us from laying down new warships at Loyalty until 2783 at the earliest and losing the lensing facility cuts our production of capital grade lasers in half.”

“Did you manage to ID the people responsible?” David Stewart was the only one present who showed the frustration that Carl felt. Loyalty didn’t lie within his province but he had substantial investments in SelaSys, making them his people in some ways.

The death toll when the explosives tore through the space stations had run into the hundreds even before tonnes of broken metal was blasted across the shipyard. Warships, even under construction, could take that battering but more than a thousand yard workers had taken damage to their spacesuits. Hasty patches had saved some from death but even a brief exposure to vacuum meant months of hospitalization so the workforce needed to make even minimal repairs had been decimated.

“If you mean the operatives then we have enough to work with on a search, although there are no guarantees on such a matter. As to who they are working for, their tradecraft was excellent. The most I can say at the moment is that the four recent arrivals entered the League via the Commonwealth.”

Carl shook his head. “Which doesn’t prove anything. Isn’t it likely they were working for House Davion? After all, the Federated Suns has targeted Capellan and Draconian shipyards recently.”

“It’s the most probable answer but there remains no evidence to that effect,” Winslow told him calmly. “The theory is plausible, but I would be lying if I said I was sure that it was correct.”

Kenyon Marik nodded. “For one thing, the methodology is different. The attacks on Chatham and Capella were carried out by warships, not saboteurs.”

“Quite so. In many ways this is more similar to the attack on the Lycomb factory on Demeter that sparked the Border War in 2760.”

The younger Marik barely remembered the incident but he nodded. “I take your point. And if someone else is responsible then they could be planning on blame falling on John Davion.”

His father looked around the room and frowned in thought. “Despite the clash at Lutyen, it’s unlikely that John Davion considers our fleet to be a major threat to him. While we have one of the most powerful fleets in the Star League, we have to defend our own borders first so it would be hard for me to justify sending more than modest force as far as the Federated Suns. Between them the Confederation and the Draconians have lost almost fifty warships so far and they have no immediate prospect of replacing them, but they were right on his doorstep. Targeting us makes less sense when there are Terran yards supporting the operations directly against him.”

Stewart’s nostrils flared. “Who does that leave?”

“There are only so many governments to consider.” Kenyon leant back. “The Periphery are thus far holding the ceasefire and Kerensky is too hidebound to consider such actions so once we exclude Davion that leaves the five member-states. Your thoughts, Carl?”

I think this is a test. Nonetheless, he considered the options. “The Combine and the Confederation would both likely prefer that our fleet be weakened comparably to their own but it would be a considerable risk for them to take if evidence came to light blaming them – they’re already on the frontlines of a war. You’ve always told me that only a fool invites war on two fronts.”

“Barbara Liao is not entirely a fool,” Kenyon told him. “And Minoru Kurita has personally taken charge of the fighting on Robinson so it is probable he is entirely involved there.”

“The Terran Hegemony might have similar interests and concerns but the SLDF is entirely handling that front of the war so the HAF isn’t involved, but they’re so intent on rebuilding… and would they have recovered to the point they can try something this ambitious?”

“Winslow?” enquired his father.

“It’s very unclear how much of Star League Intelligence Command defected to Keith Cameron but we know that some of the Special Forces Command’s teams returned to Terran service when he recalled the Royals. He undoubtedly has some capability.”

“On the other hand, the HAF is still far smaller than we are. Would McEvedy risk it? He’s currently campaigning for formal election as Director-General,” Carl recalled. “The timing seems as if it could backfire for him.”

“A valid point. That leaves one possibility.”

Carl was about to agree but then shook his head. “Respectfully, father, two possibilities.”

“Oh?”

“Internal action within the League. We have three major shipbuilders and the rivalry is intense. Irian Technologies have been accused of industrial espionage before, albeit not on this scale.”

“You think that that’s likely?” Kenyon asked coldly.

He hesitated and then shrugged. “I don’t think we should rule it out too easily. The alternative is that this is Lyran action – they’re the only other state still in the Star League with their major warship yards intact and crippling our fleet would leave Steiner free to draw forces from our border to reinforce his adventurism against the Rim Worlds Republic.”

“And I wish them well of each other.” The Captain-General sounded almost sincere until you considered the context. “Officially we’ll be working on the assumption this was Davion work – it will play well with the media. Unofficially, the fact is that this weakens us relative to the Lyrans and that isn’t acceptable even if they turn out not to have been behind it.”

Earl Stewart frowned. “What are you planning, Kenyon?”

Winslow cleared his throat. “In order to accommodate the limits that this incident places on our maintenance schedule, the navy will be recalling its Aegis-class ships and placing them in a temporary squadron stationed over Loyalty to secure the site and lower their operational tempo. Unofficially, two of them will undergo slight modifications so we can use them without their electronic signature being identified.”

“The same sort of thing we did in the forties and fifties,” the Earl noted. “And then?”

“The Bolson shipyards at New Kyoto will be subject to an unfortunate attack by Federated Suns cruisers,” Kenyon said quietly. “Obviously a continuation of the attacks on Capella, Chatham and now Loyalty.”

“Respectfully, sir.” Jared Humphreys had said nothing so far, simply watching and waiting. “If they’re correctly identified then it would be an act of war.”

“Young man, the Star League is not what it once was. It may very soon no longer be a factor in which case a strong Lyran Commonwealth, unscathed by the recent wars, would be a major problem.” The Captain-General shrugged. “There are, after all, many wealthy industrial worlds in the Terran Hegemony, such as Wasat with its own shipyards, who may be looking for a protector more able than James McEvedy. It would be preferable if the Steiners aren’t in a position to challenge that protection.”

There was a silence in the room at the implications of that statement, a silence broken by a chirp from Kellogg Winslow’s belt.

All eyes went to the director of the League’s intelligence agency, who removed a small communicator from his belt and scanned the message on its small screen. Then he straightened and looked at Carl’s father. “Sir, Coordinator Minoru Kurita has been captured and executed by John Davion.”

Carl’s jaw dropped.

“The source of your information?”

Winslow consulted the screen. “Davion announced it publicly, sir. Word must already have reached Terra, it’ll hit the media within hours, perhaps minutes.”


Pearl Harbor, Terra
Alliance Core, Terran Hegemony
29 April 2779

While Stefan Amaris had destroyed countless historical monuments, he had elected not to cause any further damage to the eight centuries old wreck on the bottom of the Battleship Row. He’d actually made a visit himself once, insisting on a private time to meditate over the remains of the USS Arizona. The orders keeping the museum empty had never been rescinded and for the rest of his reign no one had been allowed near the ship. Why he’d taken an interest and why he’d kept the museum closed remained mysteries (although Daniel Mattlov personally thought he’d just forgotten the order and no one had dared take the initiative to ask permission to re-open it).

However, after only modest cleaning up, it had been open for visitors again for years. This visitor hadn’t demanded that he be allowed to view the long-sunken warship alone though. Instead he shook hands with other tourists, patted children on their heads and took the time to explain the history behind the memorial to his daughter and several other children that his security allowed within earshot.

(One of the museum staff had recorded the explanation and Mattlov suspected it would be on offer as an audio guide within a week – after all, it had been said in public so there was no legal barrier to doing so).

“Are you still campaigning for popular affection?” Daniel asked sarcastically as they left. Young Sarah McEvedy had run ahead to make sure that she secured the best seat in the helicopter along with her teddy bear. She was still at the age that parental assurance it was the best seat overcame any objective judgement. Actually, it was the one with the lowest percentage chance of injury to the person in it should the helicopter need to make a crash landing.

“Always. Cameron – the Dick, not Keith or Helena – damaged the Director-Generalship almost as badly as Amaris.” McEvedy looked around the harbour. “Besides it’s good to be out of the office once in a while.”

“You’re right about that.”

“And as the Minister of the Navy, isn’t this something you should be interested in?”

“Maybe if it was one of the carriers,” Mattlov replied with feigned indignation. “I was never on one of the battlewagons.” He followed McEvedy’s gaze across the water. “Of course, it turned out the carriers were what mattered. Interesting how we seem to forget the lessons and have to learn them all over again.”

“More depressing than interesting.” McEvedy glanced ahead to make sure his daughter was still out of earshot. “Have you heard anything from your friends in the SLDF about what’s going on in the Draconis Combine?”

“Only in terms of their immense frustration. I gather that Minister Blake is fit to be tied as well.”

The Director-General nodded. “It’s got shades of what happened during the Amaris Coup – not being able to speak to the Coordinator. But even then MiniCom were still able to provide communication to and from Star League facilities in the Combine.”

Minoru Kurita’s execution, with video footage provided raw to every news outlet in the Federated Suns had leaked across the rebel state’s boundaries almost immediately – to the point it had even out-paced the formal notification and warning that John Davion had sent to Terra and the other capital worlds.

Atrocities would not be met in kind, they would be repaid with highly specific targeting of anyone involved for execution – or assassination. Whether such actions had taken place in the Draconis Combine as the remains of Minoru Kurita’s army returned to their footholds across the border was a matter of intense interest to the Inner Sphere but the new Coordinator had ordered HPG stations secured by his own troops and at least some of Fifteenth Army was supporting the efforts. As a result, there was no news coming out of the Draconis Combine and probably very little going in.

Mattlov shrugged. “Taking over Caph involved a mountain of paperwork and that’s just one world. I’d imagine young Zabu Kurita has a lot on his plate with responsibility for hundreds of them dropping on his shoulders.”

“Yes, but one of those responsibilities is to talk to his peers.” McEvedy looked at the helicopter and then paused, stepping to one side to look down at the water. “I wanted to ask a favour of you.”

“A favour? I’m a duke of the Hegemony and one of your ministers. That more or less obligates me to you, if I understand the oaths I took.”

“Daniel, this isn’t something those oaths cover.” The older man looked over at him. “I need a chain of succession. Richard Cameron II underlined that an underage heir is disastrous and as much as I love Sarah there’s no way of knowing if she’ll grow up fit to wield the responsibilities of office. Now I have the mandate of being elected as Director-General I’m going to go to the Hegemony Congress and request the creation of a new office, the Deputy Director-General.”

“An appointed successor? You know that won’t go down well – people love the stability of a dynasty.”

“They didn’t love the Dick once they saw what they were dealing with. And there’s nothing to say I can’t appoint Sarah to the position once she’s old enough, if she shows she’s fit. But until then I want someone responsible to hold the position.”

“Who do you have in mind?” He saw McEvedy levelling a put upon look at him. “Oh hell, no. Why me? You know I’m no politician.”

“That’s why I want you. You’re a stubborn, pig-headed ass at times, Daniel, but no one doubts for an instant where you stand. If something happens to me then I want that backbone in my chair, glaring back at them, yelling back if that’s what it takes.”

“Why not Hayes? I thought she was your golden girl?”

“Lauren is a fine officer but she’s not a policymaker. She needs someone to follow, someone to focus her loyalty upon. Once that was Kerensky, now it’s me… Without that direction, she’d be in trouble. Maybe she’ll grow into such a role, but I can’t wait around and see if it does. You don’t have that problem – hell, how many times have you made decisions that push the boundaries of your office and then told me after the fact?”

Mattlov took hold of the fence separating the walkway to the helipad from the waters below. “I can’t be your best choice here.”

“Right now, that’s exactly what you are: the nobility knows you’re one of them; the military – both the army and the navy – respect your credentials with the SLDF; the other ministers all know you and the public’s learning your name too.”

“Sir… James, really. Why are you asking me to do this?”

McEvedy looked over at the helicopter. His daughter was looking out at them. “If I die when she’s a kid, what happens to her? Growing up spoiled and entitled is the best case scenario. More likely there would be a civil war and our neighbours carving out protectorates. As my heir she’d be a political target. I don’t want her to have to deal with that.”

“Daddy!” Sarah McEvedy called. “Uncle Dan! Are you coming?”

“We’re coming, Sarah!” her father replied.

Mattlov looked at the girl and groaned. “Okay, damn you. Just don’t go dying, I don’t want to have to explain that to her.” The two of them started walking again towards the helicopter.

“That’s one promise I can’t make, as Minoru Kurita just demonstrated. So, thank you.”

They reached the helicopter and Mattlov strapped himself in while McEvedy saw to his daughter before taking his own seat. The engine rumbled to life and moments later the helicopter had them high over Pearl Harbor. Sarah glued herself to the window, watching the port shrink beneath them.

“Sir, you have a call.”

McEvedy looked up. “Personal?”

The crew chief shook his head. “Sorry sir, business.”

The Director-General’s face said it all. “What’s going on in Geneva that they need to speak to me on my vacation?”

“It’s not Geneva, sir. It’s the SLDF headquarters at Unity City.”

“Daddy?” asked Sarah.

McEvedy sighed. “The perils of being popular, sweetie. Let me get this out of the way so they’re not bothering us at the beach.”

“’kay.”

He took the handset. “This is McEvedy.” Pause. “Alright, yes I did say update me, but…” Pause. “I see. Okay, I’m going to hand you off to the Deputy Director-General, he’s cleared for this.” He did exactly that and showed his empty hands to Sarah. “All done!”

Mattlov rolled his eyes and lifted the handset to his ear. “Hello?”

“Sir?”

“This is Navy Minister Daniel Mattlov. Also Deputy Director-General as of the past five minutes.”

“Congratulations, sir. This is Colonel Williams at SLDF Member-State Liaison. Our intel shop has a priority update on the situation in the Combine.”

“Right.” He leant in his seat and looked out the window. I’d rather be flying this thing, even if it is just a whirlybird. “So, what’s the bad news?”

“We’ve had reports advising that General Nakazono has issued direct orders to his divisional commanders to redeploy to a staging area – exact location isn’t known yet.” Williams sounded as if he couldn’t believe what he was saying. “The General’s appealing to them for support in dethroning House Kurita.”

“What? It sounded like you just said…”

“You heard correctly, sir. General Nakazono is attempting to overthrow Coordinator Kurita, sir. Until the situation clarifies, we’ve had to designate Fifteenth Army as… in a state of mutiny.”


Fort Callaghan, Sinope
Galedon District, Draconis Combine
6 May 2779

Hachiman hadn’t been that bad as a posting, Marge Pritchard thought as she walked through the rain to the command post. Sinope was definitely a step down on par with the news she had today. On the border with the Outworlds Alliance it had once been a fortified staging post with three major bases to support operations by Fifteenth Army.

