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Avalon City, New Avalon
Crucis March, Federated Suns
4 June 2780

The central table of the command centre was crowded with officers and a select handful of civil officials. If it weren’t for a few key absences, some of them strategic to ensure that no assassin managed to decapitate the Federated Suns, then their entire senior leadership would be here.

The end that wasn’t crowded was the space around John’s seat. He pulled it back and sat down as normal, checked the coffee and glanced around with a little smile calculated to convey ‘yes, it’s business as usual, even today’,

“Alright people,” he told them. “We’ve got a lot to get through so let’s settle down and make a start. Francesca, give us a big picture.”

The Minister of Information didn’t stand but she activated the central holo-projector, bringing up and overview of the Star League… of the Inner Sphere and the Periphery. They’d have to get used to calling it that.

“From furthest to nearest, sir,” Francesca Reznick began. “We’ve had confirmation of clashes along the Rim-Lyran border. Most of them seem to be the result of SLDF convoys trying to take sanctuary inside the Protectorate – even without General Kerensky himself, there are still people who feel that his family and supporters will shelter them. To a lesser extent there’s even been a small level of civilian movement. Lyran commanders along the border seem confident that Robert Steiner will approve of them giving chase into Protectorate space and our sources suggest they’re right.”

“The best thing he could have done for the Commonwealth would have been to die and he couldn’t even get that right,” Eis Moscoe commented, just loud enough to be overheard.

“I wouldn’t go quite that far, Eis.” John leant back in his chair. “Without Jennifer Steiner, the post of Archon would fall either to their brother Paul or to Jennifer’s son Richard who’s… eleven?”

“Eleven next month,” Reznick told him. “It’s hard to say whether he or his uncle would be less politically prepared at this point. Paul Steiner’s a capable military commander but he’s signed off on the administrative mess that the LCAF are facing at the moment.”

“So maybe the second-best thing Robert could have done would be to die,” Hanse murmured from behind John.

“In addition, the Lyrans have had to deal with repeated border incidents in Tamar and Skye.” Reznick brought up markers along the Lyran-Draconian border. Coordinator Kurita isn’t even responding to diplomatic approaches, much less denying that the DCMS are raiding Lyran bases. Actually, it’s becoming quite difficult to get information out of the Combine at all – they’ve imposed very tight controls over HPG communication. Without General Pond’s help in arranging channels of communication we’d have very little data to work on.”

Reuben Sandoval leant forwards. “Does that mean the Combine is going to be focused on the Lyrans rather than us in the near future?” he asked. Although not yet confirmed into any official role, he’d been allowed to attend this meeting while the actual Minister and Marshal of the Draconis March were elsewhere.

Reznick pursed her lips. “If by near future you mean twelve to eighteen months, then yes. Beyond that I wouldn’t be prepared to commit. Our data from the Commonwealth suggests that the DCMS is making a point of capturing military supplies and equipment wherever possible which suggests they’re trying to make this… low intensity warfare, if you will, supply the rebuilding of their forces. And, of course, we’re not at peace with them. If the Archon escalates the situation then it seems unlikely Zabu Kurita would risk war on two fronts but that depends on Robert Steiner’s judgement, which has been erratic even before his stroke.”

“Thank you, Minister.” Sandoval nodded gratefully to her.

“If it comes to operations, the DCA has almost eighty warships including those seized from the SLDF but they’re struggling to maintain them and something like thirty of them are only capable of limited operations. From a height of one hundred and thirty-eight divisions they’re currently claiming one hundred and twenty-five but that’s mostly symbolic – a multiple of five – and twenty-eight of them have only token BattleMech and armour forces, with infantry drawn from militia units.”

“Moving on to the Free Worlds League, there’s a certain ominous silence – no military clashes of significance so far but there are some very serious concentrations of military shipping and regiments at both ends of the Capellan border. The Captain-General is playing matters very close to his chest, which may be more to do with his Parliament than it is foreign intelligence services.”

Joel Parks adjusted his glasses fussily. “Is there any likelihood that the Parliament will rein Lord Marik in?”

“Very unlikely,” John told him. “House Humphreys and House Allison are both in favour of military action against the Capellans, and he keeps a tight hand over his own province so that’s three of the four major provinces united in favour of his policies and moulding public opinion accordingly. As Council Lord, House Marik have had some of the powers of the Captain-Generalcy even in peacetime but Parliament formally voted him the usual two-year term in ’77 and renewed it last year. If he starts a war before the end of his second term it’s unlikely they’ll want to switch horses.”

