State of the Union

[drakensis]

State of the Union

Author’s Note:
Thank you to FASA for creating Battletech, WizKids and CGL for keeping the setting going over the years, to HBS for their game and to the fanfiction community for giving me ideas.
I don’t own Battletech or the associated copyrights, I’m not making a profit off this so no one else should. Making fun of it, on the other hand…

Dedicated to the memory of Margaret Robb Pyle, 1925-2018

Part One - Zaniah III

Like a small boat
On the ocean
Sending big waves
Into motion

Chapter 1
St Marinus House, Zaniah III
Skye Province, Lyran Alliance
6 December 3062

For a moment, Peter saw stars and then he felt the sand-covered stones of the yard beneath his back.

"It's fortunate you have a thick head," Brother Keith informed him, bringing his stave up to rest position. "Even with headgear, you take enough knocks that I'd be afraid you were losing what wits you have."

"Not as many as I used to." Taking a deep breath, Peter kipped up and recovered his feet, his own stave still in his hand. Dropping it when he fell had been a habit it took weeks to get out of but by now it was ingrained. "Again. Please."

The monk shook his head in disbelief but he readied his stave. "I suppose repetition may teach you something in the long run," he warned. "But it may be painful."

"The lessons that stick often are."

The staffs were plastic not wood - Zaniah III wasn't entirely without trees but wood wasn't something that could be readily replaced, at least this far from the major settlements, so more durable materials were preferred - and they cracked against each other with pleasing force and sound to Peter.

Up, across, he thought, reading the pattern of Brother Keith's moves. Now to try left and -

Keith twisted his stave and brought it up against Peter's right hand, pulling the blow enough that it stung but didn't break the fingerbones. It certainly could have if he'd chosen too.

With a cry, Peter sprang back, shifting to a one-handed guard as he shook the injured fingers.

"Enough?" the monk asked mildly, but with a note of mischief in his voice.

"I'll be fine," he snapped back and immediately regretted the tone. "I'm sorry."

"Mmm. Perhaps not the best idea to continue. If you want something to pound on, Peter, there are weight-bags in the gymnasium that will serve."

The kind tone stung worse than his hands. "I'll take that advice. Perhaps after I wrap my fingers."

"Yes, that would be wise." Keith put aside his stave and took Peter's hands. "Bruises alone, but still worth taking care of. Remember, son, your body is a temple of the Lord."

"Is that in scripture?" It didn't ring a bell for Peter even after six years in which the library of Saint Marinus House had been his primary source of reading material.

"The book of Keith hasn't been canonised yet." The older man smiled gently. "No doubt they'll get around to it someday. Go wrap your hands, Peter. We both have other things to do."

Peter bowed respectfully as Keith took both staves to put away. "Am I getting better?"

"Yes, Peter. With a few more decades to work on your temper you'll be safe to be around with a six foot pole."

Unbuckling his headgear, the redhead shook his head and felt it slip free from his sweaty hair. "Better than being dangerous, I suppose."

Keith's smile was sincere. "Any fool can be dangerous to themselves and everyone around them."

And if I can't wield a simple staff judiciously, how can I use a BattleMech responsibly? Or the political power I inherited? Questions like that had haunted Peter for six years now, they'd brought him here and he had yet to find answers.

The door before him opened well before he could reach it and another monk looked out. "Ah, Peter. Are you done?"

"Yes, Boniface. Brother Keith is free now if you want him."

The other man shook his head slightly. "No Peter, the Abbot's sent for you."

"For me?" He'd seen Abbot Giles often, but it was rare for the old man to summon him directly. Running the remote abbey was a constant labour, albeit one that had been in the abbot's safe hands for longer than Peter had been alive. While Brother Giles made time for younger members of the community, it largely had to fit in around his schedule. A summons suggested something more formal. "I see, thank you."

He entered the door and turned left towards the wing of the monastery where the Abbot's offices were, but Boniface caught him by the elbow.

Startled, Peter tore his arm free without thinking. "What?"

The smaller man drew back a half-step. "He wants to see you in the infirmary."

"Oh." He felt rather than saw Keith's disappointed eyes on him. "Thank you again, Brother. And my apologies. I'm... on edge again. But it's no excuse."

"We all have our trials, Peter," the man said soothingly. "Will you share your concerns in with us in prayer?"

"Perhaps." Which meant no. It wasn't that he didn't trust the monks, Peter told himself as he went up the steps dug into the mesa, leading up to the infirmary. But the community welcomed mechwarriors from all across the Inner Sphere, men and women born into realms that were often at each other's throats. Admitting what had driven him here wouldn't just be talking to fellow Lyrans and Suns citizens like Keith or Giles. How would someone like Boniface, who hailed from the Free Worlds League and on the League's border with the Lyrans at that, feel in learning Peter had come within hours of starting a war between the League and the Federated Commonwealth?

Of course, there had been a war since, but that one wasn't Peter's fault. Relations could easily be ruined again if his actions came to light, right when Inner Sphere was at something like peace. And that would assuredly be on his conscience.

The infirmary was, like much of the Abbey, a mix of monastic asceticism when it came to comfort and modern technology when it came to functionality. One of the beds had a curtain drawn partially about it, but Peter could see the stand of an IV drip in place through the gap.

"I'm sorry, Abbot. I've no idea who she is." The owner of the voice stepped out from behind the curtain, looking back. The habit was the same as that worn by all the monks, but from the greying blond hair, Peter realised that this was Brother Peter - a cause for some confusion since Peter had arrived. The monk had adopted the name of Christ's first disciple when he took his formal vows - his birth name was Aldo, which had been a popular boy's name on Skye early in the century - only two weeks before Peter arrived. "Ah, Peter."