Now Fort Callaghan was the only base still in SLDF hands and instead of a full division the garrison was a hodgepodge of units scraped together as much because they could be shipped out on a single dropship as anything else. It had been three weeks before the facilities were restored to the point they even moved into quarters off the Excalibur-class dropship that had brought them here.

The SLS Johnston was still acting as the battlegroup command post, as if by keeping some functions aboard it the troops could cling to it as a lifeline. As long as the dropship was there, they could act as if this posting was just temporary.

Alois Ranson was waiting at the gangway, a flimsy in hand. He offered it wordlessly to her once she was out of the rain. Pritchard waved it away and removed her coat first, shaking it in the direction of the door to get as much water off it as she could.

“There’s a rack with some heaters,” the gunner offered. “Can hang it there to dry while we’re meeting.”

“Sure,” she sighed and traded the coat for the flimsy. As Pritchard followed him up the stairs to the troop decks she compared the contents of the two documents. Great. Just about as bad as she’d expected.

“Evenin’ Marge.” Elijah Slade rose and offered his hand as she entered the room. The infantry battalion commander was a big man and the hand he offered her was metal – a replacement for the one he’d lost to a mine in the fighting for Lyons back in 2772.

“It’s an evening, I’ll say that for it.” Marge gave Koopman and Steuben looks before she took the seat at the head of the table. Most of the officers were present and a fair spread of NCOs – her bringing her entire tank crew instead of a Sergeant Major wasn’t more than moderately eccentric. Taking the colonel’s seat crossed that line though and there was a stir of interest. “We missing anyone?” she asked.

“Colonel Cranston’s not here yet,” Slade pointed out quietly.

“He’s not gonna make it.”

“Why not?” asked someone from the back.

Pritchard kicked her feet up onto the table and crossed them at the ankles. “Because he’s inside of a bottle,” she said bluntly. “And I can’t blame him.”

Everyone had their ways of dealing with what they’d seen since 2764. Except for one day a year, Cranston had kept his drinking to a glass before he went to bed. Everyone knew what happened the other day, the anniversary of when then then-Major Erik Cranston made it home, and the battalion of tank crews he’d brought with him into the battle group had their own way of handling complaints about it. Of course, that had been mid-March.

Slade shrugged. “Anything on the docket that won’t wait until tomorrow?” he asked awkwardly.

“Yep. And in my professional opinion, tomorrow won’t be any better.”

“What’re you saying?” demanded Ellie Sutherland. She was one of Cranston’s tankers, the B Company commander. “We all know he has bad days.”

Pritchard shook her head. “I’d say the straw that broke the camel’s back was this.” She waved the flimsy she’d brought with her. “We have orders. Two sets in fact. One from Corps headquarters, one from General Nakazono himself.”

“What do they say?”

She spread them out on the table. “Has everyone here seen the news from Robinson?” She didn’t need to specify what news. “Put it another way, did anyone not watch it?”

No one spoke up.

“Okay. Ugly facts being ugly facts… General Nakazono’s given orders to all of Fifteenth Army. We’re to commandeer such transport is needed and rendezvous at Iijima. The mission statement is to remove Coordinator Zabu Kurita and impose martial law on the Draconis Combine.”

There was a dead silence.

Steuben raised his hand as if he was in the classroom. “How would anyone tell the difference?” he asked mildly, voice merely curious.

“That’s not funny,” Slade said irritably.

The gunner frowned. “I withdraw the question,” he replied coolly, eyes fixed on the infantryman.

“Corps Command have a slightly different set of instructions,” Pritchard continued. “General Lowell advises that we should ignore any instructions that don’t come through proper channels and remain on station here on Sinope. Couple of obvious problems with that.”

“Like what?” asked Sutherland. “Nakazono’s gone insane.”

“The universe is insane, otherwise why would a pack of jumped up monkey-descendants be out here in the first place.” Pritchard deliberately crumpled up the Corps orders into a ball. “Firstly, proper channels are for General Lowell to send orders to divisional command and for them to relay instructions to us. Might be a little difficult since I’m not sure we even have a divisional command post since Onofre and half her staff bolted across the border to join DeChevilier’s Pentagon League.”

She threw the ball over her shoulder into a corner of the room. “Second, Tai-sa Holman of the PSL has his hand up Lowell’s ass so far you can see his fingers when the general opens his mouth.” The Professional Soldiery Liaison was the DCMS bureau concerned with regulating their interactions with mercenaries and, since the Amaris Coup, with the SLDF. The extent to which they saw a difference had always been questionable.

“Cut the crap, Pritchard. Where are you going with this?” Sutherland demanded.

“We have no air support,” she said flatly. “We can probably get a jumpship but as soon as we do the DCA will be after us and the Johnston can’t hold off more than a squadron of their fighters. As soon as more than that turns up we’re dead, so going to Iijima is suicide.”

“Then we have no choice but to follow Lowell’s orders.”

“Don’t we? Because let’s just be clear: if we take John Davion’s word for it then the DCMS treated Robinson basically the way the Rimjobs treated the Hegemony worlds. And I have an issue with that.”

Slade stood up slowly. “Question is – and I never served with him – is John Davion’s word good?”

“Yeah, it is. You think Kerensky would have made him a General if it wasn’t?”

“Pritchard’s right,” agreed Captain Zibler. Federated Suns born, he commanded their one company of BattleMechs and had had to tread carefully since their arrival here. “I’m not fond of him seceding but at the same time, he told us exactly why he was doing that. There’s no point in him lying about it.”

“So, what do we do then? If we can’t go and we can’t stay?”

“I said we couldn’t go to Iijima, Slade. If we go the other way then they’ll be looking for us in the wrong direction. It’s only two jumps from here to the Alliance and from there we have options. Follow Onofre out to the Pentagon League, work our way around the periphery to the Rim Worlds and offer Kerensky our services…” She paused. “Or if anyone’s inclined to, chances are pretty good the Alliance would let us cross the border into the Federated Suns.”

“That would be treason. All this is treason,” Sutherland pointed out. She had her hand on her sidearm. “Major Pritchard, I’m taking you into…”

“If the next word out of your mouth is custody,” Steuben told her quietly, “then you and I will have a regrettable falling out, Captain.” The gunner didn’t have his own sidearm out but he was tensed and ready. Koopman’s own pistol was in his hand but pointed at the ground and behind Sutherland, Ranson had somehow produced an SMG on an assault-sling from under his uniform jacket.

“You’re not entirely wrong, Captain. I’m sure this will be called treason. And if anyone wants to stay here, I’m fine with that. Those who feel the way I do, can come with me. I’m pretty sure I know where my battalion stands, I suggest you poll your troops. If crews split, we can figure something out about equipment.”

The room seemed to hang in the balance for a moment and then Zibler glanced towards the door. “Yeah. Sick of those bastards calling me a gaijin anyway. I’ll see what my company want. I figure most of them are no happier than you are.”

Junior officers began nodding in agreement and Sutherland’s face sunk. She let go of the laser pistol. “I’ll speak to the Colonel.”

“Go right ahead.” Pritchard gestured to the door. “If you can sober him up, you’ll be doing better than I managed.”

The room emptied after Sutherland left, officers and NCOs talking about what they would do. Win or lose, at least there was some energy to their conversation, Pritchard thought.

Slade paused at the door. “Where will you be going, Major? The Federated Suns?”

She shrugged. “After all this time being called a soldier-for-hire by Tai-sa Holman’s crew, maybe I’ll give it a try. Not sure I’d like the fit of a Davion uniform but his money spends as well as anyone’s and I’m pretty much done following causes. Maybe working for money won’t leave a sick taste in my mouth the way the last year or so has.”

Avalon City, New Avalon
Crucis March, Federated Suns
9 July 2779

John had taken a high-speed shuttle from the jump point to New Avalon orbit, a decision he was now regretting. His homeworld had three moons, which made the use of the transitory jump points they formed dangerous when they were close to being in alignment, the current situation. The point between New Avalon and the world’s star was clear of interference from the inner worlds but like all the more stable transitory points it had been heavily mined in case of an SLDF deep strike.

The shuttle had cut the usual week-long flight from the zenith jump point to four days but the sustained 2.0 gravities had hit him harder than he remembered. He hadn’t even been able to sleep well.

“Was it really worth it?” Hanse asked.

“Maybe not,” John agreed under his breath. He’d felt that the extra three and a half days would help him get back up to speed on events at the capital but right now he just wanted to spend those days sleeping.

“I’d offer to sit on the meetings for you, but it would be hard to explain,” the ghost said with a smirk.

Checking that the backseat of the limousine was cut off from the driver, John opened his attaché case and unfolded a noteputer, setting it up. “Read the latest report from Francesca,” he suggested. “Then summarise it for me.”

“You want me to play spoken book?”

“Just summarise.” He kept one thumb on the scroll button, pressing it whenever Hanse cued him to do so, and opened a paper file with his other hand.

The Battle Armor project was going well, according to reports and ‘his’ suggestion on how to handle deployment in the short term had been accepted. While no one could find any record of a Savannah Master hovercraft (unsurprisingly as Hanse recalled the design as having been cobbled together in 3024 or 2025), the combination of a tiny fusion reactor, a cockpit and a hover fan was within reach of even a relatively small assembly line. It took two of them to carry a full squad of Battle Armour but they weren’t all that expensive.

While replicating the Savannah Master both as a scout vehicle and as a transport for Battle Armour had been Hanse’s idea, John felt that he could take the credit for how they were being crewed. The original plan had been to detach hover-tank regiments to re-equip them but it would have been very obvious something was going on.

Instead the Third Defiance Motor Rifle Regiment had given up their trikes and quads to run through a hasty re-training in the use of a one-man hover tank – which at one Savannah Master per soldier to pass the course provided enough crews for six regiments of the tiny war machines. Granted, all six regiments combined would struggle to provide the firepower of as many ordinary tanks or ‘Mechs but that wasn’t the point. And anomalies with one motorized infantry regiment far from the combat zone likely wouldn’t be prioritised the way that a more sweeping change might.

“Now that the Combine’s softened up their control of the HPGs we’re starting to get reports through from our sources there,” Hanse told him. “Although I don’t think Zabu’s ever going to hand the stations fully back to the Ministry of Communications – Blake won’t be happy about that.”

“From your tone I think you can bear that.”

“It’s not the worst news I’ve ever had,” the ghost agreed happily. “One more stake in ComStar’s grave.”

“What are our sources telling us?”

“Enough that together with the data we’ve received from the troops crossing the border into Federated Suns space, Francesca’s willing to commit to the position that Fifteenth Army is basically gone. The DCMS might have the equivalent of a couple of SLDF divisions that chose to stay loyal, but what that means in practise is that they’re functionally under DCMS command now. That pretty much doubles what they’d managed to build up out of defectors but at least four, possibly as many as seven DCMS divisions got mauled trying to restrain less compliant units. So, it’s pretty much a wash in troop numbers for them.”

“How about warships?”

“She’s just getting to that.”

John scrolled down for Hanse and looked out of the window. They were getting close to Mount Davion now. He’d be home in a few minutes more.

“Ah, there are at least twenty-eight SLDF warships that are functionally under DCA control, either officially or because their command staff have acquiesced to the posting of political officers and marines aboard them. Eight other warships are unconfirmed at this time. Twenty-nine SLDF warships are confirmed as destroyed or damaged to the point they’re basically write-offs.” Hanse looked up. “That last category sounds suspect – I suspect they could be patched up if the DCA really wanted to.”

“And if they had the yards.”

“Yes, that’s true. And at least fourteen Combine warships are destroyed. Francesca stresses that this is probably low-balling things, the numbers for ships lost over Luthien when Nakazono’s force got there is almost certainly higher than the four ships confirmed as destroyed in action, but they don’t have full information yet. Most of the warships there were from the Pesht District squadrons and that region’s a low priority except for Luthien and a few other worlds.”

“It’s going to be interesting to see how Jack Lucas takes that,” John noted thoughtfully. “If some of the Fifteenth managed to reach us then it’s likely others got across the border into the Terran Hegemony and Lyran Commonwealth. Zabu Kurita’s cover-up may not hold once their reports are looked at.”

“Hmm. That may not matter. It depends how much influence Lucas has.”

John considered that, watching as details of Castle Davion came into better view. “I suppose General Nakazono won’t be around to contradict anything he says. And given the Council… Robert will be annoyed that the DCMS has obtained SLDF equipment, but he’ll probably be more interested in doing the same than anything else. Kenyon will probably accept anything that puts the SLDF in a bad light and Barbara… I have no idea, actually.”

“And then there’s McEvedy. I haven’t a clue what happened to him in my history.” Hanse’s reflection in the window shrugged. It was strange that even though no one else could see him he apparently appeared normally in reflections and even video recordings – but only to John.

“He seems to be a sensible man. I don’t think he trusts the rest of the Council very far.”

“And I think that you just repeated yourself.”

“Perhaps. They’re not going to pull it back together again, are they?”

Hanse shook his head. “No, they’re not. It’s too late, John. I’m sorry.”

“Life goes on, I suppose.” The car swept up a slope and into one of the many gates around the Royal Court. Rather than going further it pulled up outside the Chancellery.

He hadn’t asked for the formal entrance but why not. John opened the door and climbed out. When he stood upright he saw Joshua coming down the steps, trailed by Edwina and Mary. “Father!”

“Hello son.”

To his surprise, Joshua grabbed him in a bearhug. “Welcome home.”

The two women were only a few steps behind Joshua and he was relieved to see that Edwina’s face was more tolerant amusement than pent up frustration. “I’m sorry it took so long, Edwina,” he offered over his son’s shoulder. “I hope you’re both well.”

“Oh, we’re better than well,” his wife told him with an odd aside look at their daughter-in-law. “Although you’ve been working too hard again.”

“It’s a bad habit, I need you to keep me straight.”

Joshua released him and stepped back, taking Mary’s hand. “Father, we have fantastic news.”

There was a very loud whoop of approval from behind John, which almost made him jump out of his skin. “Oh?” he asked, covering for the reaction to Hanse’s shout. “Good news?”

“You’re…” Joshua looked aside at his wife and paused.

With a bright smile, Mary lowered her free hand to just above her waist. “You’re going to be a grandfather, sir.”

John found his eyes going moist. Life, as he’d just said, goes on. “That’s wonderful,” he said sincerely. Work was damn well going to wait a couple of days. “I can’t tell you how happy I am for you both.”


