Chapter 10
WS Dire Wolf, high orbit, Vulcan
Vulcan system, Federated Commonwealth
25 September 3050
When the Golden Keshik and the 4th Wolf Guards returned after seizing Dell, they brought with them half-a-dozen bondsmen. The good news was that the contingent of bondsmen now exceeded the capacity of their bunkroom, which led to the pirates being moved and everyone sleeping that much easier.
The bad news was that the soldiers of the 10th Donegal now had to look hard at themselves as the new prisoners joined them. The self-examination had started a few days prior when they’d learned that the Dire Wolf was in transit to Dell, but it was only under the burning gaze of the Arcturans that they were forced to realize exactly how far they’d fallen, sleepwalking into the strangely seductive Way of the Clans.
Though none seemed to have gone quite as far as Victor, all of the Donegals had stepped well past cleaning the deck and being cuffed for speaking with contractions. They said “quiaff” and “savashri” and sometimes even cursed the freebirth laser couplings that would need to be replaced completely. They did general duty shifts and worked as personal servants to individual Warriors without complaint. They weren’t Clanners, but they weren’t not Clanners.
The Arcturans for their part were completely taken aback by how willingly the Donegals took to their status. They wandered the ship without escort and repaired Mechs and critical ship systems; and while none of them were spilling state secrets, they also were definitely not limiting themselves to name, rank, and serial number.
Not one of the newcomers had said anything, especially not to the prince they'd been shocked to find. Everything they hadn’t said had filled the room.
Victor longed to speak to them, to call a general meeting and to explain, but the fact was that he had enough difficulty explaining things to himself. The week before he’d told the other bondsmen that fighting the Wolves was pointless and the best thing he could do for his people was to ingratiate himself with them in order to influence their treatment of civilians. It had seemed thin to him at the time, but now it seemed positively flimsy. Could he really be that much of a defeatist?
True, the Wolves had not lost a single battle so far, and even with their bizarre bidding system, they could (and did) bring down reinforcements, as evidenced by Victor’s own recent experience above Engadin. Their focus on honor did not stray into idiocy as so often happened with soldiers of the Draconis Combine.
But the AFFC was the largest, best-trained, best-equipped military in the Inner Sphere. While the Clanners had advanced technology, new lostech was being recovered and reproduced at the NAIS every year, and then put into production in the grand factories of the Lyran Commonwealth. Victor knew that upgraded Marauders were already coming off the line on Kathil, and that any number of other upgraded Mechs and even new designs were nearly ready. With time, those numbers would only grow.
But he remembered the lasers on Katya’s Timber Wolf, hitting as hard as a PPC and at the range of a light autocannon. He remembered his father cursing the extra bulk that made it almost impossible to mount Endo Steel and Ferro-Fibrous armor together on all but the lightest Mechs, and yet the Clan OmniMechs all seemed to carry both.
And the OmniMechs! Victor had seen technicians swap out weapons in hours, creating an entirely new configuration overnight. Not even the Star League could have matched the ability for a Mech to be a sniper one day and a brawler the next. While he hadn’t seen it done yet, he was fairly certain that the Clanners would be able to reconfigure weapons and get a Mech back out into the field during the course of a single battle.
But even if the AFFC could gear up, would they have the opportunity? The map on Katya’s wall showed 47 worlds in the Wolf corridor alone, captured over the course of some six months. Between the Wolves and the Falcons, some 40 worlds or so had been seized from the Tamar Pact, which had effectively ceased to exist Coreward of Graus. With the bulwark of the Tamar Pact broken, the Jade Falcons were within Jump distance of core Coventry Province and even Donegal Province. Thank God they were nowhere near Tharkad…though Tamar, standing right at the border, was scheduled to fall in a few months; maybe even before year’s end. If Victor tried to oppose them, how much could he realistically delay things? A few days? A few weeks?
A few minutes was more likely.
Did that make the situation hopeless?
The Federated Commonwealth controlled nigh-on one thousand systems, so what was the loss of a few dozen, even if that loss was shockingly fast? The Invasion corridors were apparently converging on Terra, which meant that losses to the FedCom would top out at under a hundred before the Wolves and Falcons started ripping into the Combine.