"Yes, Brother Peter. The abbot sent for me."

"I did, yes." The bald abbot followed the brother out. "Thank you for your time, brother. I'm sorry to have taken you away from your prayers."

"I'm only sorry I wasn't able to help." The Skye mechwarrior-turned-monk gave Peter a friendly smile and exited past him.

Abbot Giles turned to look back behind the curtain. One eye was cast into shadow for a moment, and Peter was reminded again of another face, a more famous one. Add an eyepatch and long white hair and that white face would have been a brother to Anastasius Focht's. He'd wondered for years if there was a connection but declined to enquire. Brother Giles, like so many of those here, had come here to leave outside ties behind. Peter owed it to them to respect that. "We have a guest, Peter."

"Not a new resident?"

Giles shook his head. "I'm not sure. Brother Morgan found her outside the monastery when he was bringing in supplies. She may have been wandering the desert for some time."

"Lost?" Peter asked, rubbing his jaw. And why call on him? And Brother Peter for that matter?

"Perhaps. She's dehydrated and hasn't regained full consciousness."

"How can I help, sir."

"There are no sirs here, Peter," Giles chided him gently. "We are all brothers and sisters at St Marinus. I am merely wondering if you might be able to identify her."

"Me?"

"Yes. She's said a few words, disjointed and mumbled. I wondered if they might shed some light on her presence." He gestured for Peter to come around. "The two that are clearest are 'Peter' and 'Brother'."

That clarified that. Peter followed the abbot around the curtain. "I don't think either of my sisters would actually come... here...?

Despite that he'd half-wondered if he'd see the red hair of his younger sister Yvonne on the pillows on the bed. Instead he saw characteristically sharp Steiner features beneath a salve he recognised as used for heat and abrasions, surrounded by a shock of blonde curls. "Dear God."

"Hmm. It's been many years since I saw royalty," Giles murmured. "And holos never quite convey the familiarity. I take it then..."

"Y-yes." Peter crossed the room and examined the face more carefully. She could have fit in seamlessly among his cousins from Gallery. Or... "May I?"

"May you what? Examine her? Within proprietary, young man."

With great restraint, Peter didn't point out that he was closer to thirty than twenty. That was still less than a third of the abbot's years. Instead he gently rolled back one eyelid and saw not the grey of his mother or grandmother's eyes but instead a warmer blue he recognised from his father, or the mirror.

Katherine, immensely proud of their maternal heritage, had considered them the one flaw in her perfect image as a Steiner.

"Oh my God."

Giles rested one reassuring hand on Peter's shoulder. "You know her."

"It's been years for me too... but she's the spitting image of my elder sister."


Chapter 2
St Marinus House, Zaniah III
Skye Province, Lyran Alliance
7 December 3062

The next day, Peter was in the Abbot's office. They'd been politely asked to take their conversation out of the infirmary by Brother Antony, the nearest thing they had to an on-site physician and by mutual agreement had deferred further conversation on the new arrival for prayers, supper and a good night's sleep.

Well, Peter hoped it had been a good night for Giles. The old man needed his rest. Peter, for his part, had laid on the narrow cot of his cubicle - the traditional term of cell hadn't survived the centuries - with his mind working too hard trying to come up with scenarios that left Katherine walking through the desert to Saint Marinus. He'd eventually managed to snatch a few hours of sleep that didn't feel at all satisfying.

"It seems rather unlikely that she's actually your sister," Giles pointed out. "The Archon is supposed to be on New Avalon, which is... sixteen jumps away, give or take. Granted she might have a command circuit but even that would mean days without any public appearances."

"Holo and video appearances can be pre-recorded." Peter leant forwards. "Or she might have a body double - my mother had one when she was in her late teens."

"Possible, although in that case how can we tell if this is such a double." The old man sighed. "And surely she'd have more resources than to be left wandering the desert looking for us? We don't adverstise our location but I'd assume LIC has a file."

"I know. We'll have to save questions for when she wakes up." Peter rubbed his chin. "Can I check her personal effects?"

"I don't see why not. Hopefully we can wrap this up without disrupting our community here, too badly."

Peter nodded and automatically offered a hand to Giles as the older man rose to his feet. They walked in silence down to the infirmary, the abbot returning the shallow bows from his brethren that they passed, and Brother Antony willingly handed over a basket containing the clothes that Katherine - or so Peter assumed - had been wearing.

"This isn't exactly the fashion I'd envisaged the Archon would wear." Giles held up a bulky black overcoat and indicated the metal snaps. "This is a man's jacket."

Peter noted which way it buttoned and shrugged. "Could be. Or from a world where they customarily button the other way around. I don't think it would fit her though."

"Possibly a donation from someone." The abbot handed a wallet over. "No identification."

"No, and these aren't kroner." Peter pulled out some coins and then a bank note. "Actually, I have no idea what these are. They don't look like any currency I've seen."

"Hmm. Not much more than ink on some sort of polymer," agreed Giles, taking the bank note. "It says pounds, what should there be on a Davion ten pound note?"

"The Federated Suns treasury doesn't issue ten pound notes. Or any pound notes since 3045."

Giles frowned. "I could have sworn they started issuing bank notes again. But... hmm. My eyes aren't the best anymore. Bank of England?"

"It doesn't ring a bell," Peter admitted. "I'd think it would be some kind of toy money - from a board game or the like - but why keep that in a wallet?"

"Indeed."

The other clothes were fairly plain - worn jeans and work boots, a polo-shirt and a sweater with a torn collar. All men's cut and too large for the woman in the infirmary.