Atreus City, Atreus
Marik Commonwealth, Free Worlds League
21 July 2779

Carl Marik was surprised to find his younger brother eating a hearty breakfast in the family apartments. Since he’d reached the exalted rank of captain, Thaddeus had been spending time with the new love of his life: FWLS Ospina. “Good morning.” He poured himself some coffee and started filling his plate with crispy bacon, scrambled eggs, fresh baby tomatoes and mushrooms.

Thaddeus, still chewing on a mouthful of sausage, waved his fork in greeting and finally swallowed. “Carl. Sleep well?”

“God, yes. Twelve hours of meeting yesterday and the same today. Are you here for…” He hesitated, checking his mental calendar, “A meeting or have you finally been sent home by your crew to use the showers.”

“There are perfectly functional showers in my quarters aboard,” Thaddeus replied indignantly. “No, father wants me to sit in on a meeting at nine o’clock.”

“Huh. The Canopian foreign policy conference?” Carl bit into a tomato, the juice dribbling a little before he licked it off his lips.

“I’ve no idea.”

“That’s the one he and I are in then.”

Thaddeus took a bite out of his french toast. “Could be. You know how he is.”

“How who is?” their father asked, entering the room. Kenyon uncovered a plate already prepared on the buffet and used a napkin to hold the warm dish as he crossed over his seat at the head of the table. Once seated he plucked the hard-boiled egg from where it was between two kippers and put it in the egg cup.

“Security, sir. Need to know.”

“Ah yes.” The Captain-General started carving up the first kipper with his knife and fork. “More important than ever with Davion intelligence so efficient. Winslow’s budget increases alongside the rest of the military’s for good reason.”

In their father’s presence the two younger Mariks finished their breakfasts in silence and left to finish preparing for the day. It didn’t surprise Carl that when they left the apartments, each in their own staff cars, the vehicles travelled in convoy through the government complex and dropped them all off at the same place, the portico of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs.

The conference room the three Mariks were guided to already had a holo-display lit up with the rimwards border worlds of the Free Worlds League visible at the top and a slim line of Capellan star systems to one side, marked in green. The focus were the few dozen worlds of the Magistracy of Canopus, relatively dispersed compared to the densely colonised space of the Free Worlds League or the Capellan Confederation. While the Magistracy’s population was far below most of the League’s provinces, the space it claimed was almost half the volume of the League.

Kenyon Marik took the head of the table and waited for a few stragglers to take their assigned seating. Carl found himself between Thaddeus and Jared Humphreys, although the Regulan bureaucrat was the last attendee to arrive, slipping into his seat with an apologetic nod towards the Captain-General.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Kenyon began, “We’re here to discuss the approach we should take towards the Magistracy in the near future. It’s been more than a decade since the SLDF ceased their attempt to bring the Canopians back into the Star League and since then there’s been an armed ceasefire between the League and the Magistracy. We’ll begin with a review of their economic position.”

Jared rose and took over the briefing, spelling out data obtained by Regulan intelligence, supplemented by data shared by SAFE and, to a lesser extent, Star League Intelligence Command. Overall the Canopians were evidently struggling, Carl heard. The backbone of their economy had been providing medical services and entertainment to their neighbours – industries that could hardly thrive when the vast majority of potential customers were risked finding themselves in a war zone.

Why is Thaddeus here? Carl wondered. He looks bored stiff.

“At the moment the Canopian economy has probably bottomed out for the foreseeable future,” Jared concluded. “They’re heavily dependent on trade with the Taurians for several key technologies, which will only make the Concordat stronger but we don’t have a border with them. The crash industrialisation on Canopus itself has stabilised most of the key manufacturing sectors but it’s done so at twenty-fifth or even twenty-fourth century levels.”

Kenyon nodded. “It seems that we hardly need to worry about cheap Periphery goods crossing the border to undercut our own markets. And on the more military front?”

The head of SAFE’s Canopian desk was another Humphreys, Carl recalled, one of Jared’s distant cousins. The Andurien branch of the family was little represented on Atreus outside of their parliamentary delegation – Carl’s grandfather had offended old Radford Humphreys repeatedly, even by his standards. Carl had met Ivory Humphreys a couple of times when they were younger – it was memorable since she and her twin sister Ebony had been dressed in white and black respectively by their mother for the formal balls.

Ivory was wearing white again, although this time it was because that was the colour of FWLM dress uniforms. “Admiral Brandt was in command of the SLDF Army Group operating in the Magistracy from 2765 to 2767. As befitting a naval officer, she was quite thorough in hunting down the Canopians’ warships and there’s no dissenting data to indicate they had more than the twenty-two warships she destroyed there, unlike the Taurians who definitely managed to hide at least one frigate from General Kerensky.”

Carl saw his father smile slightly at that.

“Ground forces are harder to calculate due to large numbers of irregular units and the possibility of equipment being cached by units that disbanded rather than surrender to the SLDF. Our best estimate is that Janina Centrella has consolidated her regular forces into seven ‘Mech regiments and fewer than twenty regiments of infantry and armour above the militia level. Given limited military manufacture available to her, there’s the possibility of an eighth BattleMech regiment being constituted in the next ten years but it’s questionable how effectively her forces can be projected with the available naval transportation.”

“In summary then, the Canopians don’t constitute a significant threat then?”

“Their offensive capability is effectively limited to raiding and a serious naval presence would constrain that sharply, sir.”

Kenyon nodded. “However, if they were to obtain a force of warships that would change the equation significantly.”

“Yes sir. I imagine you’re referring to the various hulls abandoned in Canopian space as unsalvageable?”

“Quite right.”

“If they’re unsalvageable by the SLDF, how would the Canopians do anything with them?” Thaddeus directed the question to his father and Ivory equally. “They’ve got nothing like the industrial capability.”

“What’s uneconomic for us would be ruinous for them,” agreed Kenyon. “However, since it’s their only option to restore some sort of warship capability, the possibility that they could bring some of those ships back to at least limited operations at the shipyards over Canopus IV can’t be discounted.”

“Those shipyards should be basically intact,” Carl noted. “The SLDF didn’t reach Canopus itself and the yards had some maintenance functions for Eighteenth Fleet.”

“That’s precisely my concern,” his father agreed. “Without those yards the Canopians can be discounted as a problem – and they’d be a distraction we do not need.” He looked down the table at Thaddeus. “And that’s where you come in, son.”

“I do?” Thaddeus tilted his head. “Don’t we have a ceasefire with Canopus?”

“It’s entirely open to question how binding that jumped-up peasant Kerensky’s negotiations with a neo-barbarian are. I certainly don’t consider them to have more weight than the security of the Free Worlds League. I’m forming a special task force of four destroyers under your command to escort a number of transports to Canopus and take over the yards. Your orders are to confiscate such supplies they have assembled as well as any portable tooling, then disable anything that isn’t portable. The confiscated material will help us restore the SelaSys yard to full functionality.”

“Four ships are a squadron command, sir. I’m a very junior captain.”

“Are you saying you can’t handle the responsibility, Thaddeus?” their father demanded.

“I’m a Marik, father. There would simply be political considerations.”

“As a Marik you’ll also be directly representing me there,” Kenyon replied. “This is to be a very clear statement to the Territorial States: they may have a stay of execution while the Federated Suns is brought back in line but it’s only a matter of time until the Star League restores our control over their worlds.”


SLDF Headquarters, New Earth
Alliance Core, Terran Hegemony
30 July 2779

Daniel Mattlov had heard the predictions that the SLDF would have its forward bases on Markesan by the end of the year. With the wisdom of a veteran he’d expected that something would go wrong and he’d been right – which was unfortunate but not alarming.

Two convoys moving supplies forwards from the bases at New Rhodes had been hit by Federated Suns carrier groups – or possibly just one group. The timing would be just about possible.

General Apfelbucher had been relieved, since the only way that could have been done was a breach of security. McEvedy had been the only leader to vote against her dismissal but it hadn’t carried much weight. After all, the leak would have almost had to have been within the Terran Hegemony somewhere. Probably New Rhodes – John Davion had spent months there at a time, the Federated Suns’ Ministry of Intelligence could have dozens of spy rings there.

The results had been many and varied – fourteen destroyers, seven frigates, two cruisers and fifty-seven jumpships had been destroyed, along with over a hundred dropships. The Davion intelligence had even been sufficient that they could pick out the tankers and munitions transports among the flotillas and spare those carrying less critical supplies. Thousands of spacers were alive for that mercy, their lifeboats picked up by the remaining dropships, and the SLDF’s Seventh and Eighth Armies – their only real remaining striking power – would not run out of field rations, spare uniforms or toilet paper.

But without fuel and ammunition, they had no choice but to stand on the defensive.

With operations stalled, General Lucas had made a low-profile return to New Earth to try to organise replacement supplies and personnel. Whatever he got was going to be at the expense of the only SLDF army left in the Terran Hegemony, the Eleventh.

It therefore didn’t surprise Mattlov that he didn’t get a warm welcome.

“I went nine rounds with General Hayes, beg your pardon, I mean Minister Hayes, yesterday. What do you want from me, Mr Mattlov?”

Mattlov forced his temper down. “I’ve done that dance myself more than once. You have my sympathies.”

Lucas evidently bit back his first response. “My apologies for treating you like a politician.”

“Unfortunately, I am one now. It leaves a bitter taste.”

“Take a seat.” Lucas gestured to the small coffee nook and they occupied couches facing each other. Coffee and tea were on offer but the general opened a cabinet built into the table and produced a bottle that hailed from a Scottish distillery. “Are you a drinking man?”

“When I’m not scheduled to fly, which I’m not.”

Lucas poured measures into two glasses and handed one over before raising the other. “To the Star League.”

“And peace for all mankind.”

“Only one lord can give us that, and he isn’t on the Star League Council.”

It took Mattlov a second to realise that it wasn’t a reference to any mortal lord. Lucas’ father was a bishop, something must have rubbed off. “Well, we should still do what we can. Which brings me to what I hope is good news.”

“Oh?” Lucas sipped on his glass.

“We’ve managed to restore partial capacity to the Krester Construction shipyards at Keid.”

The general raised an eyebrow. “I’m impressed. I thought it would take years longer.”

“We stripped equipment from a dozen other yards. Their reconstruction will take considerably longer – although probably not as long as the lawsuits from the owners of those yards – but it means we have two slips that are clearing to accept ships and three that are less than a month behind.”

“That’s excellent news for someone.”

“For you, if you’re willing to agree to a couple of conditions.”

Lucas set down his glass and rubbed his chin. Mattlov leant back and sipped what was left of his drink as the other man thought.

“You know we need them,” the general said at last. “Besides the squadrons wiped out trying to protect our convoys, more than fifty warships are unaccounted for from the fleet we had in the Draconis Combine. If we can get some of the cripples from the last war back in service then I can at least cover our supply lines.”

“I know you need them. But so does Davion. Keid just became a major target and the Hegemony fleet can’t cover it and handle our other obligations.”

“So, at the same time you give me a chance to recoup my losses, you also want me to add another major commitment.”

Mattlov nodded. “A squadron deployment. We’re rushing aerospace fighter squadrons into position but we don’t have the orbital base structure over Keid for them. The ships don’t have to be in perfect working order, as long as they’re not immobile targets and we can operate fighters from them.”

“Do you have enough fighters?”

“That’s not a problem. Pilots we’re shorter on but we can manage.”

Lucas frowned. “New trainees?”

“Partly. We’re easing up on qualifications for… political orthodoxy.”

“Political… you’re letting people who fought for Amaris into your ranks?” Lucas half rose. “Those men and women are…”

“Some of them were shooting at me,” Mattlov reminded him. “It’ll be two more years before we finish training the first class of people who didn’t have some experience already. We’re not in any position to be fussy.”

“What is the universe coming to?” The commanding general slumped back into his chair and refilled his glass. He didn’t offer Mattlov a refill. “Very well. You said conditions, meaning more than one?”

“Just access to their parts stores. Krester built our Kimagure-class cruisers and their engines take a lot of work to keep in operation.”

“That was a selling point when the late Lord Cameron asked for them. What else?”

“That’s it, sir. After all, we’re on the same side.”

Lucas sighed. “That used to mean so much more. Very well, you have my agreement.”


Zenith Jump Point, Kathil
Capellan March, Federated Suns
12 August 2779

Built at first to maintain jumpships ferrying supplies from the Terran Hegemony to the Taurian Concordat during the Reunification War of two centuries before, the James McKenna shipyards were built at a jump point. It was necessary, since the then-new ‘civilian’ core ships had little more than station-keeping drives and would otherwise have had to be towed long distances to reach the shipyard.

That same convenience made the yards potentially vulnerable though and the Capellan warships jumped into the star system less than a hundred thousand kilometres from the sprawling complex of docking bays, repair slips, fabrication stations and habitats.

Baltazar Liao clutched his shockframe and looked around the combat information centre of the Du Shi Wang-class battleship Sundermann Liao as the crew raced to bring the ship’s systems back up after the jump. The Federated Suns defences around the shipyards would also be rushing to readiness and if they were ready before the Capellans then the battle would begin with Baltazar’s squadron at a disadvantage.

The main tactical display – a screen rather than the holo-displays used by the SLDF and FSN – lit up. “Location confirmed,” the sensor officer reported. “We’re on target. Five Federated Suns warships detected: a carrier and two destroyers out-system, range two hundred forty thousand kilometres, two destroyers on the edge of the shipyard. Possible ID of the carrier group as FSS Novaya Zemlya, FSS Roger Davion and FSS Richard Davion. Other destroyers are…” He paused. “Lola-class, block three, war book confirms them as SLS Rex and SLS Ranger, last assignment supporting General Baptiste.”

“Traitors then,” the Sundermann’s executive officer concluded. Captain Korolev preferred to run his ship from the navigation bridge which left Baltazar sharing the CIC with Oskar Sian and a secondary crew.

“Hostile, at any rate, which is all that matters right now,” Baltazar informed him. “What do they have docked?”

“Too early to say, sir,” the sensor officer reported apologetically.

“Update me as soon as you know.”

The drives kicked in and Baltazar felt the acceleration in his spine. The strike force at his disposal was only nine warships and Federated Suns carriers had shattered such forces before but that usually required repeated strikes and the Novaya Zemlya wouldn’t have time to carry out more than one before he was in range of the shipyards.