Did that mean that Victor’s responsibility was to see to the welfare of the Lyran citizens under Wolf rule until the AFFC could muster a counterattack? Should he be working to undermine their defenses? Could he work to undermine their defenses?
Would he work to undermine their defense?
What's more, where would the Clans go after hitting Terra? If they kept on going from there, they’d hit the Sarna March, and cut off the connection between the two halves of the FedCom, not to mention being within spitting distance of Skye. Could they even take Terra? Victor had only vague knowledge on the topic, but he knew that Hanse Davion suspected that ComStar had turned humanity’s cradle into a fortress.
And, said a niggling voice at the back of his head, What about my responsibility to the Wolves?
It was a particularly sober Victor who arrived at Katya’s quarters. As he knocked, he fervently hoped that he wouldn’t be punished for being late, since Anastasius Focht’s little lecture had taken several minutes to impart (and Victor had been walking slowly even before that).
The voice that told him to come in was Jera Carns’, which caused him to let out a breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding: since it was the 279th assaulting Vulcan, it was unlikely that Carns would be present if he was supposed to help plan the attack.
When the door opened, Victor discovered the room mostly filled by Star Colonel Jera Carns, who stood by the table, apparently unable to fit into the seats comfortably
“Bondsman Victor,” she greeted with a smile, “It is good to see you. How are the bondsmen from Dell fairing?”
“They are doing well, I suppose, Star Colonel,” he responded. “I think that they find it disconcerting how well we ‘veteran’ bondsmen have adapted to our situation. I do not know if you recall, but we all found the bond very strange and even confusing at first.”
“Yes, I do recall. It seems strange to me, that something as fundamental as being a bondsman might seem strange; it is almost as though a Warrior might find it strange to use an autocannon recovered from an enemy. But I supposed that this is the nature of our work here, to bring the light of the Clans to people completely ignorant of it.”
Victor was not entirely certain that the Clans were a “light”, but was smart enough to simply say, “Yes, Star Colonel.”
Still smiling, the enormous woman grabbed Victor by the shoulders and gently moved him out of the doorway so she could leave. Before she went, she said to him, “The transition of power appears to have gone smoothly on Dell, but I may seek your advice later.”
After he nodded, she looked over her shoulder at Katya and said, “Think on what we have discussed. And remember that while the wolf does not strike in haste, neither does it lie in wait until it starves.” At that, it was Katya’s turn to nod.
Her piece said, the Star Colonel left the room.
Katya was sitting at the table, maps spread in front of her. She indicated that Victor should sit next to her, and as he did, he asked, “May I ask what you were discussing with Star Colonel Carns?”
“It is not your concern,” she answered with unusual sharpness. But then her face softened, and she said apologetically, “That is not quite true. What we were discussing does concern you. In fact, you were central to the conversation.”
She sighed, then continued, “You have noticed that there is an…unusual relationship between Jera Carns and the Khan?”
Victor froze, feeling that he was in dangerous territory. He had noticed that they were sleeping together of course, but he suspected that that was not the topic at hand, since stories from his fellow bondsmen had made it clear that the Clanners didn’t place much weight on sex. She couldn’t possibly mean…
He noticed that she looked distinctly uncomfortable, holding herself unusually contained and taking care not to be too close to him as she said, “It is not unknown, especially among Civilians, but it is very unusual for two trueborn Warriors to become so affectionate with each other. To think of each other constantly, to not be able to clear your mind of the other’s image, to long for his touch.”
He took a chance, “And what of a trueborn Warrior and a freebirth bondsman?”
By way of response, she reached a hand out towards him and pulled his face towards hers.
While Victor had been kissed a few times before, he had never been kissed quite like this. Within moments, he was halfway onto her chair before the two of them rose and made their way to her bed, shedding clothes on the way.
An old roommate had said that it was usual for your first time to go badly, just like your first time doing anything, and suggested that the prince do his best to laugh afterwards.
