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“History is full of examples of diplomacy being greased through mutual interests of the participants in otherwise unrelated fields. The formation of the Free Worlds League centuries ago might never have happened if the heads of the Regulan and Marik states had not both been collectors. More recently, it was the shared interest in the arts that led Janos Marik to be won over by Subash Indrahar to form an alliance with House Kurita. And so it was again, when two men, both rulers of their respective nations, found that they had more in common than they realised.”

Walmer Bay, Hyalite
Capellan March, Federated Suns
19 October 3027

The little resort on Hyalite was more used by tourists from the upper and middle classes of the remote world’s mining industry than by offworld visitors and was thus not especially convenient for dropship landings. While it was technically quite feasible for a dropship such as Hanse Davion’s personal command vessel the Camelot to make a rough landing, such measures were usually a matter of military pragmatism and as no such reason applied on this occasion, the ship had set down at the nearest of Hyalite’s dropship ports, a few hundred miles north, and the First Prince made that last short leg of the journey by private jet.

It was no great surprise to him that the person he had come to meet had arrived at the resort before him. Hyalite was a remote world on the border with the Taurian Concordat, far closer to the capital of that state than with the core worlds of the sprawling Federated Suns. However, after several days travel on a dropship even before he boarded the aircraft, even the stoutest of statesmen would want to stretch their limbs and breath fresh air. Fortunately, he had the excuse of arriving late in the day and so was able to schedule his first meeting for the morning.

Circumstance, however, does not always shape itself to the whims of princes. Hanse had elected to work off his excess of energy with a brisk jog along the sea wall above the resort’s beach, accompanied of course by a squad of security. Due to an outcropping pier it was not until he was almost upon them that the First Prince of the Federated Suns saw a second security detail, these in distinctly different uniforms, watching over their own sovereign. As a result, rather than being dressed in his uniform, Hanse Davion was wearing faded sweats when he first laid eyes upon the young Protector of the Taurian Concordat and for his part, Michael Calderon was barefoot in shorts and T-shirt, a light sunhat shading his head.

As yet up observed by his counterpart (although watchful security were of course a different matter), Hanse paused and took in his first impressions. He had seen pictures before of course: the Taurian press had not lacked portrayals of him over the last three years. Those pictures had shown a youth slowly becoming a young man, broad-shouldered and a few inches taller than Hanse although certainly not the giant that the prince’s nephew Morgan was turning out to be. But here Hanse could see the reality behind what reports had painted after Michael Calderon had first come to his attention… and what he saw was a man with the confidence to remember that he was still, in many ways, a boy.

It was an appealing image, enough so that Hanse hesitated to accept it. Certainly he could not imagine a younger Takashi Kurita or Maxmilian Liao – much less the intense Michael Hasek-Davion - setting out with a small, colourful shovel to dig miniature moats and raise diminutive keeps and curtain walls of wet sand. A head of state would not be so carefree. So childish.

But there was not a sense of childishness to the youth, any more than – when Michael was alerted to his presence – there was self-conciousness at being caught in an activity not befitting what dignity his few years granted him. Instead, the young Protector was carrying out his efforts in a workmanlike fashion, a thoughtful look upon his face as he shoveled the sand carefully.

Without realising he had made the decision, Hanse turned down the concrete stairs to the sands below. “Protector Calderon, I presume?” His running shoes dug into the sand, reminding him of seaside excusrions in his youth. How long had it been since he had been able to relax the way the younger ruler was?

“You presume correctly, sir.” Michael raised a hand to shade his eyes against the evening son. “And you would be Hanse Davion.” He drove the spade into the sand and left it standing. “I would have thought you’d be resting after your journey.”

“I can rest enough on a ship.” Hanse gestured towards the sprawl of shaped sand. “I was just wondering what you were doing?”

“Playing Knut,” the younger man explained tersely.

“Knut?”

Michael gestured towards the sea. “The tide is coming in, your Highness. Admittedly I can’t truly stop it -”

“Ah,” Hanse interrupted in sudden understanding. “Canute. King of England, wasn’t he?”