Besides the Sundermann Liao and her sister-ship the Mica Liao, he had two additional capital ships. The heavy cruiser Solstice had been to Kathil before during the abortive invasion of 2777 and the Black Lion-class battlecruiser Typhon completed the quartet. I’m commanding a fleet of antiques, Baltazar thought. The SLDF’s Black Lion-class was named for the twenty-fourth century battlecruisers that were now represented in his squadron by the Typhon and three of his destroyers, the Khalzan, Al Di and Calseraigne were newly built copies of the old Essex-class which was of the same era. For that matter, the Sundermann and mica Mica were approaching their fourth century of service.

“Fighters launching from the Novaya Zemlya,” came the report.

“Launch our own,” Baltazar ordered.

On the display new data popped up around the two ships that were his hole card. The loss of the shipyards at Capella had prevented the construction of new warships to counter the Federated Suns Navy but the civilian shipyards over Liao had managed to refit two Carrack-class transports for his purposes. Now squadron after squadron of aerospace fighters launched from the re-christened CCS Wasp and CCS Hornet, joining those from the Leopard carrier dropships of the squadron.

The swarming defenders didn’t deter the Federated Suns aerospace fighters. There were one hundred and eighty of them but each of the Carracks could carry almost that many fighters, so the odds favoured Baltazar’s forces. Aware of FSN doctrine, Capellan fighters focused in on the fast Centurions that would be carrying nuclear missiles, leaving the slower Hammerheads for later. It cost more than a dozen of the pilots their lives as brutal autocannon fire ripped their lightweight Thrushs and Cheetahs apart, but very few of the Centurions broke through and moments later Capellan Transit fighters were firing their own autocannon into the Davion heavies.

A handful of Eagles kept in reserve moved to intercept the Centurions that leaked. Light blazed as harried Federated Suns pilots released their payloads far from their targets in order to have their full manoeuvrability available in order to survive. Only a single pair managed to get through and the Khalzan momentarily vanished as nuclear fire tore at its armour. The destroyer was lucky though and emerged battered but operational from the firestorm.

The sensor officer straightened. “New data. New Syrtis-class ship leaving one of the yard slips. A second slip is confirmed as holding a Defender-class ship but…” He paused. “Confirmed, the Defender is opened up and not operational.”

Baltazar nodded. The Defender-class were battlecruisers comparable to the Sundermann in age. Alone it would have been hard-pressed even if it could fight. A second carrier, though…

“Why isn’t she launching fighters?” Sian asked what he’d been thinking. The officer cupped his chin. “With their wings added they might have broken through.” The fighter battle was ongoing, drifting away from the Capellan warships as the balance slowly tipped against the Federated Suns.

“Well she was docked. Maybe she didn’t have onboard wings,” Baltazar speculated. “She’s left it too late though, we’re going to enter weapons range of her soon.”

“A rare opportunity to destroy one of those butcher birds,” responded Sian grimly. His family, once so powerful that the Capellan capital world itself bore their name, had long since been eclipsed in political terms by House Liao but they had an equally long naval tradition and many of his kin had fallen in the fighting around Tikonov. “The Vladislav is moving to try to take the first shot at that.”

“Reckless,” Baltazar noted. A New Syrtis-class carrier might rely primarily on its aerospace fighters but they weren’t entirely toothless as warships. The two ex-SLDF destroyers opened fire as he spoke and the two Capellan battleships replied with their forward particle beams, joined a moment later by the Solstice’s mass driver which narrowly missed the Rex. The massive slug instead struck a factory satellite and smashed through it, shattering the station.

“It’s possible the ship hasn’t been armed yet.”

Focused on the incoming capital ships the destroyers could spare little attention for the small corvette and Vladislav opened fire on the carrier with its autocannon. There was unsurprisingly little effect – the relatively puny guns were up against what Baltazar knew to be well-armoured hull. The larger ship rolled broadside on to the Capellan warship and the young Liao tensed, waiting to see if the carrier would return fire. Unless the Vladislav’s captain was luckier than his crew deserved then their ship was going to be mangled.

He wasn’t and the Vladislav was torn apart.

“That’s strange,” the sensor officer observed.

“Strange? If Longknife survived that I’ll have him court-martialled.” It might only be a corvette but it was still a Capellan warship and would be hard to replaced.

On the other hand, Solstice’s second shot had hit one of the Lolas which was rolling, one flank savaged by the pummelling it had taken. Its sister-ship was little better off, outnumbered three to one by the Capellan destroyers.

“No sir, the weapons fire. It wasn’t normal for a New Syrtis-class.” The man hunched over his console and Baltazar saw displays shift as sensor data was refined and compared to existing records. “I… K-F signatures, behind us!”

“How many?”

“Two, no three. Standard FSN protocol, two escorts followed by a capital ship.”

Baltazar turned to the screen that showed him the bridge. “Captain Korolev?”

“Going to maximum military power. Our fighters can’t respond in time. Typhon will take point against the new arrivals,” the captain reported calmly. The thus far mild vibrations of the engine rose in pitch as the aged battleship began to spin to bring its heaviest armour and armament to face the new arrivals. If this was the Feddies’ battleship then it would be needed.

“What about the carrier?” The ranges were dropping rapidly. “We’ve just seen that it has its guns.”

“They can’t avoid close action but neither can we.” Korolev looked aside for a moment and then nodded. “Solstice will switch targets, we’ll try to take it out quic-”

“Sir!” the sensor officer screamed. “That’s not a carrier, it’s -”

The world appeared to end. Baltazar was slammed against the shock frame and the lights went out.

“What the hell?” He looked around and sparks flew from one of the consoles, giving him a brief moment of illumination. One wall of the CIC had… bulged inwards, hurling crewmen across the compartment. The engines were silent.

Wrestling himself free of the shockframe, Baltazar checked for Oskar Sian and found the man’s shockframe had buckled around him. Gods, was everything on the Sundermann built by the lowest bidder? Blood trickled from the executive officer’s mouth and he looked pleadingly at the young Liao for help…

Swallowing, Baltazar realised what the only help he could offer was. He clawed his sidearm from its holster and put the crushed officer out of his agony.

“Sir?”

It was the sensor officer, stumbling to his feet. “What happened?” Baltazar demanded.

“The ship, the New Syrtis…” the man shook his head. “It’s not a New Syrtis. Same general hull, but too many guns.”

Baltazar took his arm and pulled him after him as he headed for the hatch. They couldn’t stay here, they had to get to somewhere with power. “How many?”

“Ten or twelve, I saw double mounts.” He coughed as the hatch opened, revealing emergency lights in the passageway and they both smelt smoke. “I saw the name on the hull. Black Bear. That’s the name of one of their battlecruisers.”

“We turned our back on a battlecruiser?”

The officer nodded, pale-faced.

“No wonder we got battered. Still, one ship.” Baltazar opened a panel and found a handset for the ship’s emergency system. “Hello? Hello? This is Colonel Liao. I’m outside CIC.”

There was a long pause and then a woman’s voice. “Colonel, this is Commander Darrell.”

Darrell? Oh yes, the deputy engineering officer. “Commander, CIC’s out of action. Put me through to Korolev.”

“Sir, Captain Korolev is dead, I have conn.” She made a noise that was half-laugh and half choke. “Such as it is. Our engines are out and the flight deck is on fire.”

Baltazar winced. The flight decks were between CIC and the forward sections of the hull. “Can you contain it?” Great Buddha, the deputy engineer was the seventh officer in command succession.

“Negative,” she told him gravely. “The emergency doors have buckled and we can’t close them. I recommend you take a lifeboat.”

“Abandon ship, you mean?”

“Yes sir. Even if we put the fire out, the Sundermann’s got no power for the guns. We’re out of the battle.”

Baltazar glanced towards the nearest lifeboats. The way looked clear. “Do we know what ships jumped in?”

“Another carrier group, sir. We have over a hundred fighters inbound from behind us.” Her voice faltered, “Our fighters are headed back but they’re low on ammunition and fuel.”

“Wasp and Hornet?”

Darrell’s voice steadied but at the note of despair. “Best estimate is that the Feddies will reach them first.”

He felt his knuckles hit the bulkhead before he realised he’d smacked his fist against it. They’d been so close. “Relay to the squadron to do all possible damage to the shipyards,” Baltazar ordered hollowly. “Then get your people off, Commander.”

He dropped the handset and followed the sensor officer towards the lifeboats, feeling the weight of thousands of lives dragging his shoulders downwards.

Boeing Megaplex, Galax
Crucis March, Federated Suns
9 January 2780

The Tancredi was only half-manned as she lay docked in the huge orbital yards. Minor repairs and upgrades would keep the fleet carrier in place for three weeks, providing an opportunity for the crew to spend time on a planetary surface. Granted the surface of Galax was no prize – it was only in the last few decades that the atmosphere had been deemed breathable – but given the lengthy deployments of war, anything was better than nothing.

Admiral Kenneth Jones was along those still aboard the ship. Technically there was no need for the admiral or his staff to participate in the dock-side staffing since they weren’t responsible for any of the Tancredi’s systems but Jones had coordinated with Commodore Mason, promoted to replace Mary Kaga, to have the staff cover various slots in one or the other of the two half-crews assigned to maintain some capabilities while their colleagues were away. It would be bad for morale for the flag staff to have more leave time than the ship’s own crew and it would let them keep their hands in on ordinary warship actions.

In keeping with this principle, Jones was on the navigational bridge covering the command slots while Mason – whose family actually lived on Galax – visited them. “Strange to see them with FSN markings,” he noted, looking at the next dock over, which was visible from the broad armoured windows of the compartment.

Commodore Edward Brookes, his exec from back on the Markesan, leant over and followed his gaze to where a pair of Samarkand-class carriers were being repainted. While the real work – refitting the electronics to FSN standards – was being taken care of inside the ships, the new paintwork would be a last resort for reminding aerospace pilots that the Combine-built carriers were now in the service of the Suns. “To be honest I doubt you’ll see them again in the near future,” he observed. “They’re destined for patrol routes in the outworlds sectors – keeping the peace in the rear areas.”

“I’d rather have them doing that than serving the Combine, at least.” Jones was about to comment on the sections of the hulls opened up to remove the obsolete point-defence miniguns and replace them with the same kind of anti-missile systems used by the Tancredi and her sister-ships but he was interrupted when the communications officer almost fell out of her chair.

“Sir!” the young woman exclaimed. “Signal from Megaplex Defense Command. LaGrange Alpha has unscheduled transits. Alert status two.” Which meant an attack was believed to be imminent.

“Confirmed,” the admiral said, forcing himself to remain calm for the sake of the crew. He crossed the bridge to the command console. “Alert status two, have all flight crews report to their stations and get our fighters ready to launch.”

The Megaplex orbited Galax in one of the five LaGrange points where the gravitational effects of the planet and its moon, Malabar, more or less cancelled out. Only one of them, LaGrange Alpha (located between the planet and moon) was suitable for use as a jump point, but once there it wouldn’t take long at all for a warship squadron to be able to threaten either the planet or the orbital infrastructure around it.

“Sorry to cut my visit short,” Brookes noted and with no further apology he headed for the door.

Jones nodded absently. After a tour commanding the Markesan, his old friend was now in command of part of the defences around Galax. He needed to get back to his own command post aboard the orbital stations that shared the LaGrange point with the Megaplex.

Reports filtered in both from other parts of the planetary system and from the Tancredi’s own departments. Fortunately, a half-crew included enough pilots to man all nine of the aerospace fighter wings. The deck crews were undermanned though and it took precious time to fuel and arm the fighters.

Meanwhile the alert was proven as accurate. A single Soyal-class heavy cruiser jumped in first at LaGrange Alpha and proceeded to clear the weapon platforms around it before they could inflict serious damage. The small space stations simply didn’t have the firepower to damage a warship of that size without using nuclear weapons and the stations had been too far down the priority list to receive any. Satisfied with its work the Soyal moved clear and the follow-on wave arrived.

By this point Brookes had reached his post and signalled Jones again. “Eight escort-sized warships – we make it four Vincent-class and four Carracks.”

“Didn’t the Capellans use Carracks as carriers at Kathil?” the admiral asked. “It’s a long way from where I’ve been operating but I try to keep up to date.”

“They did. Assuming the same arrangements we could be looking at close to six hundred fighters from before them.”

“It’s not a great time for us to be immobile.” The Tancredi and her escorts were no more able to leave dock than the Samarkands. It would take at least a day at this point in the repairs to close the hull up and get them under thrust.

Brookes nodded on the screen. “Between your fighters, our own defence squadrons and two wings that are due for assignment to the Trondheim we can field almost four hundred fighters. We have a course for them coming around Maladar. We need you to escort our Piranhas in.”

Jones raised an eyebrow at that. “The new assault dropships?”

“We have nine squadrons of them – hopefully that’ll serve as an equaliser,” Brookes confirmed.

“Very well.” Jones nodded to his flight ops crew. “We’re commencing launch now.”

As fighters were hurled from the Tancredi into space – she was docked with her launch catapults aiming out into space for this very reason – the Piranhas launched from their parent stations. Jones studied them from the bridge. Small ships, less than a thousand tons he estimated. A hit from a warship’s heavy batteries would probably shatter any of them, but Vincent and Carrack-class ships weren’t heavily armed. And there were fifty-four of them, forming into squadrons of six as if they were larger aerospace fighters.

Soon the fighters formed up on them and drives opened up, accelerating the defensive force around Malabar towards the oncoming storm. “We’ll need a second line,” he told Brookes.

The other officer nodded. “I’ve convinced the dock yard authorities that you’re cleared to fire your anti-fighter weapons. Please don’t use capital weapons though – if you fire from where you are we might as well just let the Capellans nuke us.”

“And your own weapon platforms?”

“They’re all reporting ready.” Brooks shrugged helplessly. “Armed shuttles are launching but they’re not exactly gunships.”

Jones nodded. Centuries ago, before the aerospace fighter, cumbersome armed shuttles had been the only weapon for contesting space around starships. Once aerospace fighters became available they’d shrunk to niche roles, unable to compete against the deadlier high-performance combatants.

Tens of thousands of kilometres away the Capellans fighters were launching to defend themselves from the incoming strike. They’d held back to spare their fuel but it was clear that the Carracks were indeed carriers and the Vincents were moving to screen them.

Six fighters screamed into the Capellan formation, brave men in older Centurions making a fast pass to gather data. Two fell prey to Capellan interceptors, then they were within sight of the warships… and then three were blotted out of space as the Vincents lit up the sky. Only one fighter made it past, angling for a long and slow deceleration towards Galax – the pilot didn’t have the fuel to make it back into the battle but he’d gathered the vital information: the Vincents had been fitted with improved anti-fighter turrets.