But whatever experience Victor lacked, Katya made up for in spades. She showed the same grace and skill that she had on the battlefield, and proved an excellent instructor. All systems remained nominal, there was no premature ammo cookoff, and certainly there was no difficulty completing the mission. Twice.
“It is different,” she said as they lay together, taking a moment to recover. “It is different with you, it seems more somehow. Heavier, perhaps. Deeper.”
Victor tried to suppress his enormous grin so he could give his answer the gravity that her musing deserved.
“I have been told that is the case, that the emotional intimacy enhances the physical.”
“You have not experienced this for yourself? I have understood that…affection was more common in the Inner Sphere.” It seemed that she could not quite bring herself to say the "L"-word.
With a blush, he explained, “I, uh, do not have any other data points with which to compare.”
“Is that ordinary in the Inner Sphere?!” she asked in shock. “You are 20 years old, quiaff?”
Way to make a guy feel good about himself, he thought. While he suspected that Katya would understand the loneliness of his status, he was unsure how well he could explain lines of inheritance, political marriage, the yellow press, and the importance of avoiding scandal. Instead he merely said, “The Inner Sphere is large, and its people diverse.”
“Well,” she said with a wicked grin, “I suppose we must take measures to ameliorate your inexperience.”
—
When Victor returned to the bondsmen’s barracks the morning after his encounter with Katya, none of the other Donegals thought anything of it: after all, every one of them had pulled all-night shifts on no notice before. One of the Arcturans, however, asked him where he had been, and the resulting blush was answer enough to the Donegals.
“Pay up!” crowed MacGiorgio. “You guys work out among yourselves who goes when, but I’m off for my next 5 hydraulics shifts!”
Still, after the barrage of thrown socks and other detritus, the other Donegals all had smiles on their faces.
“So,” MacGiorgio asked as he threw an arm over Victor’s shoulder, “You consummated your alliance with the Princess?”
This unexpected title was enough to wipe the silly grin off of Victor’s face for a moment. “What? Who?”
“Her Majesty, the Highest Star Captain Katya of House Kerensky, the first of her name.”
“First of all, she is Katya Kerensky, not Katya of House Kerensky; the second implies she does not have a bloodname. And second, she is not the first of her name; I know that at the least, Alexander Kerensky’s wife was Katya.” Completely at a loss, Victor was happy to fall back onto pedantry as an opportunity to try to regain some footing.
“Like it matters,” replied MacGiorgio with a snort, “She is still Her High Snobbiness, daughter of the Khan and heir apparent to the Most Honorable Clan of the Wolves.”
Victor’s first inclination was to say that Katya wasn’t heir apparent, but he wasn’t sure that was true: he knew that the Khan was theoretically an elected position, but Ulric certainly seemed to be grooming her for the job. So he addressed the other thing in the sentence, “Her High Snobbiness?”
“Well, yes.” said the Donegal. “You have not noticed, quiaff?”
“Err, neg.” The truth was that Victor hadn’t noticed anything of the sort. Sure, Katya seemed a little formal with her soldiers, but that was unsurprising, and was considered by many to be good in a commander. And if she often treated the other bondsmen with shouts and an occasional cuff to the head, well, so did almost all of the Warriors onboard.
“It must be your royal upbringing,” MacGiorgio said, “You spent your whole life around snobs, so you are immune.” He looked thoughtful, “Also, I suspect that they were not so snobby to you…just like the Princess. We always knew she was singling you out for special attention, so it is nice to see her also singling you out for special attention.” The lewd grin and the emphasis on these last words made their meaning clear.
This entire exchange had been accompanied by grins and giggles from the Donegals, and confusion from the Arcturans; Adams was speaking quietly to a pair of Arcturans, presumably explaining the situation.
After some more ribbing, Rothkopf stood up and told everyone to get ready for breakfast lest they catch punishment for being late, though she ruined it by saying to Victor, “I would hate to see what sort of punishment you would receive!"
The rest of the day was odd. It was difficult to gauge because the Arcturans had only been aboard for a few days before Victor had “consummated his alliance with the Princess”, but he felt that they looked at him differently. But it was limited to furtive glances and whispers…until it wasn’t.