“I’ve never seen the point in that two-year term business,” muttered Moscoe. “It ties military action too closely to politics in the capital. It comes up time and again in their history.”

“If it works out to our advantage, why should we complain?” John shrugged. He heard Hanse shift and then nodded. “Of course, if Lord Marik does seek to adjust his constitutional limits we’re looking at options to arrange… internal opposition for him. Not usually something the League needs help with but why take a chance?”

Reznick shifted the map to display the Capellan Confederation but looked over at her military counterpart. “Marshal Pond, I believe your department has just finished an update on Capellan capabilities so perhaps you should discuss the next part.”

The head of Military Intelligence nodded. “Of course, Minister Reznick. Thank you.” He lifted a pointer. “We’ve been taking a close look into Capellan losses in the two theatres of combat. They’ve been careful not to disband any formations, even though those that were in shreds when they were withdrawn. We’re currently estimating that as many as thirty of their regiments are still in need of extensive rebuilding, with losses made up – if at all – with drafts on their Home Guard units, which were already under strain, and former SLDF personnel. On paper they’re claiming around a hundred and thirty regiments including forces raised around defectors, but at best their ground forces are probably at around eighty percent capability on average. Some of the weaker units were rotated to face the Free Worlds League in order to free up intact forces to face us but with the situation as it is, that may be backfiring.”

“And we know they’re down to only forty-three warships,” added Rike Moore. The serving head of the FSN grinned toothily. “Too many ships lost at Kathil and Galax, and the destruction of the Capella shipyards has cut them badly. Forty-three of their own, that is. I imagine at least some of the Star League’s ships have majority Capellan crews.”

“Quite a number, unfortunately. It’s too early to say for sure but we know Chancellor Liao purchased a number of Carrack armed transports to convert into carriers and we believe she’s also been securing older corvettes that can be maintained by civilian yards. I think we have to assume other ships, including heavier ships, will be willing to enter her employment.”

“Should we look at raiding those?” asked Moscoe. “I know you’re stretched,” he added with an apologetic look at Moore, “But if the Combine could be coming back at us then we could live without a strong Capellan navy.”

“There are two reasons I’m opposed to that.” John leant forwards. “Firstly, if the Confederation collapses, we’d have Marik on the border. I’d rather a weak Capellan neighbour than a strong Free Worlds League next to us.”

He saw nods around the room.

“And secondly, Chancellor Liao has approached us to negotiate an armistice.” He paused to let that sink in. “We’ll continue to watch the Capellans and if hostilities resume then those yards will be priority targets, but at the moment we could do with some time to catch our breath as well.”

Parks raised an eyebrow. “Is there any likelihood that the armistice will open up trade with the Confederation?” he asked hopefully. “That could be beneficial.”

”I’m not sure at this point, but I will raise the possibility.”

“More work for the Minister and I if there is,” Pond noted. “But that’s what we’re paid for. I don’t have anything to add about the Capellans.”

Reznick nodded. “The Canopians are also concerned about the Free Worlds League’s movements – Andurien is very near to them after all. While their military forces aren’t spectacular we know that a small number of SLDF regiments and even four warships have entered Canopian service. They’ve sent negotiators to Alpheratz to try to pick up mercenary contracts as well – I believe the Pentagon League may be looking at contracting out a brigade of soldiers for Canopian service.”

“Pentagon regular soldiers?” asked Moscoe in surprise.

“Not all the SLDF soldiers who sided with DeChevilier have settled in. If he can let them go back to war on someone else’s paycheque, that’s probably in his best interests,” the Minister of Information explained. “A safety valve for soldiers who can’t adjust to peacetime.”

“Not a problem most of us have to worry about,” John observed. “How about the Taurians?”

“Quiet and prickly,” Reznick told him. “But right now, no one seems interested in invading them so they’re as close to content as they can expect. The Outworlds Alliance, on the other hand, is watching the Draconis Combine very cautiously. An entire squadron of the Pentagon League’s warships are patrolling that border. The Outworlders may not like BattleMechs but warships seem to be out of sight, out of mind as far as their conservative factions are concerned.”

“That brings us to the Terran Hegemony. It’s been confirmed that James McEvedy is on the road to recovery, but it will be six to eight months before he’s able to leave a hospital dead. To all practical purposes, Daniel Mattlov is effectively Director-General until then. Our read is that he’ll hand power back, which should have a stabilising effect.”