"I don't see why any woman would be walking around wearing this, whether she's your sister or not," the Abbot admitted. "The keys are no use without any guide to where the doors they belong to are and the personal comm isn't working."

"Looks like a cheap disposable. I suppose she could have had to replace her clothes if her own were damaged, but did she have any other injuries?"

"Nothing Antony mentioned and..."

As if summoned, the infirmarian opened the door to the sideroom where they'd been examining the clothes. "Brother Giles, Peter." He dipped his head. "Our guest is awake now."

"Then we can hope for answers," Peter declared and burst to his feet, striding through the door with barely a pause for Brother Antony to let him pass.

The mystery woman still had the IV in one arm but her eyes were open and they snapped to Peter as he came around the curtain. "Why a JagerMech, for god's sake?" she asked him.

"What?"

She blinked. "Peter, I'm sorry about your son."

"My what!?" He didn't have a son! Did he?

The woman's face showed nothing but sympathy. "I'm sure Adam will care for him."

"Who is Adam?" asked Brother Giles curiously.

"You shaved your head!"

The abbot ran one hand self-consciously over his head. "No..."

Peter cleared his throat. "Who are you?"

"A cat," she said confidently and then studied her hands. "No, then I'd have paws... There's something..." Another blink. "Peter, where are we? Why are you wearing a dress?"

"It's not a dress, it's a habit."

"You should probably get out of it. No, not undressed." She frowned. "There's something wrong."

He moved to the bed and took her arm. "Stop this. Are you my sister? Are you Katherine?"

"Not Katrina!" she snapped, eyes furious. "Not crazy."

"No, of course you're not." The Abbot took Peter's hand and started prying his fingers open. "Calm down Peter."

"Peter, peter, peter, peter..." the woman sing-songed. "I have a... what's it called...!" she broke off in frustration.

"I think you'd better leave her alone," Antony counselled firmly. He went to the IV stand and made an adjustment. "Now, young lady, please lie down. You're a long way from being recovered."

She stared at him in confusion and then slowly laid back, raising her free hand to scrape off a sample of the salve. Gazing at it, her brow furrowed. "What is this."

"Your face was abraded by sand," the brother told her matter-of-factly. "This should take care of any infection or scarring."

"My face is my fortune," she said solemnly. "Or... no... why is this..."

Then her eyes went wide. "Arthur! The war! Peter, you have to save Arthur."

Peter blinked. "Arthur? My brother?"

"Yes, he's going to die."

"Uh, don't worry, I'll take care of it," he promised uneasily. What was wrong with her.

"No." Tears began to trickle from the corners of her eyes. "You're too late. New Avalon is burning, the reactor in Tharkad City -"

"That's enough!" Antony barked. "Give her room, both of you!"

"Jihad," the woman rambled, eyes flicking back and forth from sights that clearly only she knew. "Galedon gone, HPG's silent. Stone is an idiot and the dark age is... dark."

She was slumping back towards the pillows again, Antony supporting her. Peter guessed that he must have added a sedative to the IV a moment before. "It'll be alright," the monk assured her. "Just sleep and let us take care of it."

"There will be no victory for Victor. The eagle will fall. The gardener, tell him about the..."

The woman's eyes closed and her breath began to steady. No more words escaped her lips.

In the silence, the three men looked at each other. Giles shook his head slightly. "Well, clearly she's in no condition to answer our questions, the poor child."

"She spoke like Katherine," Peter said slowly.

"Really."

"The tone of voice, more than what she was saying. And she was trying to tell me something." Peter took her free hand and tucked it gently back under the blankets. "It's her. I'm sure of it."

"I realise it's not entirely fitting to my office, but to play devil's advocate she might be acting," the abbot cautioned him.

"I doubt that," Antony disagreed. "She was driving herself into a panic attack. That's hard to fake. I've seen a few."

Giles seemed about to comment but bit the words back. Peter glanced at him and then nodded in concession. Intelligence agents were trained to the point that it was possible. He didn't see what the point was in this case but even so, he shouldn't rule it out. "I can't just leave it at that."

"Perhaps we should involve the authorities," Antony suggested reasonably. "If she needs long term care this probably isn't the best place for her."

"I was under the impression Saint Marinus was a sanctuary. Open to those who sought it."

"That is so, but we're not really equipped for long term mental care," Giles said thoughtfully. "I suppose we should consult the authorities in case someone is looking for her."

"I'd rather you didn't do that, not just yet," Peter said automatically.

The old man sighed. "If she is, for the sake of argument, your sister, are you in a position to take care of her?"

"If you had a brother or sister coming to for you for help, what would you do?"

"Given the political implications of your family," the abbot said drily. "I think I'd be tempted to retire to a life of contemplation. But since you're already there, what do you have in mind."

Peter rubbed his chin. "A moment to think, please."

"Of course."

He paced back and forth, mind whirling. Was he right about who she was? Was she right about Arthur, about everything else? Victor had left the Federated Commonwealth broken and he'd assumed that Katherine taking power on New Avalon as well as Tharkad was the beginning of rebuilding their parents' empire... but where Arthur and Yvonne fell in that he had no idea anymore.

"Firstly, I need to clear up her identity," he decided. "Could I have a blood sample from her and loan of an aircar."

"You want to have someone do a comparison?"

"Yes, there should be clinics in Starboro that can take care of that."

"I would think so," Giles admitted and glanced at Brother Antony, giving him a nod. "Such places are discreet given they usually handle paternity tests and the like. Not particularly cheap though."