“That’s the anglicised form of his name,” Michael agreed. “He was Danish though, and King there and of Denmark. A respectable empire for the day. As I said, I can’t stop the tide, but perhaps I can divert it for a while.”

“You seem well informed about something that happened two thousand years ago. Are you interested in history?”

Michael nodded, still looking out to sea. “Second millenium English history is a hobby of mine, although I do branch out a bit.”

“I’m more of an Italian Renaissence man myself,” revealed Hanse, intrigued.

“Casting yourself as one of da Vinci’s patrons? It’s not a field I’m well versed in, although I don’t think you’d be flattered by a comparison to the English contemporary.”

It took Hanse a moment to place the reference and then he grimaced. “I’d hope to think I’m not another Henry VIII of England.”

“It’s not a very good parallel, I suppose. Still, he was a remarkable man. Achieved great things. Terrible perhaps, but great things nonetheless.”

“Six wives is a bit many for any man,” Hanse snorted. “No thank you, Protector Calderon. I’ll stick with the model I have.”

“He was a second son, never expected to take the throne until his brother died,” Michael mused, an amused look in his eyes. “And he too married for love. For that matter, wasn’t he closely associated with a schismatic branch of the Catholic church?”

If it wasn’t for the teasing note in Michael’s voice, Hanse would have refuted the comparison as harshly as diplomacy allowed. He restrained himself however, guessing that the younger man was testing his boundaries. “I suppose we have that in common,” he said, thinking back to the long ago day he had learnt of Ian Davion’s death in battle. “You, I and old Henry.”

For a moment, Michael paused. “Yes, that’s true.” It was almost  three years now since an out of control dropship had crashed down upon a gathering of House Calderon. Protector Thomas Calderon and his immediate family, along with entire generations of more distant relatives, had been blotted out in a single terrible moment of fire. Michael, then only sixteen, would have been there himself had he not broken his leg the previous day and been in a hospital bed forty miles away. “That was indiplomatic of me. I apologise.”

“Apology accepted,” Hanse said and forced himself to relax slightly. He reminded himself that Michael was significantly more moderate than his predecessor, or than Grover Shraplen, who had acted as regent for Michael’s minority. While Thomas’ paranoia (and MIIO reports had suggested that it was clinically diagnosable) had been directed evenhandedly at both neighbouring Successor States, Shraplen had focused his attention entirely upon the Federated Suns and had held the Taurian Defense Force on a full alert for almost two years, apparently in expectation of an imminent invasion.

In contrast, even while a minor Michael had sat on the privy council as an observer and it was strongly suggested that he’d had a hand in re-opening diplomatic relations with New Avalon over Shraplen’s protests and possibly even master-minded the new anti-pirate strategy that Shraplen had both taken credit for and promptly tried to defang in order to shift resources to face the chimerical invasion. Since taking on his full duties earlier in 3027 Michael had called a halt to raiding across the border and steadily ramped down the alert status of the Taurian Defense Forces, which had allowed Hanse to do likewise. If it wasn’t for the Duke of New Syrtis seeing this as weakness and sending raiding expeditions into Taurian space, all would have been well.

“So do you think that these will protect the castle?” he asked, changing the subject.

“No,” Michael gestured to the high water mark. “There’s only so much that can be done with sand. But it does no harm to try.”

The phrase ‘don’t you think it’s a bit childish’ passed through Hanse’s mind. He didn’t voice it. Michael, however, had evidently guessed at it because he smiled somewhat slyly at the older man. “I’ve spent the last couple of years toeing the line when it comes to the dignity of my office,” he confided, pulling the spade free. “But every now and then I like to take a little time to remember that I wasn’t always carrying the weight of the Concordat on my shoulders.”


Walmer Bay, Hyalite
Capellan March, Federated Suns
20 October 3027

“Since we established yesterday who we are -” Sitting across a coffee table from each other, the two rulers were more formally dressed than they had been for their first meeting. Hanse wore the same uniform he had fifteen years before when he was Colonel of the Davion Heavy Guards and Michael had selected a dark blue three-piece suit, setting aside the jacket before he sat on the couch. It was hard to say if it was a calculated gesture or simply a desire for comfort.