“Is the same expected in the Rim Worlds?” asked Sandoval thoughtfully. “Drummond’s ex-RWA, isn’t he?”

“We have an extensive file on Philip Drummond,” Reznick replied. “He’s not without ambition but the Kerensky name carries considerable weight. Our expectation is that he might step in if he feels that neither Nicholas nor Andery Kerensky is fit to rule, but there would be political issues in that case and he doesn’t seem eager to cause new problems given he’s got quite a few on his plate already. Whether he’ll still feel that way in five years – General Kerensky set twenty-one as the age of majority – is hard to say.”

Pond cleared his throat. “Including the units of General Lucas’ army group that escaped there, we believe that Mattlov will be adding twenty-two divisions to the Hegemony Armed Forces. Given they had a hundred short brigades - about two regiments each - that’s more than doubling his available forces. And there are at least a hundred SLDF warships that have been operating out of his shipyards, with at least that many repairable ships left from the liberation campaigns that simply haven’t been fixed up yet. That’s the strongest naval force anyone has at this point, potentially twice the size of the Lyran navy if he can get the ships repaired.”

“And like the Combine and the Confederation they’re shifting towards carrier operations in imitation of ours,” Moore noted. “From your reports, they’re refitting Sovetskii Soyuz-class cruisers into carriers, the Kerensky-class they’re calling them and the initial plan was for forty of them split between SLDF and HAF but now the Hegemony will have them all. They might not be a match for our carriers one on one, but once they complete all forty they’ll have more carriers than we do.”

John nodded. “Now that we’ve reclaimed the worlds occupied by the SLDF there’s no need for us to move further and hopefully we can come to terms with Mattlov and McEvedy. They’re surrounded on all sides so alliances will be critical for them.”

He looked around. “Alright, that summarises the other states. How do we stand? Rike, the navy?”

“Including the SLDF ships who’ve taken refuge with us, we have ninety-seven warships in service and six further ships under construction. Sixteen of the active ships are fleet carriers – two Brandts and the rest New Syrtis-class. Half the ships being built are also New Syrtis-class.” She consulted her noteputer. “We’re looking at a twelve month break in laying down new ships once the current vessels are completed – we’ve been refitting ships as we get the chance but a systematic upgrade cycle is going to be needed to make sure we have the new defensive systems on all our ships.”

Parks coughed. “And I understand you’re looking to expand the… combat dropship arm of the fleet?”

“We’re looking at options but we need more platforms to act as escorts for the carrier groups.” Moore grinned slightly. “Still in the design phases, we’ll not be hitting your budget to actually buy them until 2783 at the earliest.”

“A slight relief,” the Minister of Ways and Means observed tersely. “It seems the budget will need to remain on a wartime footing.”

“Unless we can secure a solid peace with the Draconis Combine, which seems unlikely as long as the Coordinator prefers to keep his realm an enigma, then we have to assume fighting could resume at any time. It’s going to hurt the economy,” John admitted, “But not as badly as seeing more worlds savaged the way Robinson was.”

The room stilled at the mention of the Draconis March capital. Only Parks seemed unmoved, nodding in cool assessment. “To be avoided, I agree.”

“Our ground forces aren’t in terrible shape,” offered Moscoe. “We’ve disbanded fifty-eight BattleMech regiments but that’s let us keep the rest in solid shape and with the addition of former SLDF units and mercenaries, we have a hundred divisions in service.”

“For comparison, how many BattleMech regiments do we have?” asked the Minister of Education.

“Counting all units available for interstellar deployments - the March Militia divisions and private contractors, but not planetary guards – two hundred and seventeen, with most of them at ninety-percent or more of their notional strength.” Moscoe smiled slightly. “Without the SLDF, that's the largest army in the Inner Sphere, more than a match for anyone.”

John sat back in his chair. “Then it’s safe to say that we’ve weathered the storm of our secession.”

“We won,” agreed Pond. “We survived and the Star League didn’t.”

“The latter wasn’t the goal.” John exhaled slowly. “But yes. Now we have to plan for an era with no Star League. Without a central government, communications and trade with those states we don’t border are going to be problematic. It’ll take more than military might to get through the next few years, we need to keep our economy going and we can’t afford to stay closed off to the rest of the Inner Sphere. We’ll also need to keep expanding our research and development since we can’t just leach off the Star League for advancement any more...”