"There are accounts I can access." Assuming they haven't been emptied somehow, but he didn't particularly expect that. Discreet accounts with ComStar banks as well as various smaller establishments were an obvious emergency fallback for any House whose members might need a sudden ticket for interstellar travel or some other emergency. There would be no reason for Katherine to have cleared out the accounts Peter had access to - in fact she might not even know of all of them.

The abbot shrugged his stooped shoulders. "Very well, I suppose we can defer any formal reports until we know if we're actually dealing with a missing princess. Do you know how long tests like this generally take, Antony?"

"A decent lab could rush it through in a few hours. Expect to pay for that, though."

"I'll give you a shopping list then, Peter. Brother Morgan was to take our aircar to Starboro in a few days for supplies we can't get anywhere nearer. I'm sure he won't mind leaving a little early and having a companion."

[drakensis]

Chapter 3
St Marinus House, Zaniah III
Skye Province, Lyran Alliance
10 December 3062

Through the flight back to St Marinus, Peter barely looked at the reddish-yellow wasteland that surrounded the abbey. All his attention was on the paper in his lap. He'd not even wanted to let it out of his hand until he realised he'd crumpled it.

"Peter."

He turned his head and saw Morgan was looking at him from the driver's seat. "Yes?"

"We're about to land. You should secure that or it'll wind up at the bottom of the footwell."

Peter forced a smile and rested one hand on the paper, pinning against his thigh. Morgan was the third person by that name that he knew... no, the fourth. It was Katherine's middle name. But the monk was considerably smaller and his accent had the bite of Tikonov, along with a slavic face that fit with neither Morgan Kell nor Morgan Hasek-Davion. "Thank you."

"Hmm. You're leaving shortly?"

"...I think so, yes."

Morgan nodded quietly and said nothing more until the aircar had nosed into the cave that served as their hangar. Then he shut the engine down and extended his right hand to shake. "God go with you, my friend. Don't worry about the unloading. You have enough on your shoulders."

Peter accepted the hand and they shook. "Thank you. I'll help you anyway."

Exiting the vehicle, he tucked the letter through his belt and started lifting parcels from the back. Morgan recovered a small trolley and between them they made short work of shifting the supplies to the store room. "Now go," the monk said sternly and pointed to the door.

Obediently and with a slight smile on his face, Peter left and headed for the Abbot's office. The door was open and to his surprise he heard a familiar voice through the crack. What was Victor doing here?

Opening the door he felt foolish, seeing that it was simply a holovid playing. But then the details sank in. Victor was wearing the traditional dress uniform of the Armed Forces of the Federated Suns - not of the united Federated Commonwealth or even of the ComGuards he currently led. As their father had, he wore the silver rank badge of a Field Marshal on his shoulder instead of the gold badge that was reserved for the First Prince.

"- Katherine's tyrannical actions, and by the sacrifices of patriots already fighting on the worlds of Kathil, Benet, Kentares, Demeter, Bromhead and others yet unreported," the half-sized hologram of his already diminutive brother declared bleakly. "We will resist with any and all means at our disposal the efforts to subjugate and enslave our freedoms. We will fight with the truth on our side, and we simply ask that everyone listen and judge accordingly. In the end, I know we shall be victorious, re-establishing a trustworthy and accountable government among our people, worlds and nations."

"...Peter." He saw the image blink out and turned to see that Brother Giles had used a remote to deactivate the holovid. "I take it that you missed the news at Starsboro?"

"What's happening? What was Victor saying?" He stepped towards the abbot forcefully. "Why did you turn it off?"

"He'd finished his speech, Peter. I have it recorded for you to watch the whole thing." The abbot seemed older even than his own advanced years. "But you may wish to sit down. It's hard to crane my neck back to look at someone as tall as you."

Peter took a deep breath and deliberately stepped back. "I'm sorry, but what is going on? Is Victor... back?"

Giles hunched forwards in his simple wooden chair, not meeting his eyes. "Yes. That's part of it."

"And the rest?" he demanded.

The bald abbot looked up sharply, "Sit down, nephew and I will tell you."

The snap of command cut Peter's knees out from under him and he groped blindly for the spare chair. Sat. Thought. Nephew? His parents were dead and neither had a living brother so... oh. "Hermann Steiner?" he asked.

Giles made a face. "I haven't used that name in more than half a century, Peter."

"You've been here all along?" Hermann was the younger brother of Alessandro Steiner, the inept Archon whose power had been usurped by Peter's maternal grandmother with popular support. Despite his abdication, the dethroned Archon had remained a focus for opposition for two decades and many thought that if Hermann had backed him then he might have been able to reclaim his former power. But instead the commander of the Second Royal Guards had resigned his commission and vanished into obscurity.

"I did not wish to trigger a civil war within the Commonwealth," Giles said softly. "It seems your brother is less resolved to his exile. No," he added, raising his hand. "My apologies. That was unfair, he has reasons I do not."

"What reasons."

The abbot pressed his hands together. "Peter, I have bad news. Your brother Arthur has been taken to heaven, along with many other innocent lives."

A chill went through Peter and his jaw hung loose as his tongue searched for words. Arthur? His little brother? "H-how?" he asked once he was able.

"It was..." Giles looked away. "He was making a speech at a stadium on Robinson, in the Draconis March."

I know where Robinson is! Peter bit back before the words. Arthur had been a cadet at the Robinson Battle Academy. The news, although Peter didn't follow it closely, had suggested that he distinguished himself defending the capital of the Draconis March when it was raided earlier in the year. That he was the sort of bold mechwarrior that both of them had dreamed of as boys on New Avalon.

"There were explosives," Giles continued sadly. "The stadium was demolished, the podium where he stood almost obliterated. Victor claims that your sister Katherine was behind it, that Arthur was speaking against her."