After dinner, Kommandant Hans Sharif, ranking officer among the Arcturans, came to Victor. The once-prince had been forced by his fellows to take the most protected spot in the room (as though the bondsmen might be able to fight back against any kind of assault), and so his bunk in the corner of the room had a modicum of privacy. Combined with how often he was away with his extra duties with Katya and Ulric, it had instantly become the designated spot for semi-private conversations. And for a private conversation with Victor himself…well, it was a perfect spot.
Hans was a short, compact man, so when he sat on the bunk opposite Victor the two of them looked each other straight in the eyes. His face held a strange uneasy expression, occasionally shifting to a point near anger but always falling short before returning to forced impassivity, then looking uncomfortably to the side, and then repeating the whole business again.
Though it was taking him several moments to marshal his thoughts, Victor decided to let the other man speak first. And, at length, he did.
“Your highness,” he began, but Victor cut him off.
“I am no one’s highness right now.”
“Sir,” he essayed, but Victor cut him off again.
“You and I held the same rank, Kommandant, and I have no doubt at all that you had me on seniority. Victor, please.”
“Victor then,” said Hans, looking like he’d bitten a lemon. But he continued gamely on, “Is it true?”
Victor had a feeling that he knew what “it” was, but it seemed more than a little strange that Hans would need confirmation, considering that the other bondsmen had spoken of little else the whole day, usually accompanied by aggressive hair-tousling or back-slapping when Victor was within reach. Still, he supposed that the question was probably the starting point of a longer statement rather than a sincere question in its own right. He considered making Hans ask the question out loud, but decided that might make the other man hostile, so he gave the expected response instead, “Aff.”
Hans raised questioning eyebrows at the response and shook his head - Victor realized it was probably from using the Clanner “aff” instead of the more ordinary “yes”.
Still, the Arcturan wasn’t about to let that get in the way of his avenue of inquiry.
“I would ask you why, but I’ve seen her, and I suppose that’s reason enough for any young man. Still, young as you are, you remain an officer of the AFFC, even if you weren’t - hadn’t been - the ranking officer, you would still have been expected to set an example.”
Hans looked at Victor expectantly, but the younger man had no idea what response was expected, so he said, “My apologies, but I do not quite understand what you are trying to say.”
Hans seemed exasperated but managed to keep his voice calm as he said, “You set an example. Your…fraternization…with the enemy sets a precedent; it gives implicit permission to the rest of your troops.”
Victor looked at the man dumbfounded for a second before asking, “You think I am the first one of the bondsmen to sleep with a Clanner, quiaff?”
Hans’ face adopted a cautious expression, “Aren’t you?”
But it was clear that even as he said it, he understood that the answer was no.
Still, Victor burst out laughing. “I might be the last!” He took several deep breaths to collect himself, “God, oh god. The first!”
And now it was Hans’ turn to look dumbfounded, but Victor wasn’t sure what more he could say to elaborate on the topic.
“As far as I know,” he tried, “Aside from Albert, who is married, I am the last of us to have coupled with a Clanner.”
At Hans’ raised eyebrow, he elaborated, “Clanners are…well, calling them ‘promiscuous’ is not quite right. They…hmph.” It was proving a strangely difficult matter to discuss. After a moment, he settled on, “The Clanners have different attitudes about certain things than us. They don’t place much importance on sex; I think because of the breeding program.”
This led to Victor describing the Eugenics Program, from Iron Wombs to Bloodnames. As he spoke, he was surprised by the look of increasing horror on Hans’ face; even moreso, he was surprised by his own surprise. After all, if Victor took a moment to listen to his own voice as though he were a third party, Hans’ reaction was clearly the appropriate one to a society that had done its level best to abolish the family as an entity. It was true that they had not entirely succeeded - take Katya’s relationship with Ulric, for example - but…from what Victor understood, Ulric must have hundreds of thousands of genetic offspring by now, if not thousands; and of those, he maintained some rough approximation of a parental relationship with precisely one of them.