“If you’re about to analogise that we’re Stefan Amaris and Richard Cameron, don’t.”

“I don’t know which of us would be which, but neither is flattering.” Michael seemed amused rather than offended. “Continuing, the next logical question is ‘what do you want’?” He picked up a water glass from the table and filled it from the jug, making a gesture to offer it to Hanse, who declined.

“The first thing on my agenda is jumpships.” Hanse grimaced. “Your forces recently captured nine jumpships that were transporting various raiding groups from the Capellan March into the Taurian Concordat. Now, I’m not going to pretend that they were supposed to be there: I told you that I would stop raids to the best of my ability and I appreciate that you didn’t lauch counter-raids even though you would have been entirely justified in doing so.”

Michael raised his glass in acknowledgement of the verbal concession, before sipping from it.

“Five of those jumpships were AFFS property that were deployed across the border without authorisation and I’m prepared to offer ransom for their return, just as you allowed the Mechwarriors and their machines to depart in exchange for payment from their units.”

“Hmm. Just those jumpships?”

Hanse had a sly look on his face. “The other jumpships and all the dropships were private property, either of the units involved or of individuals. Duke Hasek-Davion and his hirelings can settle their own debts, I am sure.”

“Oddly, they haven’t been in touch with me.” Michael set down the glass. “Perhaps they will be motivated by your visit.”

“So, what price do you set on those ships?”

“Let’s say a hundred million C-bills each, call it five hundred and fifty million pounds for the lot.”

Hanse winced. It wasn’t an unreasonable amount to be honest, around half the market value of the vessels, but it was going to make a hole in his budget. Then he thought for a moment of the exchange rate he was being offered for paying in his own nation’s currency – at the current exchange rate the C-Bill was valued at one point eleven pounds, but Michael was only exchanging at one point ten. And by taking the ransom in pounds the money would doubtless be spent within the Federated Suns, generating exports to the Taurian Concordat. So a harsh but fair price, being offered with consideration. “That would be fair,” he acknowledged. “However, perhaps I could offer payment in kind.”

“I’m certainly willing to listen.”

“I imagine that you’ve heard reports that my engineers have managed to create an entirely new battlemech design, the Hatchetman.”

Michael nodded and refilled his glass.

Hanse wasn’t surprised: among the reports on Michael had been a mention of his interest in encouraging technological innovation. He had gone to some lengths to obtain the rights for the Merlin, another new design, and establish a factory for the Mech inside the Concordat. “In exchange for those five jumpships, I offer you the production rights for it, along with the services of a team of NAIS engineers to help you set up the tooling to set up a factory.”

“That’s a very generous offer, Hanse.” Michael thought it over for a moment, swaying his hand slightly to send ripples rolling back and forth inside the water glass he held. Then he shook his head. “However, I’ll have to decline it. There’s still significant distrust of your people in my nation and giving some of your sharpest a look at our Mech factories would create problems for me, particularly if ‘all’ we were getting was a design originating from NAIS, I’m sorry to say.”

“Particularly on Macleod’s Land?” Besides being Michael’s regent for two years, Shraplen was Lord Ruler of that planet.

Michael smiled ruefully. “I imagine that your March Lord would cause you as much grief.” Point and counter-point, for Michael Hasek-Davion would howl at the thought of Hanse giving cutting edge technology to an often hostile neighbour, even without the recent humiliation he had suffered at the hands of the Taurians.

“Fair point.” Hanse returned the smile. The young man was clever and seemed level headed. He wondered if the Concordat recognised how lucky they were: the abrupt demise of so many Calderons could have left them with a Protector disasterously ill-prepared. “Well possibly I can arrange something more to your fickle people’s liking. How about a design from my Steiner allies? I can pull a few strings with them, maybe convince them to allow you use of a team from Defiance Industries. If you’re willing to consider this a trade for all nine jumpships – they are, after all, yours to dispose of – then maybe I can arrange for you to start maufacturing something in the assault range.”