It had been twenty years since John saw the buildings, but the dream had been so vivid that he recognised them nonetheless – a sprawling campus of buildings, half a dozen colleges of sciences both hard and soft wrapped around the core of the New Avalon Military Academy.

There was no New Avalon Institute of Science in his time though – the expansions of NAMA had had to be for more war-like means such as training the huge numbers of pilots needed for the Federated Suns Navy. There would be colleges though, and institutes of science, built elsewhere and in many cases staffed by refugees from other realms.

But what John saw now wasn’t the peaceful image he’d seen when he first met Hanse all these years ago.

This was a battlefield, the parklands separating the school from city and palace torn by weapons fire and stray munitions.

The aggressors, firing into the buildings and trampling the facilities underfoot, were black-painted BattleMechs. For a moment he thought of the Otomo but these were trimmed in green and bore a death’s head insignia upon their chests. Some of the designs were familiar, others were not. John estimated their numbers as perhaps a battalion but as ‘Mechs fell, others came to replace them without end.

And the ‘Mechs did fall, for the Institute had a defender: a lone Battlemaster assault ‘Mech, painted in the familiar red, white and blue of the Davion Guards. The MechWarrior within fought like a titan… but he was alone.

“What is happening?”

“War is happening,” a quiet voice told him. Turning, John saw a broad-shouldered man in a MechWarrior’s shorts and vest. “One of the few wars that really matter.”

John met his gaze – there was something familiar about the shape of the other man’s face. It took him a moment to realise that it reminded him of Hanse – the hair was darker, more brown than red, and the eyes had less of the quick wit and a more steadfast look to them. “Not one between nations then.”

“No. One between those who see knowledge as power – and therefore seek to control it – and those who view it as wealth and seek to multiply it.” The other man reached over and patted John’s shoulder. “You’ve contributed to that struggle, and I believe you’ve made a difference for the right side. Or my side, which I take to be the same.”

“Are you… one of Hanse’s sons?”

That got a bark of laughter. “Sons? No. Good guess though. He’s my little brother.” Ian Davion ran his hand back through his short hair. “I’m not saying he’s the one that got all the brains, but some people did say that.”

“Aren’t you dead?”

“Does it matter?”

John turned back to the battle being fought before them. “Given the last twenty years, I suppose not. Can we do anything? He’s fighting alone out there.”

“No, he isn’t. He just believes that.” The other Davion shrugged. “Egotism runs in our family, I’m sorry to say. But sure. Let’s remind him that he’s not the only one who gets to stand up for something.” He reached out and pulled a neurohelmet out of thin air. It was a massive thing, far larger than those John was used to. “Mount up.”

“How?”

“Like this.” John wasn’t sure if the other man grew as he pulled the helmet on, or if he was simply replaced but in a moment of transition he was no longer standing at the side of a man. Instead, a BattleMech rose up above him like an ancient god of war, bull-shouldered and with a grinning skull-like face: an Atlas that bore the same colours as Hanse’s Battlemaster.

“That isn’t helpful!” John shouted up. “That tells me nothing!”

The ‘Mech strode forward, heedless of him, tearing into the smaller black and green BattleMechs with a blithe disregard for their weapons fire that reflected the Atlas’ reputation for near invulnerability.

“Dammit.” John extended his hands as he’d seen Ian do. Nothing.

What was the key, what did he need to do? The prince screwed his eyes closed. If this was a dream, was logic even a factor? How could he…?

He felt something round and solid between his hands. His neurohelmet. Without opening his eyes, John raised it and pushed it down over his head, fingers automatically buckling the chinstrap. Releasing it, he reached out and with no surprise found the joysticks of his cockpit. Snapping his eyes open he saw the familiar interior of his Cyclops: reactor hot, weapons live, ready for battle.

Ahead of him, two Davions were already fighting.

Driving his feet down on the pedals, John put his ‘Mech into motion and joined the battle. Unlike the other two, he didn’t plunge into the midst of the enemy, instead using the range of his gauss rifle and LRMs to single out vulnerable targets.

His first target was a Phoenix Hawk trying to work its way around the flank of Hanse’s Battlemaster. John’s gauss rifle shot caught it in the back, ripping through the right torso and severing the connections to the medium ‘Mech’s right arm. The limb, carrying most of the ‘Mech’s weapons, went flying.