Did the Khan ever think of his other children? The Warriors who weren’t quite as good as Katya, the Civilians who had flunked out of their sibko. Did Ulric mourn those dead in battle or training? Did he even know their names?
For that matter, Katya had had a Bloodname for a few years now, which as far as Victor knew meant that she must have offspring of her own. But if she ever thought about them, she’d never mentioned it.
But even as he examined the ideas, Victor found it strange how unremarkable he found them.
That Warriors were raised in sibkos was a little strange, but was it that much stranger than the boarding schools some parents sent their children to from age 5? The overt Darwinism of the Eugenic Program was odd, but was it all that different from the matches that most noble houses arranged? Even the rule by a military oligarchy - it didn’t take a Drac to see how similar it was to the mostly-martial aristocracy of the Inner Sphere, and the Bloodhouses were noble houses in all but name.
It wasn’t long before Victor started to relate these introspections to Hans, but the other man’s response wasn’t the thoughtful consideration that the long-term bondsman expected. Instead, the newly-made bondsman exclaimed, “How can you even think to compare us to them!?”
It was a question that he could not easily answer.
—
The next morning, Victor was startled as he walked through the corridor on his way to the Khan’s chambers.
“Pfennig for your thoughts?”
He looked up to see Anastasius Focht, who had walked up as Victor strode through the corridor.
“Precentor Martial!” he said, a little too loud, “It is good to see you.”
The older man nodded, “And it is good to see you, too, Victor. May I ask what you were thinking about?” His gentle expression made it clear that it was a genuine inquiry, not an interrogation.
Victor sighed. “It is hard to say. I have been thinking about…” he trailed off, but continued quickly when Focht seemed about to speak, “Well, you know that the Fourth brought more bondsmen with them?”
Focht gave a knowing smile, “And now you are forced to look at yourself in a mirror that is straight, and not distorted by months among your ‘new home’.”
Victor gave a grateful nod, and the Precentor Martial continued.
“As you have no doubt noticed, I studied at the Nagelring. And if you’re half as smart as you seem to be, then you’ll have realized from my accent that I went to one of about two-dozen boarding schools, most of them on Tharkad.”
Victor nodded, unsure of where the other man was going with the conversation.
“Well, I did indeed go to one of those schools - I won’t say which one, you must allow an old man at least a little mystery - and I did attend the Nagelring. But I also attended Sanglamore, and afterwards spent a good amount of time in the Isle of Skye.
“The sons and daughters of Skye are Lyrans, but they are also different. On Tharkad, you are given the impression that everywhere in the Commonwealth is exactly like the life you live. When you travel, visiting worlds for short periods, perhaps on a junket, you see how similar all Lyrans are.
“People all over the nation follow Tharkan fashion, eat Tharkan food, ape Tharkan ways of speech. Holo-vid shows are set on the capital planet, or in the hearts of major cities on other worlds that were built in imitation; surely you’ve seen large eaves on the heavy roofs of places like Duran, even though it snows there about once in a lifetime?”
Victor nodded again, though he kept his mouth shut as he listened.
“When you live somewhere for longer, and see people in contexts other than carefully orchestrated press events, you see how different they are. The people of Skye are Lyrans, but are also different. They drink whiskey, hate fermented foods, and try to avoid speaking German. These may seem like small things, but it is the small things you notice over time, not the flag of the Federation of Skye flying next to every Lyran Commonwealth flag.
“You also notice some familiar things - your favorite brand of energy bar at the corner store, a well-loved soap opera on the holovid, or indeed the Commonwealth flag, but…you feel half at home, and half in a foreign land.
“It was even worse on Summer, where I spent a great deal of time. The people of Summer remember that they were part of the Terran Hegemony only a brief two-and-a-half centuries ago, and even if they were never actually a part of the Federation of Skye, that doesn’t stop them from supporting it. The Lyran Commonwealth itself comes a distant third for many, for all that the 17th Skye is one of the best regiments in the LCA - forgive me, the AFFC.