Peter shook his head in denial. Their mother had been blown up as well, an assassin's bomb. Victor hadn't managed to return for the funeral. But this would bring him back. "Was he?"

"I don't know. His speech, what he had said before... before, hasn't reached our news outlets yet. It's been four days apparently. Victor's speech was on the eighth."

"He heard sooner than we did?" Victor was supposed to be up on the Clan border, commanding the ComGuards there, the supposedly neutral armed forces of ComStar. That was considerably further from Robinson than Zaniah. "No, foolish of me. ComStar must have sent him a priority message."

"I would assume so." Giles nodded. "Here, I'll re-start the speech for you."

Peter nodded and started to turn his chair but his sleeve brushed against the paper he'd forgotten about. "Katherine... has she made a response."

"I'd assume so, but not in the news." Giles saw the paper and smiled slightly. "Our little lost lamb?"

Unfolding it, Peter handed it over. "In summary, yes. She is my sister."

The abbot scanned it. "I can't say I've studied this sort of thing in detail but..." He visibly blinked at as he reached the summary. "They do consider all the permutations, don't they?"

The younger man nodded his head. Probabilities for sharing one or both parents, anything from one to four grandparents... but all of them well above ninety percent certainty with an added note that both had grandparents from two distinct planetary ethnic mixes, most probably with one from the core worlds of the Federated Suns and one from their Lyran counterparts. Which was true of course. "From the way she looks, either she's the real Katherine or I have a third sister no one told me about."

"That seems just a little far fetched," Brother Giles conceded. "A missing princess either way."

"Not missing," Peter corrected him. "We know where she is... unless you've moved her."

"No, no. She's still in the infirmary. Calmer, when she was awake, but not really able to converse, at least so far."

"I see." No answers yet then. "Perhaps when I see her again she'll be more coherent."

"One can hope," Giles agreed dubiously and started the replay.

*

The infirmary was quiet and Brother Antony let Peter sit by his sister's side without comment other than to remove the IV and inform Peter that she should drink water cautiously when she woke.

The waking, when it came, was so quiet that Peter almost missed it, mind light years away as he tried to guess what was happening on the nearly one thousand worlds that Katherine - or whoever she was - ruled. The hand he held between his twitched, catching his attention and he saw the blue eyes open, staring in confusion at the ceiling.

"Katherine?"

She made a noise he took for affirmation and then coughed. Freeing one hand he filled a glass with water and held it to her lips. "Just sip."

Obediently, she suckled on the edge of the glass, swallowed, sipped again. Peter removed the glass and got an indignant look. "Sit up first," he advised, thinking back to how his mother had treated him when he was a child and stuck in bed with some flu or the like.

Katherine tried to sit up abruptly only to find she didn't have sufficient leverage and she slipped backwards, head embedding itself in the pillows with a look of astonishment on her face. "Peter?"

"Yes. I'm here." He offered her his arm as support and then adjusted the pillows behind her, giving her support as she sat back cautiously.

"Peter," she repeated. "James. John. Thomas, doubter. Judas... no. No-no. Wrong."

"That's Saint Peter," he said lightly, trying to hide his concern. "I'm Peter Steiner-Davion. Not quite the same."

"No," she agreed. "Peter. Not saint. At saint. Saint Ma-mare-mm... gh."

"Saint Marinus?"

She nodded sharply and then started looking around hopefully. "Arthur!" she asked in a voice that was so childishly hopeful that Peter choked, feeling the sting of tears forming at the corners of his eyes.

"No, no. I'm sorry." He took her hand between his again, studying it. "Arthur's gone, Katherine. I wasn't in time."

"Time is the fire in which we burn," she said in a flat voice.

He looked up sharply and found she was leaning towards, aiming a kiss for his forehead that landed on his nose instead.

"Eskimos?" she asked abruptly and leant back, shaking her head. "Nu-uh. Bad."

"Yeah, uh. Don't do that please." What the hell was an eskimo? "What happened to you?"

She looked at the glass pleadingly and he passed it to her. Holding it in both hands she sipped from it. "Desert..." she began. "Storm."

"There was a storm?"

"Storm hammers!" Letting go with one hand she thumped it down on the bedsheets. "Kelswa!"

"Kelswa? Robert Kelswa?"

"Grandson, I think. Ja...y? A J name."

Peter blinked. Robert Kelswa-Steiner's father had been a political enemy of their mother and of Victor. He'd been assassinated on Solaris right before Peter got embroiled in Tormano Liao's scheme to start a new war in the Inner Sphere. He was only vaguely familiar with Robert, who'd married into the loyal House Aten since Peter came to Saint Marinus. He certainly wasn't old enough to have a grandson.

Then again, Katherine had claimed that Peter had a son too. Which was almost certainly untrue. He'd hardly had the opportunity... at least, not lately. Damn. "You said I had a son too."

"Did I?"

"Yes. Earlier."

"Hmm. Too early," she said after a moment. "You aren't Archon yet."

Peter snorted. "Not likely to be, either."

"Victor and Katherine will see out a century," his sister said confidently. "But only Yvonne dies a natural death."

"Aren't you Katherine?" he shot back. God, what a horrible thing for her to say.

"...Katherine is crazy," she confided. "She hears voices. K is for crazy. For coconuts."

"I think that's C?" Did she have brain damage? If so then he'd have to take her to hospital.

"I like C. C for cat. Cathy. Cathy-rin."

"Katherine."

"With a C."

"Okay, with a C." Dammit.

She smiled warmly. "I'm Catherine."

"Okay, fine." He thought again. "You knew Arthur was in danger."