His next target was an unfamiliar design. The right arm was a PPC and a laser was mounted off-centre in the head. The ‘Mech tried to close in after John hammered it with missiles and another shot from his gauss rifle. Raising the Cyclops’ arms, the prince slashed through the remaining armour across the smaller ‘Mech’s chest, damaging a missile launcher and then fired his SRMs. They corkscrewed across the space between them and one found the ruined launcher’s ammunition feeds. A chain of explosions gutted the ‘Mech.

LRMs crashed down onto John and he twisted, taking it on his armour. It was fortunate he was in a Royal Cyclops – the standard model might not have been able to shrug off the salvo. The battle computer traced the arc and highlighted a Catapult as the source.

John’s return fire cratered armour and locked one of the Catapult’s boxy missile launchers onto a fixed bearing – although it didn’t prevent it from firing again since another thirty missiles volleyed forth at him. Raising his ‘Mech’s arm to shield his cockpit, he fired back again, this time the gauss rifle hitting squarely on the Catapult’s pointed nose.

The bird-like ‘Mech staggered and John moved closer, unleashing everything he had as soon as he reached two hundred and fifty metres. The Catapult’s final LRM volley went soaring wildly up into the night sky as John’s shots smashed through the hip joints, severing both legs and dropping what was left of the ‘Mech to the ground.

Turning back to his kinsmen, John saw Hanse swinging the severed arm of a Shadow Hawk to crush the cockpit of a Panther. Ian’s Atlas was facing off against a towering Stalker, the two titanic ‘Mechs exchanging everything they had at point blank ranges.

Seeing an Ostroc moving up on Hanse’s flank, John snap fired his gauss rifle and the shot tore the heavy ‘Mech’s cockpit apart.

No longer concerned by the Ostroc, Hanse combined fire with his brother and the two tore the Stalker apart in short order.

John looked for another target but found none. He was sure they hadn’t destroyed an entire battalion of the enemy in such short order, but his sensors picked up nothing.

“Ian, you’ve got some ‘splaining to do,” Hanse called as his Battlemaster stood still, boiling coolant trickling from rents in his armour.

The other MechWarrior laughed lightly. “Sure, little brother. But not here. It’s time for us to move on.”

“Move on?”

“You didn’t think this was everything, did you?”

The Battlemaster folded its arms and suddenly the three Davions stood between their ‘Mechs, Hanse in very much that pose. “It’s kind of hard to tell.”

Ian shrugged. “Trust me, it’s not. You’ve done well. Both of you have done well.” He offered his hand to John. “Whatever happens next, your history is unlikely to sink into the same dark age that the two of us grew up in. Or at least, not in your lifetime. Thank you for that.”

“If Hanse hadn’t been there I’d have contributed to it.” John accepted the hand though and they shook briskly.

“You didn’t have to listen to him. Whatever happens next, you’ve made a difference. Now you get to find out what happens next.”

“What does happen next – for Hanse?”

The two brothers exchanged looks. “One day you’ll find out,” Hanse promised. “No one lives forever. But for now…”


Avalon City, New Avalon
Crucis March, Federated Suns
5 June 2780

John Davion sat up in the darkness of his bedroom. Beside him, Edwina grunted and rolled over to face towards him. He made soothing noises and pulled the covers back up over his wife.

The clock blinked at him, announcing it was still in the small hours of the morning. Slipping out of his bed he crossed to the antechamber and donned a dressing gown.

“Is something wrong, sire?” asked the guard as John left the family apartment.

“I just couldn’t sleep.”

He checked the little bedroom behind his office and then the lounge where he’d spent so much time talking to Hanse and listening to those operas the ghost enjoyed. There was no sign of him.

Was he gone? Turning to the window, John stared out at the lights of the city below. “Hanse,” he murmured and then bit back anything more. It was going to have to remain a secret either way. A little eccentricity might be ignored in a First Prince, but there were limits. His lips curled at the idea of how the media would react at the idea that the last two decades’ decision-making had been guided by a voice only John could hear.

Turning back, John went back to the family apartments and paused as he saw the night nurse’s door was open. Looking through it he saw the woman pacing back and forth, holding his granddaughter. “Did I disturb you, sire?” the nurse asked apologetically. “The little princess was restless.”

“No, I was just restless myself.” He extended his hands. “Here, I’ll take her.”

She gave him a doubtful look but let him take Victoria out of her arms and cradle her in his own. The baby’s eyes widened for a moment and tiny fingers latched onto the lapel of his dressing gown. She gurgled triumphantly and her eyes closed again, a cherub’s smile on her face.