“Outnumbered and now they’ve built decent escorts,” Jones noted. “This is entirely too much like a fair fight.”

Brookes rubbed his chin. “Then it’s time to up our game. I’m putting the Piranhas on point.”

The little dropships had been making only 24.5m/s2 of acceleration, none of the Federated Suns force was pushing too hard while they waited for the first intelligence report. Now they went to maximum power and pushed past forty. Heavier aerospace fighters couldn’t keep up and wings of them began to form a reserve line, preparing to engage any fighters that got past the faster squadrons.

It didn’t seem that the Capellans knew what to make of the attack. Their fighters shifted patterns as if to intercept and then again, reforming with heavy aerospace fighters taking point.

“They must think they’re anti-fighter platforms,” Brookes concluded. “They don’t want to engage with lighter fighters in case they’re being sucked into a trap.”

“Are they?”

“No.”

An entire wing of Centurions fired off their Alamos into the heavy fighters. Only four hit – vaporising the Transgressors they hit – but in evading the missiles and then the explosions of the missiles’ warheads - which detonated whether they struck home or not - the Capellans had opened a hole and more FSN fighters opened fire, holding it open.

It wasn’t enough to keep the Piranhas alive, not all of them. Thirty-nine broke past the fighters and into weapons range of the Vincents’ naval autocannon. Four more died in the first salvo.

“What are the crew on them?” asked Jones softly. A third of the dropships were dead already.

Brookes smiled coldly. “They don’t have crews,” he answered.

The battlespace on the tactical display was lit up with blazes of fire as the thirty-five surviving Piranhas retaliated. They were outside of the range of fighter-launched missiles but their internal tubes were clearly firing much more substantial weapons – three of the Vincents blew apart as warheads penetrated their hulls and went off. The fourth spun helplessly, manoeuvring controls clearly lost, as the Piranhas closed on the Carracks and every Capellan fighter turned to try to eliminate the unexpectedly deadly dropships before the carriers could be destroyed.

Seeing the opportunity, the outnumbered Federated Suns fighters lunged in and the Capellans, caught in the fork of two undesirable outcomes were forced to split their efforts and do little to avert either.

Numbers of fighters dropped rapidly as the dogfight spread out, sapping the numbers available to go after the Piranhas. They still killed them – thirty-five became twenty-seven before the next missiles were launched and eighteen before the next salvo – but not in time and those missiles could engage fighters as easily as they could warships.

The Carracks died in an orgy of nuclear fire and fighters burned with them.

“You built drones and armed them with nukes?” Jones’ voice sounded far steadier to him than he expected. “That seems… risky.”

Brookes shrugged. “They’re under tighter control than those you faced, sir.” He looked aside. “And honestly, not as capable. We just lost the last of them.”

On the display the morass of fighters was dwindling before their eyes. Jones looked over to the communications officer. “Put me on general broadcast.” He looked back at his former exec. “If you don’t mind, I’d rather try to save my fighter pilots more losses.”

“Go right ahead.”

Jones adjusted the microphone. “All Capellan pilots, this is Admiral Kenneth Jones of the Federated Suns Navy. We’ve destroyed your carriers and most of you have expended too much fuel to make it back to the jump point except on slow unpowered courses that would leave you easy prey. You’ve fought bravely, but you’ve lost the battle. I offer you fair treatment according to the Ares Conventions to any pilot who surrenders themselves.”

There was a long pause with fighter squadrons pulling away from each other and regrouping, Jones guessing that his offer had sparked one of those natural lulls that can form, and then the communications officer adjusted a control and a voice came from the loudspeakers. “This is Major Tom Lomas. We still have the numerical advantage and why should we trust the Butcher of Royal?”

“Numbers aren’t everything, Major. Our pilots can return here to refuel and rearm – where do you expect to get new missiles from? And as for my own reputation, when I say there will be no quarter I mean exactly that – and when I offer it my word is just as true. It’s up to you: do your pilots live or do they die.”

There was a long pause and then Lomas spoke again. “All pilots, safe your weapons. He’s not wrong… and as Lord Baltazar is a prisoner there’s no shame in us sharing his status.”


Avalon City, New Avalon
Crucis March, Federated Suns
12 January 2780

“So much for another squadron of Capellan warships,” John told his son.

Joshua nodded absently, mind evidently elsewhere.

The First Prince shook his head, amusement warring with sympathy. He didn’t really have to brief Joshua on the Battle of Galax, but he’d hoped that it would be an effective distraction. The captain of the last Capellan warship, CCS Korvix, had been more willing to take on suicidal odds than Major Lomas but the arrival of FSS Hotspur and FSS Europa had pitted the heavy cruiser against two smaller but more agile warships that could work avoid the dangerous forward firing arcs and pick him apart. The Korvix wouldn’t have reached the Megaplex anyway, but the arrival of FSS Joan Brandt right behind her escorts had sealed the deal.

“I don’t think I was this bad when my children were born,” Hanse said clinically. “On the other hand, I was five hundred light years away when Victor was born so I didn’t actually hear about him until after the fact. Perhaps that makes it easier.”

“Joshua, are you listening?” John asked gently.

“Sure.”

“I just told you the ghost of your great-great-great-great-grandson was going to watch over Mary and would let us know if something went wrong,” he lied. “Normally I’d expect to be called on telling you something like that.”

Hanse took the hint and left the room.

His son’s brow furrowed. “You did?” He looked at John and then shook his head. “No, you didn’t.”

“Well I’m glad some of your faculties haven’t fled.”

“Are you surprised I’m distracted?” Joshua jerked his head in the direction of the palace medical wing. “I should be in there.”

“I’m not surprised and I’m sure you want to be, but what Mary needs is your quiet support,” his father told him. “I pulled you out because you were babbling questions at the doctors to the point you were getting in the way.”

Joshua flushed. “It didn’t seem like it was going properly.”

“Are you a doctor now? Contrary to what the media show, it’s not a quick process. It’s dramatically convenient to show a few contractions and then a baby but in reality it takes hours.”

“Was it like this for you?”

“I fully intended to be in the delivery room but your mother and mine thought I’d probably cause a scene so they conspired with Uncle Richard and he sent me to Argyle with Joseph. Of course, then you decided to be a bit stubborn and I was on my way back before she went into labour. I made it here about thirty minutes after you were born.”

His son shook his head. “The things one learns about one’s parents. Was that why I’m an only child?”

“Not so much. We’d considered having more children but with two wars over rival royal claims still in recent memory, we were conscious of how dangerous fratricidal power struggles can be within a royal house. After Joseph died and I became heir we decided it was better not to provide you with siblings.”

“Seems stupid to me, what about securing the succession? Uncle Joseph’s accident shows what can happen?”

John nodded. “Perhaps, but we have cousins far enough away not to feel entitled and at the time it seemed hopeful that we were past the worst stretch – Jonathon Cameron’s death put the Star League back in sane hands. If Simon Cameron had lived longer…” He made a tipping gesture with his hands. “It was a damned shame.”

“Do you think it was Amaris assassinating him?”

“In hindsight? Probably, but it’s unlikely we’ll ever know for sure. He might well have been planning that far ahead.”

The door to the waiting room opened to admit Edwina. “Have you got your wits together, Joshua?” she asked.

He flushed. “Sorry, mother.”

“If you think you can hold it together I believe Mary would appreciate your support,” Edwina told him. “Just remember your job is to hold her hand and be soothing, not to bother the doctors.”

Joshua bolted to the door and his parents waited until he was out of the room before looking each other in the eyes and breaking out laughing.

“Oh dear.” Edwina mopped at her eyes. “I shouldn’t laugh, but those poor doctors.”

John nodded. “Thinking back, it’s quite possible I wouldn’t have been any better. I take it all is well.”

“As hard as it might be for Joshua to believe, yes.”

Hanse stuck his head through the closed door. “Joshua’s back at Mary’s side and seems to have calmed down,” he reported cheerfully and withdrew.

Edwina glanced around the room and saw a tray with two empty glasses on the sideboard. “You gave him a drink?”

“We split a bottle of beer,” John told her. “Just enough to take the edge off his panic.”

She considered that and then took a seat. “That doesn’t sound like a bad idea. Is there another?”

“Not here but I’m sure the staff will be their usually efficient selves.”

Unsurprisingly, the answer was yes and they were quickly supplied with fresh glasses and two bottles of beer. “So that’s a bottle and a half of this for you?” Edwina asked John mildly as he took his first sip.

“It’s not particularly strong beer,” he observed and checked his watch. “Unless anything drastic happens in the next hour I was thinking we could have someone fetch sandwiches then and one of us should spell Joshua while he has something to eat.”

“Ah, thinking ahead.”

“I consulted with experts,” John told her. “I’m assured that as a grandparent my most important role right now is keeping the father in check.”

“Good advice.” Edwina lifted her own glass and sipped. When she set it down she gave him a serious look. “John, I asked you twenty years ago if you could keep Joshua out of the war with the Capellans.”

He nodded. “I remember. I couldn’t do that in the end.”

“No. So I’m not going to ask you for the same promise for this child. But what sort of life can our grandchild expect if this war goes on and on?”

“I won’t make you a promise I can’t keep, but I think it’s pretty close to the end now. Either the SLDF will break through and reach New Avalon this year or they’ll fail… and if they fail they don’t have any reserves left to try again.”

“It’s terrifying to think that. They seemed so strong, but now…” Edwina shook her head. “Some of those men and women have worked with you, haven’t they?”

“Some of them.” John leant back. “Seventh Army is the last of the ones that fought under my command. The rest are scattered around what’s left of the SLDF now or have taken service elsewhere.”

Hanse returned. “I think Joshua’s got it together,” he said. “They’re talking baby names to give Mary something to focus on. How do you feel about having a grand-daughter called Victoria?”


The Triad, Tharkad
Protectorate of Donegal, Lyran Commonwealth
2 February 2780

Jennifer Steiner checked herself in the mirror before entering the room. Satisfied that her clothes and make-up were immaculate, she opened the door and went to the seat that awaited her. It would be her first time representing the Lyran Commonwealth on the Star League Council, even if the meeting was a remote one.

Right on schedule three holograms sprang up in an arc in front of her desk. A fourth lagged only by a few seconds with Zabu Kurita joining the assembly. “Lady Steiner,” the young Coordinator greeted her mildly while his seniors were still looking her over.

She inclined her head slightly. “Lord Kurita.” He was very young, Jennifer thought. Intelligence reports hadn’t quite prepared her for that. It could mean that he wasn’t directly involved in the raids into Tamar and Skye, someone this young might have trouble imposing his will on his Warlords. On the other hand, perhaps his youth led him to authorise such operations without grasping the possible consequences.

“Is there any update on Robert’s health?” asked the Chancellor of the Capellan Confederation.

“He’s recovering well,” Jennifer informed them. “The doctors recommend a few months of rest before he resumes his duties, which he’s rather grudgingly agreed to.” Behind the jest was a troubling fact: her brother might grump about the enforced vacation but he was quick to tire now and had trouble focusing for more than an hour or two at a time. Unless that passed, her regency might have to last quite a bit longer.

Kenyon Marik shook his head. “Enough trivialities,” he said. “We should get on with business.”

“If you could indulge me on one question first, Captain-General.” Jennifer looked around the room to make it clear she wasn’t just asking Marik. “Why is it that we’re only meeting now and via HPG? I recall that before the Coup the Council met in person and that between our meetings representatives would be in almost permanent session, laying the groundwork for our debates. But none of that seems to have been reinstated since the Usurper was brought down.”

“We all have pressing affairs on our homeworlds,” Liao explained. “And the damage to Unity City had to be made good.”

“It’s been more than four years, Chancellor. And the city wasn’t fought for so the damage surely can’t have been that severe. Is it still in need of more repairs, Director-General?”

McEvedy shook his head. “Not that I’m aware. With the Bureau of Star League Affairs in disarray, the population is far less than it was but the SLDF and Ministry of Communication offices are operating. At most you might need to re-staff your residences there.”

“Alright, so we could go back there if we need to. Where are you going with this, Lady Steiner?” asked Kenyon testily. “We’ve managed to run the Star League with the current arrangement, why should we spend weeks in dropships just to say the same things face to face?”

“Respectfully, Lord Marik, I’m not convinced that the Star League is running well enough. As Lord McEvedy points out, the Bureau of Star League Affairs has been leaderless for years. Combined with the upswing in border raids and the economic problems we’re all facing, very little of the Star League appears to be operating at all, much less ‘well enough’.”

“And you think that getting us all in one room will improve matters?” asked Zabu mildly. “I don’t disagree on the issues we’re faced with, not at all, but your solution seems… less than convincing.”

“I would imagine that you’re well-versed in the matter of perceptions, Lord Kurita. One of the major factors in the economic issues is the lack of confidence in the Star League – after all, we’ve failed to restore many of the basic functions of the League over the last few years. I appreciate that the ongoing war hasn’t helped but we could do more and I feel that we should.”

“As you point out, there is a war going on,” Barbara Liao said, her face troubled. “It would be problematic for me to leave Sian while fighting is taking place on my border. Still, you are correct that our own presence isn’t necessarily the crux of the issue. Council advisors played an important role in shaping our decision-making but many of them died or fled when Amaris seized power.”

McEvedy leant forwards. “There would be no issue in my attending such a meeting, of course,” he offered. “And I believe that Lady Steiner makes a good point. Even if our own meetings continue to be by HPG, ongoing discussion of the various issues could be delegated to representatives in session between our meetings.”

“And such meetings would be on Terra?” Marik said with an air of disdain.

“That is the entire purpose of Unity City, Captain-General.” The Director-General spread his hands. “We all know that General Lucas will resume his advance on New Avalon soon. Once John Davion’s capital is in our hands we’ll have further issues to deal with in re-integrating it into the Star League. It seems a good time to lay the groundwork for that.”

Liao shook her head, the little decorations in her head-dress chiming like tiny bells. “I’m not convinced of the practical benefits.”

“I suppose it might help with morale,” the Coordinator mused. He leant forwards and rested his elbows on the table. “General Lucas’ soldiers would benefit… but I cannot attend such a gathering, not at this time with my realm invaded and my reign so new. Perhaps… I could send a representative, one of my family.”

Jennifer nodded. “That’s fair enough. I can attend personally, of course. Formally re-open Unity City as the centre of the Star League’s government.”

“And then?”