He could see from the look in Michael’s eyes that the offer had his attention. Of course, the Concordat did not currently manufacture any assault ‘Mechs, so this would add far more to their capabilities than the offer of a Hatchetman would.

“That would be more acceptable,” admitted Michael. He set down his glass on the table. “Even at all nine jumpships… hmm. I believe that I heard something about Defiance planning to put the Banshee back into production, some new variant that they came up with.”

“I’ve heard the same thing.” The Banshee was among the largest Mechs in existence, but a notorious white elephant: it lacked the firepower necessary to compete effectively against its peers. However, the new BNC-3S looked as if it would carve a new and impressive chapter in the history of the design. “Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer the rights on the Atlas?” The undisputed king of the assault Mechs, the one hundred ton warmachine was manufactured not only on Hesperus but also on Al Na’ir in the Draconis Combine and Quentin in the Federated Suns so giving it to the Concordat would not be as sensitive as Katrina surrendering the specifications for the new Banshee model.

Michael simply chuckled. “Hanse, the Atlas was designed for Aleksandr Kerensky. If I tried bringing that back to the Concordat I might well be shot at the next time I appear in public. No, I’ll take the Banshee if you can arrange that for me.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” Hanse sighed. It would probably be cheaper than Michael’s own offer in the long run, but Katrina Steiner was too much a Lyran not to bargain like a tiger over the deal, even if Hanse was less than a year from becoming her son-in-law. In fact, she would probably display extra vigor for that very reason.

“I’ll throw you a bone,” Michael told him. He opened a document case on the couch next to him, thumbed through it and then pulled out a thin file. “I turned up some details of a Star League cache up on the Volders, in Rasalhague District. There’s not a thing I can do with it, it’s just too far for me to send troops and if I didn’t send some the DCMS would just make off with everything. For Katrina though, seizing it would merely be non-trivial.” He tossed the folder down onto the table in front of Hanse. “A gift. Whether it is from me to you or from me to her, I leave up to you.”

The prince opened it and scanned the details inside. It wasn’t exact details, but he could see enough to whet his own appetite, even though Volders was almost as unreachable for him as it was for the Taurian. “Yes, Katrina will find this very interesting,” he agreed. “I think between she and I we can see that you are properly rewarded. Do you have any other bits of wisdom in there to share?”

“Knowledge is power, your highness. And who shares power when they don’t have to?” The Protector leant back, rubbing his chin, face suddenly solemn. “Still, there is one thing that is perhaps of mutual interest. I presume you know that your brother-in-law is conspiring with Maxmilian Liao… while preparing to betray him in turn of course.”

The confirmation hit Hanse Davion like a gut punch. “I had my suspicions but… damn you Michael.”

Michael blinked. “Don’t kill the messenger,” he protested. “I have diplomatic immunity.”

“Not you. I mean Michael Hasek-Davion.” He sighed. “There was evidence of course. And he’s been a rival for the last fifteen years but that he’d go so far… This will kill Morgan.”

“Morgan Hasek-Davion?” Michael shook his head. “I can’t advise you there. But from what I’ve heard he would be a far better March Lord than his father. Certainly a loyaler one.”

“That’s going to depend on how he reacts to this. But thank you for confirming my worst case scenario.”

“I can only assume that you don’t have such imaginative analysts. The worst case scenario that’s been rattling around my brain since someone raised it was that you'd been replaced with a Maskirovka agent. I thought the analyst in question had been working too hard and needed some time off.”

Hanse choked and his expression became rather sickly. “Uhm… I realise it’s still early but why don’t we break for lunch,” he suggested weakly. “We’ve managed to go rather outside my expectations and this is only the first item I wanted to discuss.”


After lunch, which had been served privately to the two House Lords, each in their own suite of rooms, they reconvened in the same chamber. Hanse seemed to have recovered his poise after his earlier distress while Michael, for his part, was perhaps more relaxed than was wise – almost sleepy.