Prince and nurse exchanged amused looks. “I do have a little parenting experience,” he reminded her in a low voice.

The woman nodded. “Of course, sir.” She opened her bag and pulled out a small stuffed toy, a fox with a comically exaggerated head. “If she’s fretful, this helps.”

A fox? How utterly appropriate, John thought. And then he made for an armchair to wait for the dawn, the future in his arms.


Colossus, New Rhodes III
New Rhodes Province, Terran Hegemony
8 August 2839

Just deciding where the meeting would take place had been the topic of intense discussion by the diplomatic core. Terra was, for various reasons, for various reasons unacceptable and by extension this also ruled out the other capitals.

While it would have been most practical, geographically, to gather in the Federated Suns this was seen as ceding too much to what was already the most powerful of the represented nations. Rumour had it that Demeter had been considered, but not offered, by the Chancellor in case it was considered insulting to the Federated Suns to bring up the one world that the Capellan Confederation had secured in the peace terms that had settled the Second Secession War (as historians had belatedly dubbed it – Victoria Davion was perfectly aware that it had no more been called that at the time than the drubbing the SLDF gave the periphery states a decade before had been known as the First Secession War).

Truthfully, she wouldn’t have cared one way or the other about meeting on Demeter itself. While it had been lost, the gain of Tikonov had objectively more than off-set that. Capellan controlled space was still something her advisors were cautious of, so when New Rhodes III was proposed she’d agreed immediately – her grandfather’s old headquarters from when he and the legendary Generals Kerensky and DeChevilier had waged war upon the Usurper?

Then again, she hadn’t known about the statues.

“It’s been a while but I’m fairly sure my grandfather wasn’t thirty feet tall,” Kristina DeChevilier observed drily from where they stood looking at the three statues that stood, back to back, in the gardens outside what was now the Palace of Government. The monument was called ‘the Colossi’ – a classical reference that had given its name to the city that had grown up around what had once been a minor military headquarters, then a government office and now the centre of administration for a large swathe of the Terran Hegemony.

Victoria chuckled. “No, nor was mine. I suppose it’s not a bad likeness otherwise.”

There were armed guards around the edges of the formal garden to ensure that they weren’t mobbed, and a small honour guard of BattleMechs stood at each corner. If they got involved then things would get messy, and not just because each corner had one ‘Mech from each of the attending states.

The two women walked back inside. The brief recess for people to use restrooms and for the servants to replenish the cabinets of refreshments was almost done. The meeting room was as much ceremonial as practical, with a marble floor and a huge table made from a single slice through the trunk of a tree, one that had been carefully grown to take the shape of the Terran Hegemony – the Hegemony of the Star League’s era rather than its current borders, anyway.

Gregor Raventhir, representing the Free Canopian Worlds, was already seated and the Director-General took her place next to him as the pair entered. She was a few years older than they were, an old… not enemy but not quite friend. Negotiations between the Suns and the Hegemony had sometimes been adversarial in Victoria’s lifetime but for the most part they’d avoided acrimony.

Victoria took her place across the table from them and gestured for a fresh cup of coffee.

“Did you enjoy the gardens?” Sarah McEvedy asked.

“There’s an old saying about standing on the shoulders of giants,” the First Prince replied quietly. “I’d always seen my grandfather as larger than life, but perhaps not as large as a ‘Mech.”

McEvedy smirked slightly. “And Kerensky?”

DeChevilier sighed. “I get the feeling that if he were still alive that he’d put his brats over his knees and spank the shit out of them.”

“That’s a lot of shit,” came a gruff voice from the door and David Avellar limped into the room, leaning on his cane. “How long have you had diplomats in the Rim Worlds?”

“Twelve years,” she admitted wearily. “Neither seems interested in talking.”

“Unlike his uncle Robert, Ross Steiner is no fool,” the Director-General observed. “If the Lyrans posed an outside threat it would give the Kerenskys a common enemy to band together against. But while he steps back – and perhaps has LIC stir the pot – the two of them neutralise any threat to the outer edges of the Lyran Commonwealth and he can focus on his other borders.”

The arrival of Baltazar Liao, the other old man at the table, and Trudi Calderon allowed them to resume the formal discussion.

“Whatever we may say here,” the young Protector of the Taurian Concordat pointed out, “Our people won’t agree to a new Star League. Not under that name or under that organisation. I appreciate that the proposals so far are very firm on avoiding a situation of long term territorial states, but the name itself is odious to my people.”