She turned to Kenyon Marik. “And then perhaps we can make a start on the economic problems we’re facing. We both know the sort of slump we’re facing. Even with Terran markets and factories becoming available once more the dollar continues to depreciate. Your problems are no better than mine – I don’t need spies to know the publicly available financial information of your realm.”

“And what do you suggest? That having our advisors talking to each other will magically solve everything? Perhaps you can bring the Camerons back as well?”

“Only a fool would say that it would be easy,” McEvedy observed. “And you are no fool, Lord Marik. But if we do not begin somewhere then nothing will ever be done. Even if only small progress is made then it would still be better than what we are all facing.”

“Hmm.” The Captain-General looked around the room grudgingly. “Very well. I will attend, although I warn you: my expectations are not high.”

The Chancellor nodded. “Like Lord Kurita I will send a representative, a member of House Liao. The war is coming towards a climax, after all. Perhaps we should make one further concession to public opinion.”

“What do you suggest?” asked McEvedy.

“Invite Lord Kerensky to attend,” she proposed. “After all this is merely a ceremonial occasion.”

“Why would we want him to attend?” spat Marik. “He’s an old man, let him rot in his backwater exile.”

“He is the last remaining symbol of the old days of the Star League,” Liao reminded him. “Such talismans have power. And if, as you say, nothing will come of this attempt, then let him carry the weight of it.”

“Steiner?”

Jennifer shrugged as Marik turned towards her. “My brother’s issues with the Protector are personal, Captain-General. I do not object to his presence on Terra. In fact, it may well be beneficial – in his absence many of the SLDF still look to DeChevilier and Davion as his successors. Let us make it clear that they have betrayed his legacy and it may weaken such sentiments.”


Nadir Jump Point, Non Diz
Sian Commonality, Capellan Confederation
7 March 2780

Right on the border between the Federated Suns and Capellan Confederation – and closer than was comfortable to the Taurian Concordat – Non Diz had been settled after the Reunification War. Due to its location, the Terran Hegemony had overseen a joint government between the two member-states whose space it hung between. Such governments were no longer feasible, of course, but it had been settled peacefully enough here – with so much of the SLDF in the area no one wanted to be provoke a reaction and John Davion had been content thirteen years ago to withdraw his own influence in exchange for reciprocal concessions over another shared world.

With access to what passed for public media within the Capellan Confederation, Weiss Plains thought the aftermath of that probably hadn’t been peaceful. She could read between the lines and the Capellan nationalism was a little too strident.

It wasn’t her problem though. If all went well, she’d be leaving soon.

“Admiral Plains?” A Capellan spacer entered the small mess-deck. There were guards at the entrance but this was the first Capellan to enter since Plains got here. This compartment and the sleeping compartments on this deck were Federated Suns territory, her behaviour and that of the other occupants regulated by parole rather than direct supervision. That hadn’t been the case before, but over the last few months kid gloves had become the order of the day for their captors.

Weiss stood up. “I’m Admiral Plains.”

The man saluted. “Ma’am, your transport will arrive soon. The captain requests that you and your people prepare to disembark.”

“Please inform the captain that we shall prepare to do so.” She waited until he had left and then turned to the other prisoners. “You heard the man. Go make sure you have your bags packed because if you leave anything behind then I, for one, am not coming back to fetch anything.”

There was a ripple of laughter and the soldiers and spacers headed for the doors to their sleeping compartments, forming an orderly queue as they filed out. Weiss followed them but rather than heading for her own compartment she briskly toured the deck, checking that those occupying each room were aware of the instruction.

In two cases where no one had been in the mess compartment and hadn’t had the news conveyed she informed them of the update and sent the prisoners bouncing around their quarters packing meagre possessions.

In the vast majority of cases, they had been captured with little more to their names than what they were wearing but the Capellans had provided fresh clothes in the form of garishly red-dyed jumpsuits and lightweight shoes. And as men and women will, smaller implements and keepsakes had accumulated. Weiss would be surprised if anyone needed more than a small backpack though – which was fortunate since that was all they had – one pack per prisoner, provided when they were informed they were being relocated from the detainment centres.

When she reached her own compartment, she found Commodore Baracus had everyone prepared. Since Weiss had been living out of her pack since embarking on the dropship it only took her a moment to make sure she wasn’t missing anything.

“Do you think this is it?” the large officer asked her, keeping his voice neutral.

“More than likely. Whatever has them on their best behaviour, they don’t seem to be playing games,” she assured him.

Only a few moments later the same spacer as before arrived at the door of her compartment. “Respects of the captain, Admiral. Please march your personnel to the main docking airlock.”

Weiss nodded. “Understood.” She looked around the room at those who’d shared it with her, mostly the senior officers among the prisoners. “Alright, we talked about this so go get your platoons ready. And remember, whatever happens we’re the Armed Forces of the Federated Suns, so maintain discipline and...”

“...never give them the satisfaction,” the officers chimed in, amusement on some faces.

They exited the room in a file, a mix of navy and army personnel representing units that had fought and bled along the Capellan border for the last three years. As Weiss followed them out and around the circular deck she saw they’d paired off as planned, one officer remaining at the door of each of the eleven other compartments while the other entered to chivvy along any prisoners not ready to go.

At the hatchway, the two guards snapped to attention and saluted as Weiss approached. She eyed them for a moment, having to raise a chin a touch given their height, and then returned their salutes. She got another salute a moment later as the dropship’s commander arrived and returned it just as crisply.

“We’ve cleared the passageways across the station,” the young man informed her. “You can lead your personnel directly across to the next dropping bay where the exchange will be processed. There are guards at all the exits from that route so if the signs aren’t clear on directions, you only need ask.”

Weiss nodded. “It’s an Olympus-class station I gather.”

“Ah, yes.” The question of ‘how she knew that’ was visible on his face but he didn’t ask.

“I’m familiar with the layout then.”

The commander made a concessionary gesture. “Please follow me to the airlock then.”

Baracus broke off at the door with three other officers to act as a rear-guard for the entire group and the first compartment emptied into the long single file of personnel who’d be following Weiss out of captivity. There were more than seven hundred of them aboard the dropship and Weiss knew that many other exchanges like this one must be taking place.

No one interfered as she led the file out to the dropship hatch, where the commander stopped, and then into the space station they were docked in. Like the dropship they were in zero gravity but there were plenty of hand-holds for them to use and she made quick progress up the docking arm and then along the eerily deserted transit route to the next arm, following the signs that had been placed.

There were more armed guards at the docking hatch to this dropship and they wore the familiar uniforms of Federated Suns Marines. Weiss felt moisture begin to form at the corner of her eyes as she saw them and blinked it away. They came to attention as she arrived. “Rear Admiral Plains and a detachment of seven hundred forty-six personnel,” she reported and saluted them. “I request permission to board.”

A major emerged from the hatch. “Permission granted, Admiral,” she responded warmly. “We’ll start disembarking our own passengers now, to make room for you.”

Another single file of men and women began to emerge from the hatch, wearing the plain grey sweaters and pants used by the AFFS military prison system. The man in the lead looked particularly out of place in the clothes and it took Weiss a moment to realise why: she’d seen his face dozens of times before in the media.

Lord Baltazar Liao, heir to the Chancellor of the Capellan Confederation, saluted Weiss briskly as he led his own column of prisoners back into Capellan territory.

I suppose I see why they’ve been so considerate of us, Weiss thought as she returned the salute and stepped through the airlock in the other direction, mind racing. How did we wind up with him in custody? I’ve got a lot to catch up on.

Dormuth, Marik
Marik Commonwealth, Free Worlds League
10 April 2780

The ancestral homeworld of House Marik (if one didn’t count their long history in Terra’s Balkan region) was considerably closer to Terra than the Free Worlds League capital of Atreus. From the balcony where Carl Marik waited he could see man-made lakes, pit mines that had long since been flooded and turned into upcountry reservoirs, aquaculture farms and even water sports facilities. Marik’s mineral wealth had funded his ancestor’s rise to power but they had long since diversified their holdings.

Carl had seen the dropship coming in to land and knew it would be only a matter of time before his father arrived. Looking out at the peaceful landscape he wondered if he could hold onto the serenity of the view.

The sound of the door behind him opening drew his attention and he turned to see Kenyon Marik crossing the lounge to the floor-to-ceiling (and it was a high ceiling) windows that looked out onto the stone balcony and beyond it to the mountains.

The dark-hair and hawkish face reminded Carl of another and he swallowed. “Father,” he offered, raising one hand in greeting.

Kenyon opened the door and stepped out, making no comment on the cold wind. He looked tired from the hasty transit off Terra and out of the Hegemony, lines on his face muting the resemblance his son had noted. “Hello, Carl. Martinson told me you gave instructions I should be asked to come to see you immediately on my return.” He looked around. “Where’s your brother?”

Carl nodded. “I thought it best, sir. I have bad news. Thaddeus is in the morgue.”

“The morgue?” Kenyon frowned and stepped over to the balustrade, glanced over and then turned back to his son. “Who died? Not Margaret?”

“No sir.” He swallowed. “Thaddeus died.”

“Thaddeus?” He saw his father pause, a wall of cold composure snapping into place. But the next words gave a lie to that cool demeanour. “My Thaddeus? It can’t be.”

Stepping forward, the Captain-General’s elder – and now only – son, took his father’s shoulder. “We’ve lost him, sir.”

Kenyon turned away from the view, instinctively hiding his face from where anyone with a telescope or binoculars could look up at the palace and see him. “How did it happen?”

“His latest mistress appears to have been an agent.” Both of Kenyon’s sons had married early and fathered children to consolidate the lineage, for the family lines had been narrowed sharply after the civil war fifty years ago. It was an open secret that Thaddeus’ marriage to Margaret Hemphill had been to stabilise relations between House Marik and the wealthy rulers of Kalidasa, not out of personal fondness for all that she’d given House Marik three children in the last few years.

The older Marik closed his eyes for a moment. “Whose agent?”

“She hardly carried an identification card, sir, but we’ve confirmed she was genuinely from Restitution, up on the Canopian border, and left when she was younger. I’ve had SAFE dig into her personal history after she left in ’74 and her family history before then.”

“You think she’s a Canopian agent.”

Carl released his father’s shoulder and shrugged. “It seems likely, but we’ve no evidence.”

“Evidence!” Kenyon cried out. “You speak of evidence, Carl. Your brother is dead!”

“I want to know who did it.” He clenched his fists. “I want to know when I tell his children that he was avenged that I didn’t miss the real culprit.”

His father faltered and then nodded. “Yes. That is wise.” His eyes closed a moment and when he opened them there was a more familiar anger in them. “Terra did not go well.”

“I heard. John Davion’s launched a counter-offensive as well. Reports are too early to say how well he’s doing.”

“Kerensky is dead and so is Steiner’s sister.”

“I heard.”

Kenyon walked back to the open door. “Robert Steiner will be back in control of the Archon’s throne, which is good news for us. What will happen to the Rim Worlds I don’t know, but again, any result is good for us. They’ll be distracted and that leaves our flank there secure for now.”

“Barbara Liao did not attend, but it was not in her interests to leave us a free hand. Her joke of a military has been thrashed soundly by Davion and she cannot afford our anger. It is possible she is behind Thaddeus’ death but it leaves you and I to take revenge, poor strategy.”

“Agreed, and she has no real cause to seek Thaddeus’ death,” Carl pointed out. “Rwannah Centrella, on the other hand, has every reason.”

“I agree.” His father rubbed his chin and then gestured inside. “Come out of the wind, Carl. I want to sit down and shouting back and forth isn’t conducive to this conversation.”

They found seats inside and called for drinks. Carl ordered a vodka and lime juice. His father just ordered lime juice and then called the servant back and shocked them both by telling him to add half a finger of vodka to it. Kenyon Marik almost never drank and when he did it was the bare minimum of wine to be socially acceptable.

“Basic military strategy is to avoid a war on multiple fronts,” Kenyon said softly. “But politics and geography make that difficult. But still, we need to focus our attention. Assume that what you and I believe is true, then we must punish the Centrellas.”

“Can we afford to, if the Star League is coming apart?”

The Captain-General smiled thinly. “There’s no if, any more. Perhaps Davion was right all along. Perhaps I…” He rubbed his face. “If the SLDF had been better led perhaps. My grandfather should never have approved that damn peasant as the Commanding General and father should have accepted his resignation in ’51.”

“Could have, should have, didn’t,” Carl pointed out quietly. “We have to work with the situation as it is, not as it might have been. So, we have to send an expeditionary force to Canopus.”

“Yes. The Humphreys will likely scream that we should strike for Andurien though.”

“Could we do both?” The younger Marik considered a map. The two areas weren’t far apart.

Kenyon shook his head. “No. It’s at least possible they might find common cause. We can sell it to Humphreys though, the groundwork for Canopus can serve as well for us against Andurien when we’re ready. There’s a more urgent target.”

Carl considered the options. “Every other neighbour is weak,” he said judiciously. “Who do you mean?”

“The Hegemony.” The Captain-General folded his arms. “The most intact industrial worlds in their realm are Terra Firma province, bordering ourselves and the Capellans. And the Hegemony’s armed forces are even weaker than the Capellans right now. With Davion exhausted from fighting the SLDF, the Chancellor will want those factories and I see no reason to let her take them uncontested.”

“And no SLDF to guard them.”

“Yes, exactly.” Kenyon looked away. “Those industrial worlds to strengthen the League and revenge for Thaddeus. Take those both before our neighbours recover and we will have served House Marik well.”


Landing City, Bristol
Crucis March, Federated Suns
27 April 2780

Thomas Holt-Davion arrived at the meeting point first.

Well, to be strictly accurate his escort detail arrived first and spent fifteen minutes sweeping the area for mines, infiltrators and wild animals. They weren’t wild about the idea of a General being out ‘on his own’ on the hill over-looking Bristol’s first and oldest city, much less a member (if only by marriage) of the royal family. It was touching in a way that they were so concerned for his wellbeing.

Once his safety was assured, the troops pulled back to the perimeter to wait for their counterparts. Holt-Davion slumped into one of the folding camp-chairs he’d brought and, careful not to tear it with his spurs, put his feet up on another. Whose stupid idea had those been? he thought. Maybe I should set a fashion and stop wearing the damn things. He closed his eyes for a moment.

When the sound of an engine woke him, he consulted his watch and realised twenty minutes had passed.

The SLDF had arrived in a pair of what looked like civilian cars. Holt-Davion was willing to wager that under the glossy paint the chassis were wrapped in ferro-fibrous protection and that the engine under the hood would be military rated. There might even be a hidden weapon – they did love their toys.