Hanse was holding his own document case. “I’m going to take you into my confidence, Protector. I should tell you that I have been strongly advised against doing so, but I believe that I can trust you. However, I need to spell this out: if you leak this then your regent’s fears of a Davion invasion will not be groundless. Because that is exactly what I will do, no matter the cost.”

The menacing words banished any sleepiness from Michael’s face but not his calm. He folded his left arm across his chest, burying the hand against his right elbow, and raised his right hand in front of his mouth. “We both know how such a war would end, Prince Davion. Only one nation would survive and it would not be the Taurian Concordat… but there would be no victory for either side. You may assume that I would prefer to avoid the circumstance.”

“I don’t take any pride in levelling that threat, Protector. And for what it’s worth, I agree that that is exactly how such a war would turn out. As long as your people are good neighbours – and under your leadership I have every confidence that they will be – I have no interest whatsoever in conquering them.”

That claim elicited a sceptical look from Michael. “I’m listening, your highness.”

“I’m sure you’ve realised that with the polarisation of the Successor States between two factions – myself and Katrina Steiner against the other three Successor Lords – the entire Inner Sphere is a tinder box just waiting for the first spark. While I would prefer to wait and if possible avert war, quite honestly I don’t think that that is practical. Therefore I’ve decided to light the fire myself, rather than have the coming conflict arrive from some unexpected direction.”

Hasnse opened the document case and spread the contents onto the table. Michael eyed them warily. “The internal divisions of the Free Worlds League have always been their achilles heel. My own agents and Katrinas have been fanning them and we have a window of opportunity, during which Janos Marik will be effectively paralyzed, leaving his two partners unsupported. At that time Katrina has agreed to launch an offensive against the Draconis Combine, forcing them to commit their reserves to fight her as without serious opposition from the League she can overwhelm their local forces.”

“And with the Combine distracted, I can and will throw the main force of the Armed Forces of the Federated Suns against the Capellan Confederation. I will strike without warning and with overwhelming local superiority.” It didn’t need to be said what the outcome of those first battles would be: the strongest military of all the Successor States against the weakest, with surprise and numbers on their side? Slaughter. “And once their defences are broken I will hammer them into splinters. It is possible that the Capellan Confederation will survive, somehow, but one way or another by the end of the decade they will no longer pose a threat to my nation.”

There was a long moment of silence after Hanse’s declaration. Michae’s eyes swept across the documents. It was plain that they described the movements of regiments, ships and supplies. From the dates, they were already underway.

“Galahad,” he broke the silence. “I could see you were considering a massive military operation after the first one. The second just…” Michael broke off and pulled one sheet of paper out to examine it. “Ah yes, cover for troop movements as well. And this next Operation Galahad, along with the second of House Steiner’s Operation Thor exercises won’t be training exercises at all, will they?”

Hanse shook his head. “Almost no one knows the truth. I’ve prepared sealed orders and when the time comes…”

“Right after… no… coinciding with your wedding. My god. You do know how to throw a party, Prince Davion.”

The prince couldn’t help but smile as the younger man pieced the scenario together without pause.

“The only question remaining is why tell me this?”

“Would you care to make a guess, Protector Calderon?”

“Would you care to stop playing games, Prince Davion?” There was no venom in Michael’s voice.

Hanse reached out and tapped a page that showed a map of the Capellan Confederation. “As you’ve realised, after the initial wave of attacks I will be focusing my attention upon the Sarna Commonality, to cut the Confederation in two. However, being blunt, it isn’t feasible for me to take and hold all of the Capellan worlds at once. The important ones, yes, but for the most part it will be a matter of destroying their defenses, leaving a token garrison and moving on. And while I’m attacking one end of their territory, who knows what could be happening up in the remoter regions of the Sarna Commonality?”

“Up near my border with the Confederation.” Michael nodded to show his understanding. “You’re talking about an alliance.”