“That’s understood,” Victoria agreed. “We may take lessons from the Star League as to what worked and what didn’t, but the name should be different if only to underline that we’re something new and distinct from that.”

“Let’s also avoid taking any name too closely associated with any one member state,” offered Avellar sardonically. “Besides accusations of preference, it causes confusion.”

“Well, what do you suggest? We’re not going to be creating a republic and none of us want this to be an empire.”

“Are we really going to quibble over what we’re calling this alliance?” asked DeChevilier.

“It’s politically important,” Calderon pointed out.

Raventhir leant forwards. “If we’re looking back at history, how about ‘United Nations’? It was a partial world government before the Terran Alliance superseded it during the twenty-first century.”

The other six looked around the table and no one seemed offended at the notion. “Does anyone object?” asked Liao, who pause and then shrugged. “Good enough. United Nations it is. Now can we discuss more pressing matters? Between us we control perhaps a third of the Inner Sphere. That leaves several powerful states who might well be inclined to see this as a threat against them.”

The Director-General steepled her fingers. “Given the Lyrans haven’t had a solid victory since the Bolan War, twenty years ago, I think Ross Steiner might be open to further diplomatic approaches once he sees that we’re making something of this. He’s no fool – and as long as we can keep him at least neutral then it would be almost impossible for Marik and Kurita to join forces.”

“Which leaves the question of which of them we deal with first,” Baltazar said, trailing off thoughtfully. “Obviously I have a preference.”

“I’m inclined to see the Draconis Combine as the major long-term obstacle,” said Victoria. “If only because Zabu Kurita is far more intelligent and experienced than Jason Marik. On the other hand, the last time we clashed openly he wound up ceding eight worlds to the Outworlds Alliance and executing the Warlord of Galedon for ‘exceeding his instructions’, so he’s perhaps not an imminent problem.”

DeChevilier nodded. “We wouldn’t want to strip the border, but you wanted to reclaim Canopus and Andurien then we can at least provide something of an expeditionary force to support that.”

Tension seemed to seep out of the two affected men at that. “Direct assistance would be more than welcome,” Raventhir said in relief. “We’ve hired on mercenaries from the Pentagon before, so working with you openly would be grand.”

“And you?” asked Liao, still looking at Victoria.

“I’d need to shuffle some reserves – I don’t think having the Syrtis Fusiliers operating alongside Capellan regiments would be wise – but since we can probably reduce our troop presence on your border, I can commit my own forces,” she agreed after a moment.

“I’m most grateful,” the Chancellor murmured.

“One hopes that you’ll show that gratitude in a few years,” McEvedy noted. “Sooner or later, the First Prince and I will want to push the Combine’s border back towards Benjamin. But that can wait a few years. I can maintain the squadron we’ve had operating alongside you near Andurien for the next few years.”

“It seems ironic that once again the nations of humanity are grouping together to avoid war, only to immediately seek one out,” Avellar observed wearily. “It says something unfortunate about us. But so long as no one excepts my own meagre forces to participate then I have no objection.”

“If it’s any consolation, at least we’re not committing ourselves to forcing the other states to join us,” Victoria told him. “It’s been a long time since any of us started a war and we’re not going to have peace unless we can convince the other great lords that we mean it when we say that we’ll stand together against their aggression.”

“There are times you remind me more of your grandfather than your father,” the old man noted. “He had a way of blending realpolitik with idealism too.”

“I suppose I should be flattered.”

“Just try not to break our United Nations the way your grandfather broke the Star League,” said McEvedy.

Victoria smiled tightly. “Grandfather didn’t break the Star League, he broke away from it. Are you going to tell me that he didn’t do everything possible to save it first?”

“He did, you know.” Baltazar leant back. “I saw some of it. I was privileged to see some of it. Enough to know my mother was right about him.”

“Oh?” asked Raventhir. “What did she say?”

The older man steepled his fingers and pitched his voice higher in conscious mimicry. “Davion has been a terrible enemy to us over the years, so if you ever have the chance to become their friend, do so without hesitation.” He hesitated and then finished: “And then turn him against Marik.”

Victoria laughed, just as she thought John Davion would have. “Mission completed, Lord Liao.” She reached over the table and he extended his own hand, the two gripping each other’s fingers in an unvoiced pact. Without prompting, five more hands reached out across the table and joined the handclasp of accord between them.