Four troopers got out of the cars and threw polite salutes in his direction before carrying out the same sweeps his own soldiers had done. Rather than risk dozing off again, Holt-Davion reached into the case at the side of his seat and pulled out a local paper. He didn’t have much context for the contents but reading between the lines it seemed that life had gone on more or less as normal for the populace of Bristol despite the SLDF occupation. That was something of a relief given the alternatives.

The soldiers presumably came to the same conclusion his own escorts had: there was no elite commando team of racoons out to ambush anyone (not an entirely unfounded concern, Bristol racoons had six limbs and claws that would go through a flak vest if they were motivated) and the old folks could probably be allowed out without supervision for a little while.

The woman who left the first car and walked over to join him was in her fifties, Holt-Davion guessed. Thin – too thin really – and she moved like a MechWarrior. He rose and bowed to her. “General Krieger, I presume.”

She saluted him, which was technically correct given their relative ranks, and held it until he returned the gesture. “General Holt-Davion. We meet at last.”

“It’s pleasant to do so other than on the field of battle. Please,” he gestured to one of the camp chairs. “Take a seat. I have some bottled water in the cooler if you’d like some.”

“I brought my own in the car,” she replied, taking the offered seat and resting her hands on her knees. “Before we discuss anything further I have to ask you: did your father-in-law have anything to do with what happened at the Court of the Star League?”

Holt-Davion met her gaze steadily. “No, he did not.” He paused and then added: “We did have a team in Unity City to try to snatch Thomas Kurita. Two of them were in the room and didn’t make it out.”

Kreiger’s eyes bulged a little. “You were going to abduct the Coordinator’s cousin out of Unity City? How were they going to get him off Terra?”

“MI4 managed to get two of the Camerons clear, I think MI6 took it as a challenge.” He had no idea what the logistics would be, but the impact of such an operation succeeding would have been tremendous for morale. “Shall we get down to business?”

“I suppose so. We’ve consolidated our position now and can hold Landing City for months if need be.”

The young General eyed her and decided it wasn’t quite a pro forma statement but very close to one. “I believe that you could, although the civilian population would suffer if that were the case.”

She made a dismissive gesture. “We are willing to allow civilians to leave.”

“Gracious of you. I must wonder what it is that you feel you would be accomplishing in that case. The two divisions left to you holding into an emptying city might tie us down for a while, but as long as we hold the orbitals you won’t be escaping.”

“At least we’ll tie down your troops,” Krieger said tightly. A week ago, her XXV Corps had retained three of their original six divisions. Holt-Davion had landed his troops almost on top of the 157th BattleMech division, and between his own three divisions and two independent brigades he’d had ten ‘Mech regiments to their six. The outcome had been obvious, even if losses in the three heavy ‘Mech regiments on point had been higher than the General would have liked.

“I don’t object to my troops being tied down if it’s in the course of their assigned mission,” Holt-Davion told Krieger mildly. “We’re here to liberate Bristol from SLDF occupation and if that takes a few months then so be it. Given the shape of your navy, there won’t be a relief force any time soon.”

“General Lucas has four squadrons of warships, more ships than your entire navy.”

“He had four squadrons,” he told her mildly. “You lost two cruisers when we took out the picket force here, and that’s far from the only defeat our fleet’s handed yours in the last few weeks. For that matter, how much have you heard from your Commanding General lately? Marlette is back in Federated Suns hands, you know.”

“Do you expect me to surrender?”

“The option is on the table. If you choose to take it then we’re prepared to stipulate that your enlisted troops will be repatriated to the nation of their choice with all despatch – disarmed of course. Your colours will be treated with respect and delivered to Terra as soon as possible. Only officers will be detained.” Without a command structure and with the soldiers scattered across half the Inner Sphere, the two divisions would effectively cease to exist.

Krieger shook her head. “I have my duty, Marshal. It doesn’t including surrendering my position when it’s tenable to fight on.”

Holt-Davion nodded. “Who is your duty to, General? To the First Star Lord? Because there isn’t one. To the Star League Council, who to all practical purposes aren’t talking to each other? Or to your fellow soldiers?”

She didn’t answer him.

“I can’t tell you what is and what isn’t worth fighting for, but you might want to see how many of your soldiers are willing to die for what’s left of the Star League.”

Krieger pushed herself to her feet. “I think we’re done here.”

Holt-Davion also rose and bowed. “As you will, General. If you wish to talk again then please contact me through the same channels we used to arrange this meeting.”

She nodded and left. Holt-Davion waited for the cars to leave range and then walked over to his own transport, a Kynigos APC that had parked down the slope from the hill.

“Do you think she’ll change her mind?” asked his aide, a young leftenant fresh out of Albion.

Thomas considered the woman’s reactions and nodded. “I’d give it about a week,” he said judiciously. “She’s not the sort of officer who’ll sacrifice the lives of her men for a principle she knows is increasingly hollow.”


Somewhere
Somewhen

Hanse Davion found himself in a place and his inability to identify it as anything more bothered him. He appeared to be in a sphere of clarity surrounded by a white fog that glowed without giving off any warmth. Up, off in the distance, he saw a bright disc, a light, that looked to him like a sun seen through clouds.

He heard a voice and – with nothing else to do – he followed it. The words were unclear but the tone was one of confusion – whoever it was must feel very much as he did.

The clouds parted and he saw a short man facing away from him, wearing a white kimono and hakama in the style of the Draconis Combine. “Something is definitely not right here,” the man said to himself, not looking back.

“It’s unexpected, I’ll give you that.”

The man turned sharply and the sight of his face stole the breath from Hanse for a moment. “You look like my father,” Victor Steiner-Davion said, almost accusingly.

There were lines on his face that hadn’t been there, a square-jaw set with a hint of the explosive temper Hanse remembered. “And you look like my son, Victor. Plus a few years. Time goes on, I suppose.”

“It’s been more than six years.” Victor rubbed his chest, as if searching for something.

“Only six? It feels more like twenty to me.” What the hell is going on?

“Have you been waiting here for me?”

“No… I’ve been, somewhere else.” He met his son’s eyes. “I’m dead then?”

Victor nodded sharply. “Yeah. Don’t you remember? I got back to New Avalon and found you in your chair, watching that damned disc from Sun-Tzu.”

“Ah yes. I wasn’t quite sure what happened after that. It seemed likely I’d died but…”

“This isn’t the hereafter?”

Hanse narrowed his eyes. “Victor, do you have reason to believe that you’re dead?”

“Uh…” The boy… no, he was a man now, rubbed the back of his head. “I’d been stabbed through the chest.”

“We’d better hope we’re dead or your mother will kill us. How did you manage that?”

Victor flinched. “I was on Luthien for the new year. Apparently not everyone there was happy about our alliance against the Clans.”

“Didn’t you have security!?”

His son coloured. “Omi and I were alone. Or supposed to be.”

“You acquitted yourself well,” a harsh voice declared.

Both men turned and they saw a third watching them. He wore traditional Japanese armour, all in red. Two swords were at his side but he showed no inclination to draw them.

“Takashi.”

The thirtieth Coordinator of the Draconis Combine nodded sharply. “Hai. Your son is a credit to you, Davion. In my grand-daughter’s defence he slew two of the assassins with only a sword and the brief training my grandson gave him in the use of a katana.”

“Is Omi dead?” Victor asked urgently. “There was blood on her sleeves, I thought her wrists…”

Takashi laughed curtly. “She cut down the last of them. Kuritas also take a lot of killing.” His face sobered. “You died like a samurai, Victor Davion. Come with me now, to the afterlife of a samurai.”

“Hold on there,” Hanse told him bluntly. “Why should he do that?”

“He has passed on, Davion. No one can go back.”

“Really, because no one told me anything like that.”

The red-clad man bared his teeth in something like a smile. “That is your loss, Davion. You were a worthy adversary, I regret that your resting place is not to your liking.”

“Resting place? Who’s been resting?”

“What have you been doing?” asked Victor curiously.

“Trying to save the Star League,” Hanse told him. “I’ve been… well, haunting John Davion I suppose. I got to meet Jerome Blake, Aleksandr Kerensky… even Stefan Amaris and Minoru Kurita.”

“The great leaders of the time,” Takashi conceded. “Perhaps your afterlife is not entirely miserable.”

“They’re a bunch of squabbling idiots for the most part.” Hanse shook his head. “I guess whatever I’ve changed isn’t affecting you, Victor.”

“It sounds impressive. Seeing the Star League at its height but…” The blond shook his head. “I have things to do. I need to go back.”

“Other men must do those things now,” Takashi advised him. “One cannot go back.”

Hanse stepped between them. “Have you ever tried? You chose to end your life. Maybe it’s different for the rest of us.”

“One cannot wrestle with destiny.”

“If I’ve learned anything watching the League fall apart, there’s no fate or destiny. Just people doing their best – sometimes to screw everyone else up, but their best nonetheless. Aren’t there tales in your history of people cheating death?”

Takashi hesitated. “Yes, myths but…”

Victor reached into the throat of his kimono and pulled out a pendant. “Kai gave me this.”

“What is it?” Hanse squinted. It looked like some kind of monkey.

“Sun Hou-Tzu. He escaped from Yen-lo-Wang, the Chinese god of death. If this is real then he can lead me back to life.” Hanse’s son smiled slightly. “And if I’m just imagining this then I can imagine that.”

“No.” Takashi reached for the hilt of his sword. “You cannot…”

Hanse spread his arms to block the samurai. “Go ahead son, give your mother my love.”

Victor seemed on the brink of saying something and then his footsteps receded into the fog.

The two old rivals stood facing each other, Hanse fixing Takashi with a glare. At last the Coordinator released the katana and shook his head. “You may regret doing that.”

“Would you regret giving Theodore a second chance if it had been him?”

Takashi paused and then shrugged fractionally. “I have many regrets about my son but perhaps not that, no. There will be consequences though.”

“I can live with that. So to speak.”

“We’ll meet again, Davion.” Takashi Kurita turned and walked away in the opposite direction from Victor.


Avalon City, New Avalon
Crucis March, Federated Suns
5 May 2780

“Do you have dreams like that often?” John asked once Hanse had finished recounting his experience.

The redhead shook his head, “No, not like that. Mostly I dream of the past.”

“The past that was.” The First Prince rubbed his greying hair. “If we take it at face value then it would mean you’re dead.”

“I’ve had twenty years to get used to the idea. I can’t say I’m quite so happy about Victor dying, or nearly so, before he’s even thirty though.”

“Well to be fair, he could hardly have anticipated getting stabbed while on a diplomatic visit. It’s not as if he was challenging the leader of these Clans to single combat or something.”

Hanse grinned. “If he did that then he and I would have words.”

“The date might be significant,” said John, looking at the calendar. “Fifth of May.”

“Twenty years to the day since I woke up outside your bedroom, you mean.” Hanse shrugged. “I guess so. That would almost have to suggest something conscious guiding it since the rotation of Terra around Sol wouldn’t seem to have any natural relationship to the workings of the hereafter.”

“Well it can’t be relative to changes made since I can hardly see how yesterday was particularly significant compared to other events.”

Hanse nodded. “No ComStar, no looting of the Terran Hegemony - not yet anyway – and the Rim Worlds seems to be holding together even without Kerensky.”

“Yes… oh, perhaps that’s a factor actually.”

“Oh?” the ghost arched an eyebrow. “How so?”

“Aleksandr’s oldest son turned sixteen yesterday. It might just be a coincidence but…”

“It’s as plausible as anything else. Anyway, it’s not as if he’s in power yet, it seems they’ve settled on twenty-one as the minimum age before he’s recognised as Protector in more than name.” John smiled slightly. “It’s ironic that the same man Francesca set up to try to kill Amaris fourteen years ago is the Rim Worlds’ regent now.”

“He seems to have grown into his role as her counterpart,” Hanse observed. “Drummond might do well as regent.”

“At least he’s not off in the far reaches of the Periphery laying the foundations of a new society, so that’s averted.”

“And no ComStar!”

“For good or ill. Carving up the HPG network into national organisations seems to be the going trend but it’s going to make staying in touch with our agents trickier. Zabu Kurita’s already using that control to keep what’s going on inside the Combine from leaking out and Francesca says Marik is likely to do the same. Once that breaks we have to assume the Lyrans and the Capellans were doing the same.”

“In the long run we can live without close international communication,” Hanse pointed out. “We did so for centuries. Having all our interstellar communication, even domestic contacts, dependent on an outside conspiracy is a bit more of a problem.”

John shook his head. “Isn’t that also a situation that lasted for centuries?”

“Touché.” Hanse touched his chest in surrender of the point. “It may impact on Alpheratz being able to act as a centre of banking though. Even if we need somewhere neutral, the fact is that they’re out on the fringes of settled space. Terra did have some advantages with their central location.”

“We’ll have to see how it -” John was about to say ‘works out’ but a chime alerted him to an inbound message. He touched a control on his desk. “What is it, Owen?”

“I’m sorry to disturb you, sir, but we have a priority message from Wroxeter.”

“Wroxeter?” John exchanged looks with Hanse. “Alright, put it through.”

The screen built into his desk lit up, showing the spinning hourglass that was the traditional indicator that data was being loaded. “I wonder what Michael’s come up with,” the First Prince mused. Wroxeter was only one jump from Marlette and had been in SLDF hands for a year or so. While it had been bypassed in the initial counter-attacks, Michael Stopec had taken his Fourth Davion Guards division to clear it of the SLDF garrison once they’d finished off the main resistance around the SLDF headquarters on Marlette.

The face that came up on the video screen wasn’t the scarred and moustachioed face of the Prince’s Champion though. Instead it was Alexandra Davion’s face. “Uncle, I apologise for using priority codes but I felt that this was news that you would wish to hear as soon as possible,” her recorded voice greeted him.

“Shit,” Hanse said quietly.

“While the Guards are doing well in securing Wroxeter, I regret to advise you that the landing was quite heavily contested by SLDF aerospace assets,” Alexandra informed them. “Colonel Stopec and his staff were under escort by Pritchard’s Panzers in order to leave the main brigades free to concentrate on establishing a perimeter. Unfortunately, the SLDF seem to have picked out the Panzers for especial attention – either because they knew the Colonel was with them or because they’re ex-SLDF. The colonel’s ‘Mech was hit by several bombs and the cockpit was breached at least twice. I’m very sorry, sir, but medics have confirmed he was dead on arrival at the field medical station.”