"Stadium," she said and shook her head sorrowfully. "He wanted freedom of speech, and the loyalists silenced him."

"Loyalists?"

"Loyal to Katrina. Victor's allies."

Peter shook his head. "Victor's allies? Do you mean Victor was behind it?"

"No!" she snapped angrily. "Victor's allies against Katrina's loyalists. Two sides of the war."

"You mean the war between the Lyrans and Davions?" he asked.

The glass went off the bed with a crash that coincided with her hand almost smacking against his cheek. "No! Don't buy her lies!" Catherine shouted. "Lies lies lies, everything burns in her lies."

"Whoa!" Peter hesitated and then hugged her against him, gently pinning her arms. "I won't, I promise."

"What's going on here?" asked Brother Antony, poking his head around the curtain. "Are you alright."

Peter gestured to the glass. "Just a little accident. I'll sweep it up."

Antony gave him a sceptical look. "Right now, if you please. There's a dustpan and brush in the cupboard. I can't have broken glass on the floor of the infirmary."

"Alright!" Peter released Catherine. "You be good."

"I'm always good." She paused. "But in purple I'm adorable."

Purple? Why purple? Never mind.

Cleaning up the glass took only a few moments and in the meantime, Brother Antony checked Catherine's vitals and found a fresh glass for her. "I'll bring some soup up after supper," he advised. "Solid food probably won't be an issue but better to be safe than sorry."

Catherine thanked him in german, for no reason Peter could guess at, and the monk retreated again, shaking his head.

Taking the seat by the bed, Peter sighed. "Catherine, we need to talk."

"I think we are talking," she said seriously and then paused. "Ah. Metaphor. Sorry."

"You knew about Arthur before it happened - you couldn't have gotten here in time to have heard about it after the fact. How did you know about it?"

She pursed her lips. "I remembered."

"Remembered what?"

"I -" With a cry she doubled up, clutching her head. "Too much, it's too much!"

Peter caught hold of her. "Okay, okay, think of something else, don't hurt yourself."

"I can't... I can't change..." She was biting her lip, hard enough to draw blood. "It's..."

"Think about Victor," he hissed. "Our brother, you know him. What do you know about him?"

"Mogyorod," she grated out. "He's on Mogyorod. Katrina sent an assassin. Isis Marik saved Victor and Omi."

"She did what!?" It shouldn't be a surprise, he thought. Not if she'd also killed Arthur, but to attack Victor when he'd already ceded power to her... or was this more recent. "When?"

"Months ago. I like her, she's good for Victor."

"Katrina?"

"No, god, that's horrible. Their child would carve an empire for the Wolves." Catherine shook. "No, I mean Isis."

"Isis... and Victor?" He shook his head. Most likely Catherine was subject to an over-active imagination, although it would be interesting to know if Isis really had saved their brother from an assassin. He'd thought she was engaged to marry Sun-Tzu Liao. "Never mind. What else about Victor?" It seemed to be calming her down at least.

"He wore father's uniform," she told him. "A mistake, it plays into Katrina's narrative."

"Victor wouldn't fit into father's uniform." Hanse Davion had been tall and broad-shouldered like Peter. "Wait... you mean, the AFFS greens?"

"Yes. Davion against Steiner. Anything to muddle the issue that he's fighting to end her tyranny."

Peter rubbed his jaw. That did sound plausible. It was how Katherine had won both the Lyran Alliance and then the remaining Federated Commonwealth - manipulating public opinion to create a divide between Victor and those he ruled, which she could then exploit. "I see. What would you have suggested? AFFC uniforms."

"Use the bishop to take the king."

"Are we playing chess now? Anyway, you don't take the king in chess - you checkmate them."

Catherine sniffed. "She'll kill the bishop before he can win the war. So many dead."

"What bishop?" Turning on the religious community would be incredibly clumsy for Katrina. Granted, she'd disbanded the Estates-General in the Alliance, but religion hit home in a way that elected officials rarely did. "Is he a bishop here in the Alliance?"

"No, on New Avalon."

"One of the New Avalon Catholic Church?"

"No?" She shook her head. "I don't know his faith."

"But what's he bishop of then?"

"The Guards, of course. He'll march on Castle Davion but Katrina has too many soldiers."

"The Guards." He leant back and thought. A chaplain? That didn't seem likely, military religious representation wasn't part of the command structure, but... "Oh! Bishop Sortek, the head of the Davion Guards!"

"So many Sorteks dead for us. Adriaan for our grandfather, Ardan for our brother and Bishop for our sins."

Peter rose and started pacing. "Bishop rising for Victor's sake... he'd have to have the First Davion Guards with him at least. If he could take New Avalon from Katherine it would badly weaken her... When, do you know when he plans this?"

"The avalanche is in motion, the rock has no vote."

"Rock?"

"Peter the rock."

He sighed. "That's the saint again, sis. Try again. Is there anything we can do? It'll take months to get to New Avalon and it's not as if I have a regiment of 'Mechs to take to his aid."

"Time, ask me for anything but time."

"Time and 'Mechs. Since I'm apparently making wishes."

Catherine slumped back onto the pillows. "Wishes and horses, and so we must ride."

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

"The bunker..." Her eyes were closed. "The militia bunker, lost for centuries. Beneath the burned capital of new... beneath new d'las," she slurred. "Forgotten cache."

Peter stared at his sister but her breath had steadied and her eyes were closed. Was he grasping at straws here? Probably, yes. But if Bishop Sortek was really going to make a play to remove Kath... Katrina... then he deserved better than to be left to die. If there was any chance at all...