“Possibly. At a minimum I’m hoping you’d be willing to loan me some of your fleet to support my movements. Meaning no offense, you probably have no idea what warfare on this level demands in terms of logisitics. However, if you are willing, I see no reason you can’t take a slice of the pie. The garrisons in that part of the Confederation are not terribly impressive, with the admitted exception of Archibald McCarron’s regiments, and with my invasion underway they won’t be able to move reinforcements into the area.”

Michael sank backwards into the cushions, eyes distant. “And if I’m snacking on their posterior, then Liao will have to make the hard choice between holding the troops there to fight me or pulling them out to defend his industrial core from you. I see the advantages to you.”

“And to you.”

“Scraps from the table, Prince Davion. They may not be your Skid Row worlds, but House Liao does not lavish resources upon its periphery border. Unless you’re suggesting that my little army could reach planets like Menke or Grand Base?”

“You have twelve regiments of Battlemechs. The total forces that House Liao has departed that would be in your path would total half of that.”

“It’s closer to eleven regiments,” Michael admitted absently.

Hanse concealed a frown – with two mercenary regiments and one regular regiment understrength according to MIIO reports, Michael’s admission was accurate… but why did it sound somehow false, as if the Protector was concealing something.

The young man looked up. “I’d have to talk to my officers. Whether or not this is feasible in military terms is beyond me. I admit to being interested through. In political terms, it would be easier to persuade my people to accept this if there was a prospect of something in the hand rather than the bush, if you take my meaning.”

Hanse did, all too well. “You want me to make some kind of concession before you’ll commit?”

“In a manner of speaking. You have to realise that given the history of our two states there will inevitably be objections on both sides of the border to any alliance. I’m not so foolish as to think that I can ask much of you, since that would inflame opinion on your side, but I do need to account for Shraplen’s faction myself.”

“You sound as if you have something in mind.”

“Troussin, Victralla, Werfer and Desolate Plains.”

The names plucked at Hanse’s mind but he couldn’t place them. Worlds? He glanced at a map of the border but couldn’t see them in the vicinity.

“You won’t find them there,” Michael told him quietly. “Here.” He held up an older map, four worlds marked in red. Not one appeared on the newer chart that Hanse had looked to. “They are old Taurian colonies, annexed by the Federated Suns when we were forced into the Star League and then abandoned during the Succession Wars when the terraforming began to break down. Worthless to you, even strategically, since they’re right along the existing border. But to my people, they’d be the return of something lost.”

Hanse examined the map. Truthfully, nothing that Michael was said was incorrect. But surrendering worlds to a periphery state, even unpopulated ones, would be a political minefield. “It’s not as easy as that.”

“Don’t play the dog in the manger, your highness. The only thing that stops me sending expeditions to begin re-terraforming them is the legal title. You know that there’s no chance of the Federated Suns doing the same.”

“Maybe now, but what about the future?” Hanse dropped the chart back on the table. “With NAIS making new advances, who’s to say that my children or grandchildren won’t want to recolonise lost worlds inside our borders? I’m sorry, but you’re placing me in the same position you describe yourself as holding. I’d need something more concrete than the support of what you yourself admit are rather small forces in order to justify ceding four entire star systems that are within my borders.”

Michael retrieved the map and placed it back in his document case. “That’s unfortunate. I’m still interested in your offer, don’t get me wrong, but it will be a harder sell as things stand.” He zipped the case closed. “Perhaps we should break for the day. You’ve given me a great deal to think about. Let me consult my advisors and we can pick this up in the morning.”

“Alright.” Hanse picked up his own documentation, carefully accounting for every sheet. Quite apart from the wider consequences, Quintus Allard would never let him hear the end of it if his own carelessness led to the secrets falling into the wrong hands. “Of course, you realise that since our schedule just openned up for this evening, we’ll have to give the publicists their due?”

“Oh?” Michael grimaced suddenly. “Ah yes, photo opportunities.”

“The burdens of our position,” Hanse said with a grin. “Maybe if we’re really good for them, they will be satisfied snapping a few shots at the dinner table and on an after-dinner walk.”

“Optimist,” predicted the younger man sourly.