John paused the recording and dropped his face into his hands. Hanse walked around the desk and rested his hands on his descendant’s shoulders, for all the good that did.

“How many more will we lose?” the First Prince asked sorrowfully. “How many men and women must I feed into the furnace for the others’ ambitions?”

Hanse considered platitudes but then dismissed them. “It doesn’t end, John. I wish it were otherwise. The most we can do is buy reprieves, a time between wars for a fresh generation to grow up and hopefully be wiser than we are.”

“The war is almost over, dammit. Dying so near to the finish of the campaign… so pointless”

“Not pointless, don’t demean it like that. You know damn well he had his guns firing up at the fighters dropping the bombs, protecting the people with him. And because he did that, some of them will live longer and be able to keep more of the people behind them alive.” Hanse stepped back as John turned around to face him. “It’s a tragic loss but it was not without meaning.”

The two men eyed each other and then John nodded tiredly. He activated the recording again.

“Brigadier Hewitt has taken over the division and I expect a formal report will reach you shortly,” Alexandra concluded. “If it’s any consolation, once our own aerospace had regrouped, not one of the enemy birds made it back home. We’re prepping his body for return to New Avalon per his recorded preferences. The duke made some noises about wanting to give him a state burial here but Hewitt straightened him out.”


Kingston, Beecher
Draconis March, Federated Suns
17 May 3780

Ethan Moreau was beginning to understand what had driven Amaris’ soldiers to such brutal measures to try to retain control of the Hegemony worlds they were occupying. Nuisance attacks – sometimes little more than noisemakers but sometimes snipers or improvised explosive devices – had kept his troops on edge for weeks. Since they’d treated the civilians well he didn’t think that the civilians of Kingston were responsible, or at least no more than the lunatic fringe which any world had.

But the civilians were there and the responsible parties weren’t, not obviously. Probably one or more of Davion’s MI6 teams, the young major general thought looking at the brown stains on the division’s banner. There was a creative malice to this that was in line with their nickname: the Rabid Foxes.

He turned and saw the anger in the eyes of the other personnel. “Well at least we know they give a shit,” he offered wryly. “Get this cleaned up and check the sentries, see if we can figure out how they got in.”

“Sir, we can’t let this go on,” Stephan Cage warned, almost trembling with rage. “We have to do something.”

“I’m open to rational suggestions.”

Part of the problem was that the Ninth Division was a BattleMech force, organised and optimised for offensive operations. The attitudes suited for the SLDF’s spearhead weren’t ideal for garrisoning hostile territory and Beecher was increasingly hostile towards the SLDF. Accustomed to quick and decisive actions, the troops were frustrated by the long and drawn out war of nerves.

The trouble was that they had nowhere to vent their frustrations. IX Corps was effectively marooned – they had dropships but their jumpships had been caught out by a carrier raid. Half had jumped out, not to be seen again, and the rest had been smashed alongside the five warships escorting them.

Cage folded his arms. “I’m not suggesting actual retaliation,” he said, “But if there was a civilian presence here then they might have to be more careful since they’d not want to risk hurting their people. It might cut back in the attacks that cause actual damage.”

“Are you suggesting we use civilians as human shields?” Ethan asked incredulously.

The major winced. “I hadn’t seen it in that light, but I suppose that I was.”

“Unless we treat them as confinees, we’d just be providing more open access,” Colonel Toriyama pointed out. “What would really put some heart in the men would be someone they can take the field against. Could we run an exercise against one of the other divisions – rotate brigade-sized forces out to the bush so they can batter at each other a bit and vent some of their bad temper?”

“That’s a more promising idea, but General Kaspar wants us on the bases, ready to embark on dropships immediately we get instructions from headquarters.”

“And when will that be, sir?”

“That, Major Cage, is the question, isn’t it?” Ethan turned away as two enlisted men lowered the banner from its flagpole and with expressions of distaste carried it off in the direction of the base laundry. “If we could scare up some jumpships then we might be able to head for Flushing to reinforce General Huong.” Seventh Army’s commander and LIII corps were known to be under attack by the AFFS, only one jump away, and there had been no HPG traffic for a week which suggested they needed reinforcements.

A chirp from Ethan’s left wrist alerted him to a message and he raised it to his mouth. “Moreau speaking.”

“General, this is Lieutenant French in the command centre. We’re getting a signal from the proximity point.”

Ethan raised his eyebrows. “A signal?”

“Yes sir. It’s encoded for your personal attention.”

“I’ll be there directly. Looks like we might have something, Stephan,” he told the major. “I’ll fill you all in if it turns out to be more than a false alarm.” With that, Ethan turned and hurried towards the command centre at a quick stride. The frustrations had been wearing on him as much as on anyone.

Inside the command centre all was tense silence, attention on the communications section. Ethan gave a withering look to those who should be hard at work, turning them away with shamed faces, and crossed to Lieutenant French. “Alright, what do you have?”

The young officer held out a noteputer. “There were three jump flares, sir. Large ships – with the sensors here I can’t be sure but as best I can tell, close to two megatons total. I’ve loaded the message here.”

Ethan activated the device’s security systems. “Well let’s see what they have.” The noteputer recorded his words and compared the voice print to that used to lock the message. After several seconds of chewing it over with its relatively puny processor it approved the match and unlocked the data.

The face that appeared on the screen was Hector Graham’s. His collar pins were still those of a Colonel in the HAF but there was a touch of grey at his temples that Ethan didn’t remember from Helen. “General Moreau, this is Colonel Graham. I’d hope you remember me. I’m here with three carriers to evacuate as many of the SLDF forces here as we can back to the Hegemony.”

A ripple of alarm went around the room and Ethan cursed himself for not taking the message in private. He’d been too eager for news.

Well, it was too late now. He paused the message and handed it to French. “Can you replay it on the main display?”

“Yes sir.” The lieutenant connected the noteputer to his station and the holographic projector in the centre of the room lit up, replaying the 2-D recording on four screens facing in the cardinal directions.

“General Moreau, this is Colonel Graham. I’d hope you remember me. I’m here with three carriers to evacuate as many of the SLDF forces here as we can back to the Hegemony. I don’t know how up to date your information is, but Commanding General Lucas is missing, General Huong of Seventh Army is confirmed as a prisoner of the AFFS and General Watanabe of Eighth Army is reported as killed in action.”

“General Museveni of Twelfth Army is therefore senior surviving officer of the active Army Group. Based on reported naval casualties, she’s asked for assistance extricating remaining SLDF units to worlds that can be defended. Orders to this effect have been issued to all commands. I regret to inform you that General Kaspar of IX Corps has declined to accept those orders as lawful.”

Graham paused. “I’ve attached documentation to confirm this, Ethan. I’m sorry to put you in a bad situation, but the rest of my news is no better. The Draconis Combine and the Free Worlds League are to all practical purposes withdrawn from the Star League. In the latter case, we’re even seeing troop movements towards the Hegemony border than look awfully like he’s preparing for military action. I don’t know what’s going on with the Rim Worlds Protectorate, the Archon has cut our communications to them, but we do know that the remaining volunteer divisions from the last war have been isolated and disarmed by the Lyran Commonwealth Armed Forces.”

“There are only twelve dropship collars available on my carriers but if you ferry equipment up we can store hardware on our cargo decks. If you prefer to stick with Kaspar here on Beecher I can’t force you to leave, but I swear to you, Ethan, there’s no other relief force coming. We’re your troops’ last chance.”

The message ended and Ethan swallowed, staring at the empty display. He looked around the room and saw expectant eyes. Ethan couldn’t think when he’d last felt this mortified. Maybe back on Kilarney when the FWLM decided to interrupt his graduation.

“Send the documentation he says is attached to my office,” he said quietly. “I think I’d better ask General Kaspar what he’s heard from Museveni.” He ignored the whispered conversations that broke out the moment his back was turned.


Summer Palace, Sian
Sian Commonality, Capellan Confederation
31 May 2780

Baltazar’s first thought on seeing his brother was despair at the sight of the wheelchair that Barnabas was sat in.

It must have shown on his face because the younger Liao waved his hand dismissively. “It’s not forever,” he promised. “Side-effect of the gas seems to have messed with my nervous system and I’m having to learn to walk again. It would just be embarrassing to fall down in public so I use this outside of my rooms.”

Sure enough, once they were welcomed into their mother’s parlour, Barnabas left the chair and walked – if unsteadily – across to the couch. He sighed as he sat down. “This is a pain.”

“If you listen to the doctor’s you’ll get over it,” Barbara Liao said, not looking up from the flimsies on her desk. “If you don’t listen to them then I’ll listen to them and I hope you’re not so foolish as to worry me like that.”

“No mother,” Barnabas promised in a put-upon tone.

Baltazar hid a smile. You always have to be in charge, mother. “I’m glad you made it back to Sian,” he said instead. “So many did not.”

His brother shrugged. “Luck that I wasn’t close to the centre and that my aides had the sense to let the Director-General’s guards hustle me away with him.” He paused. “I owe them my life.”

“It’s a debt I take seriously,” their mother said quietly. “And that may be very important in the next few days. I take it you know what the attack on the court means?”

“Someone’s actively working to tear down the Star League,” Barnabas said. “If it’s Davion, he’s shifted his goal slightly since he claims to be happy for us to maintain it without him. If it’s someone else…”

The elder brother leant on the couch. “I’m not sure about the ‘working to’ part of that. They may have succeeded.”

Barbara looked up and then nodded. “Yes, that nails it. Jennifer Steiner was actively working to restore some of what has been lost, but her loss and that of Kerensky essentially destroys the strongest advocates of the Star League. Kurita clearly doesn’t care a whit for it and Marik… well, Kerensky’s death might have eased some tensions but he’s really gone too far to back down now.” She lifted a stylus, tapped it against the flimsy on the top of the pile and then set it down without writing anything. “History may record John Davion’s victories over the SLDF in the last two months as the nail in the League’s coffin, but it was the attack on the court that was the last straw.”

Her sons exchanged looks. “I know we’ve been considering that as a possibility since Baptiste decided not to fight for the Star League,” Barnabas said, “But where does that leave us?”

“Strategically it leaves us in a very bad situation indeed.” Their mother rose to her feet and walked to the window, looking away from then. “Mattlov still holds the Terran regency and will for at least a year, which means we have an aggressive neighbour in that direction. We’re still at war with Davion on paper, even if there’s a ceasefire at the moment while we both recover. And then there’s Marik.”

“May I ask what he’s been doing?” asked Baltazar. “I’ve not been up to date on recent movements.”

“You know that he’d suborned four SLDF divisions and positioned them near Andurien,” she told him. “They’ve been reinforced and there are movements of ships and supplies. Given the insertion of officers from the FWLM into them, to all practical purposes he’s increased the Marik Militia and the Andurien Defenders by a third and they’re all stationed right on one of our most sensitive borders.”

“To make matters worse, there’s another shift in troop movements, at least a dozen regiments are headed for Augustine, right on our border. It seems that the Captain-General has decided that Robert Steiner is too ineffectual to pose a threat, so he can focus his attentions against us.”

“A Fourth Andurien War with a second front near the Hegemony.” The elder of the brothers shook his head. “We have fresh troops near those areas but we can’t respond effectively if we have to keep reserves against John Davion.”

“Is it possible we’re not the targets?” asked Barnabas. “Marik’s younger son was killed recently and the rumours on Terra said it was retaliation for his deep raid on Canopus. And as you say, Augustine is quite near the Terran Hegemony.”

“Possible, but we can’t assume this.” Barbara turned around. “I need you here because at this time I’m going to have to rely on your advice. My decision-making when it comes to John Davion has been… historically poor. The Maskirovka advise me that on balance he can usually be relied upon to keep his word, if only because his reputation for fair dealing is a significant asset in diplomacy. Tell me, if we were to offer him an armistice, could we count on him to keep it?”

Baltazar stood up straight. “An armistice? Would he accept such an offer?”

“If he does not then we’re no worse off.” She made a dismissive gesture. “Replacing the Star League’s remaining vestiges has caused disruptions his Ministry of Information are unlikely to have missed. He knows we are not in the best of positions but has had to focus his attention on destroying Lucas’ armies. We can recover as quickly as he can if we are undisturbed but that looks unlikely. So he will be bargaining from a position of some strength.”

His brother tapped his right thigh with the flat of his hand. “He declared he would secede and has pulled it off. He threw his support behind Kerensky when no one else would, at least not at the time,” he qualified quickly. “And while I was very young during the Border War, my understanding is that he sought mediation through the Star League and accepted it even when it was against his immediate interests. From what I know…” Barnabas looked up at their mother. “I agree with the Maskirovka. It seems likely that if we have a commitment from Davion then it will be kept to.”

“What terms can we reasonably expect to get?” asked Baltazar. “I mean, ideally the current situation and the return of Tikonov but I don’t think it’s very likely.”

“I must reluctantly agree,” the Chancellor said bleakly. “I would accept the border we held before the Star League but I doubt he will release Tikonov now that he has it. Realistically the industrial wealth of the system is simply too valuable. It will be up to you to negotiate, Baltazar. At most, I’ll only agree to giving up Tikonov if we also retain Demeter – it’s not equivalent but it straightens our border there and saves us some face.”

“I’m your negotiator?”

She nodded. “You’ve most experience with the Federated Suns and I trust you.” Taking the flimsy, she signed it briskly and held it out. “Your writ.”

Baltazar walked over and accepted the document. Reading it quickly he saw he had been appointed Ambassador Extraordinary to the Court of New Avalon.

“If it were necessary, Barnabas, I would send you back to Terra, but fortunately for your health I think our relations are still sufficient to negotiate by HPG,” Barbara told him. “But I will want your advice in handling Mattlov. You’re right that the forces on Augustine could be a threat to the Hegemony as well as ourselves. The Hegemony Armed Forces are likely to more or less double as they absorb remnants of the SLDF, they could be a very valuable ally.”

Baltazar folded the writ and glanced at his brother. “Do you think he’d go with it?”

“He’s a pilot,” Barnabas said wryly. “I think he’ll understand the value of having a wingman.”

“Good, that’s the sort of insight we’ll need.”

“There’s one good thing about going to war with the Free Worlds League,” noted Baltazar with a slight smile. “The navy will be ecstatic – we get to be the ones with the carriers fighting against big fat capital ships.”

“As a silver lining it’s not much, but I’ll take what I can get,” his mother declared.