"New Delos," he said thoughtfully to himself. "Anton Marik's old capital, Cienfuegos, the Dragoons burned it and if I recall correctly it's never been restored. There could be something there, stores lost in the Marik Civil War or any of the times the Capellans and League fought over it."

And while I could just go and hook up with one of Victor's supporters, if I do that I'm just another junior officer. No one's going to take me seriously, but if I bring resources to bear... I don't know if I can save Bishop or not but at least I could do something...


Chapter 4
Hartzborg, Zaniah III
Skye Province, Lyran Alliance
11 December 3062

It was more than ten years since Daniel had been allowed to follow his father into negotiations with prospective clients and he'd thought that the range of Clovis Holstein's contacts would no longer surprise him. He'd been to Outreach and met Wolf Dragoons, to New Avalon where his father had dropped in on Doctor Banzai and the two of them had vanished into a workshop for three days straight, even on a couple of very bold expeditions into the Jade Falcon Occupation Zone for sanctioned but not very welcome contacts between the Inner Sphere and the occupiers from the deep periphery.

But he had to admit that he'd not expected his father to be meeting with a group of monks in traditional habits. These weren't typical denizens of the short-hire offices used at dropports for ship owners and clients to meet.

"Brother Giles, it's been too long." His father bowed respectively, dipping his head well below the oldest monk's belt. Even Daniel's deepest bow wouldn't manage that - Clovis had an unfair advantage in that, since he was a good fifty centimetres shorter than his son - but the younger Holstein tried to be similarly respectful.

The monk smiled paternally. "I see you're doing well, Clovis. And this must be Daniel. I haven't seen you since... hmm. Since Morgan stopped by in '42."

Clovis nodded to Daniel in confirmation. "You were just a child at the time."

"I worked that out from the date, dad," he murmured - obviously not quietly enough because the largest of the three monks chuckled.

"And there's a face I didn't expect to see under these circumstances," Clovis added with a nod to the man. "So this is where you've been." He turned to look at the last monk - or was the word nun? Daniel wasn't sure - and then paused. "Hmm. And the surprises keep coming."

The woman's face was delighted. "For a short man, Mr. Holstein, you've cast a remarkably large shadow on our history."

"Not so great as others." His father sounded uneasy for the first time. "You have need of a jumpship?"

"And a dropship," the younger man said.

Brother Giles looked at him and shook his head. "I'd rather you took them to Thorin or somewhere else that they would be safer, but it isn't my decision."

"I agree that it's unwise, but I'm willing to take the chance." The younger man rubbed his chin. "Of course, that depends on Mr. Holstein's willingness."

Daniel saw his father give him a sidelong look and decided to take the chance. "May I ask what it is you have in mind? I'm Daniel Holstein, my father's aide."

The monk gestured towards the chairs. "Ardan Morgan and this is my sister Catherine. What I have in mind is some salvage work... inside the Free Worlds League."

"That's... not as dangerous as it has been in the past, but the Captain-General still generally prefers to be the beneficiary of such work. I'm assuming you don't have that in mind?"

"No, not really." 'Ardan' grinned somewhat tersely. "It's an old militia bunker under Cienfuegos."

His sister frowned at that. "Cienfuegos?"

"You said the burned capital city, for New Delos that would be Cienfuegos."

"Las," she said, stretching the syllables. "Uncle Chandy found it on New Dallas."

Daniel saw a flush of embarrassment rising up Ardan's cheeks. "Right. I stand corrected," he said after a moment. "So New Dallas is..."

"I know it," Daniel's father said calmly. "Rather nearer and easier to get to than New Delos but I take it we're still in the early planning stages?"

"Relatively, yes."

Clovis looked over at Giles. "I see what you mean. Is this really a risk worth taking?"

"Warriors kill warriors," Catherine said. "Lestrades kill Lestrades. Didn't you say that?"

Daniel's father twitched, the folded waldos around his wrists scraping the table. "That was before your time."

"She's right though. Family have to deal with family." Ardan looked over at them. "A good man - a lot of good men and women - are going to die trying to make right one of our family's errors. This gives us a chance of doing something to keep those deaths to a minimum."

What did Lestrade have to do with this, Daniel wondered. That House still controlled some parts of Skye province but their political position was far from what it had been. "It's an odd thing for two monks to be concerned with, isn't it? Aren't you supposed to leave the outside world behind?"

Brother Giles smiled slightly. "Ardan and Catherine are members of our community, but they have taken no vows. They have my help, and my blessing, even if they haven't chosen the path I counsel."

Leaning back in his seat, Daniel eyed them. "So a wild goose chase after a cache of lostech? I'm not convinced this is a good idea, dad."

"Isn't it the young who are supposed to be like adventures?" his father asked, folding his stubby arms. "At your age, I'd have loved the idea of going looking for some old cache."

"Lostech isn't exactly a major concern these days."

"To be honest," Ardan told him.

"Always the best policy, just ahead of dishonesty," his sister interrupted.

"Thank you, sis," the redhead said a trifle testily and Catherine looked chastened. "From what Catherine has been able to remember, we're not really looking at Star League technology here. It's an old militia base where military hardware was put into storage when the Star League had the member states demobilising much of their armed forces."

"Wouldn't they just have dug it out again for the Reunification War?" asked Daniel.

"Probably not." His father's eyes were distant, focused on what he remembered. "The SLDF mostly commissioned new equipment that would be standardised for their needs and use the advanced technologies they were putting into production. If what had been stored away was only on par with the sort of equipment the Succession Wars were fought with, it probably wouldn't have been considered fit for service."

"Seems wasteful to me, if you're thinking BattleMechs."