“I remember one summer it had become fashionable to have servants who spoke Italian; God only knows why. My friend Aldo was nothing if not fashionable, and so his household rapidly became one of Italian. After a series of hilarious misunderstandings,” his emphasis on the word “hilarious” made it clear exactly how funny things had been, “I learned some Italian; enough to ask the butler for a glass of cold water.” He gave a little chuckle to himself, though Victor had no idea why that might be funny and Focht didn’t explain.
What he did do, however, was keep speaking. It seemed to Victor that the Precentor Martial had been wanting to give this speech to someone for a long time, and the bondsman was happy enough to be the audience, especially as he had a feeling he was going to learn something important from the old man..
“Anyway, my time in Skye came to an end before long, and I returned home - to Tharkad, to the Lyran Regulars and then the Lyran Guards; good, German-speaking, sausage-eating outfits. And I found that I no longer fit. I missed bagpipe music; I found myself thinking of the perfect thing to say - in Italian. The world around me was the same, but I had changed. Over time I would mostly revert back to my old self, but some things remained. I still favor Skye whiskey, for example.”
Finally, Victor broke in, suddenly bitter and frustrated, “Thank you for sharing what must have been a very personal tale, but what does that have to do with me? A few Lyrans arrived, but I do not expect to return to Tharkad any time soon, and it seems both foolish and hopeless to plan for that.”
“Patience, young man, for my story does not end there,” responded Focht, seemingly not noticing Victor’s tone.
“Some years after I had ‘returned to myself’, so to speak, I again left home for a period and then joined ComStar - so things changed again. The same thing happened, and I learned to feel comfortable in robes and to enjoy whiskey from the original Isle of Skye, in Scotland on Terra. I never went back to Tharkad after that, but I did see others join the Blessed Order, and as many were Lyran as anyone else. Some were from Skye, or Finns from the edge of Timbuktu, or Urdu-speakers from the Tamar Pact. But plenty were solid Teutons from the heart of Donegal. Some even went to those schools we spoke of earlier.
“And as each one came, and came to know me, and I came to know them, I also came to know myself again, reflected in the mirror of their eyes. And I also saw how over time, that mirror changed, and soon enough I saw my own familiar reflection cast back at me, even as the eyes that cast it were themselves a reflection of myself.”
Focht sighed.
“Now, Victor, if you’ll forgive an old man his ramblings, I’ll finally get to the point. You couldn’t see your changes in front of your fellow captives from Chateau, because they changed with you. Now you see the Arcturans, and they show you how different you have become. There is no shame in changing, no betrayal, even though you might feel that way with fresh AFFC eyes burning into you. But you are still you. You remain Victor Ian Steiner-Davion. No matter what happens, you will always have been raised on Tharkad; you will always have graduated from the Nagelring and spent a year at the New Avalon Military Academy.
“Do not feel bad because someone new has come and reminded you of how much you have changed; you are not more changed today than you were last week. Remember that you are yourself, and no one else.”
-------
I'm very sorry for the long delay! Even though the "entire story" was already written, this particular chapter actually went through several rewrites, including one where I threw everything away and started from scratch. This was also originally two chapters, and is likely to remain the longest single chapter in the work. To be honest, I'm still not happy with it: too much happens, but also not enough. I wanted to have more of Victor's conversation with Sharif be dialogue instead of paragraph-formatted, but when I wrote it out it seemed strange, even compared to Focht's little monologue. Also I moved a couple weeks ago.
Focht's monologue actually began because I was further along in the story and Victor was speculating as to Focht's identity for Ulric; I realized that I needed a place for Focht to mention his time with Aldo Lestrade, which then became a clear opportunity to talk about being a stranger in a strange land. And then I needed to move Victor's discussion with Sharif to before the one with Focht. I had already written Victor's encounter with Katya, but I also had originally had Victor's talk with Sharif happen beforehand - the original order was Sharif-Focht-Katya, with the first two being one chapter and the consummation being another. I'm happier with the current order, and I feel that it flows better this way, though I'm still unhappy with it. Still, I wanted to get it out there because the perfect is the enemy of the good, and now it's done and I'm no longer "stuck". I'm sure I'll revisit this chapter, but now it's out there.