"Yes, but we're used to seeing every 'Mech as valuable and worth recovering and upgrading. The Star League was intent on maintaining their military production so they'd almost always look at buying something new rather than improving what they had." Clovis nodded. "It's plausible such a cache could exist... now that you know what planet it's on."

Ardan sighed at that point. "Yes, my fault for jumping to conclusions. We'll need to find out what the capital of New Dallas was."

"Caddy... Cadooo... Caddo City," Catherine muttered, half to herself. "Upon the isthmus between the continents, a peninsula jutting northwards into the ocean..."

"Is that it?" her brother asked asked.

"Have you been there?" asked Daniel. He was beginning to think that the blonde wasn't all there.

She snapped her head from side to side, hair whipping behind it. "The robes had an camp there... re-education for the masses... dig the dead for a year... never doubt the horrors of war again..."

Ardan turned and gathered her into an embrace. "It's okay, sis. You're not there."

"I never was! I never was!" she sobbed.

"I'm sorry I asked," Daniel muttered. "Dad, this doesn't sound like a good idea."

"It probably isn't, but with civil war breaking out, getting out of the Alliance for a month or two sounds appealing." Clovis pursed his lips. "One thing's sure, Loki wouldn't come looking for those two on a dead world in League space."

Daniel flinched at that. The Lyran government's professional terrorism force had featured in some of Nana Holstein's bedtime stories and they hadn't been the good guys. Not at all. "Maybe you're right. But let's not get our hopes up."

His father gave Ardan a nod. "Alright, you've hired yourself a jumpship and an engineer - although we'll be talking about payment shortly. And I know a few people we can talk to about a dropship and salvage gear."

[drakensis]

Chapter 5
Hartzborg, Zaniah III
Skye Province, Lyran Alliance
12 December 3062

Daniel had hoped he was past babysitting when his youngest sister was at last judged fit to be left unsupervised for an evening, although this admittedly was only the case if she had access to a holovid and a box full of disks to play upon it. Fortunately Bifrost had a sizeable collection of the latter, even discounting those not appropriate to an eight year old girl.

It was no consolation that most of the people around him thought the blonde he had orders to 'keep happy and out of trouble' was probably his date. She wasn't, and her brother had the size and almost certainly the training to tear Daniel apart if he presumed on the instruction.

At least he got a sympathetic look from the doorman at the mall as he helped Catherine with her bags - much like shopping with his mother or sisters, that help seemed to involve carrying two-thirds of the mass of the purchases. Daniel had picked the mall as the nearest outside the drop-port. Only someone so rich they didn't care to count money or in such a hurry they couldn't afford to wait would shop on the actual premises of the drop-port. Prices were about thirty percent lower outside in the main part of Hartzborg.

Flagging down a taxi-cab he waved Catherine politely into the back seat with her own bags and waited patiently for the driver to get out and open the rear storage for the bags he was holding.

"Did she have you buy her a new wardrobe?" the cabbie asked, pushing the first bags deeper so that they could all fit in.

"That would have been bad enough, but the clothes shopping was the easy part." Pretty much everything Catherine had bought for herself was practical - jeans, work boots, several tops that were functional and only cost three or four times what the mens' section charged for equivalents. Daniel could be sure of that because his charge had done with shopping for herself only to head over there and buy some equivalents for her brother.

She'd changed in one of the restrooms so she was out of the habit she'd been wearing, although the fedora she'd found for herself was just as eye-catching in it's way.

"Why that?" he'd asked her, the only time he'd questioned a purchase (Daniel wasn't sure to be grateful or annoyed she didn't model anything for him. Mostly the former but, he was honest enough to admit, not entirely).

Catherine had perched the hat on her head and drawn the brim down over her eyes. "I am in disguise," she said solemnly. "This way no one will recognise me."

"So what was the hard part?" The cabbie closed the trunk and gestured towards the back seat.

"Then," Daniel said heavily, "She found the bookstore. Take us to the Ned Kelly please."

Along with stores, one of the many services associated with the drop port were cheap hostels. The Ned Kelly had been chosen by Daniel's father and the Morgan siblings had rented a small suite on the same wing until it was time to depart. Hauling the proceeds of several hours shopping up the stairs to the second floor room, Daniel hoped that Catherine would be convinced to stay in her room and read some of her new treasures rather than set out on a new expedition.

He'd just settled into one of the small armchairs and flipped the holovid onto a news channel when she emerged from her room, two of the larger store bags now bulging with clothes. "Where are you going?"

"Laundrette," Catherine informed him, raising the bags. "Spin and wash and dry and wear!"

Oh god. "You can't have dirtied them already, you only just bought them."

The woman pulled the bags back against her. "Washing!"

"Right, right." Daniel turned the holovid off - it was just another piece assuring everyone that the Lyran Guards had ended the rioting on Solaris - and pulled out his wallet. No, not enough change.

A detour down to the desk let him change a ten kroner note into forty quarters - more than he'd need this time but who knew what else Catherine would demand next? - and they went across to the street to the laundrette. A place as small as Ned Kelly's didn't have its own service but he knew from earlier in his visit that the laundrette ran on cash only, not smart cards.

Cat stared at the wall of washing machines with fascincation, but alarmingly little comprehension. Daniel rolled his eyes and guided her to the dispenser where she could get capsules of soap and conditioner to load in along with the clothes. It seemed to take her great concentration to feed each coin into that and then to the washing machines themselves - choosing to run two loads in adjacent free machines.

"Okay, and now we leave them for an hour or two," he explained with forced patience once both machines were operating. "I hope you brought a book or something." It wasn't a particularly bad place but only an idiot left their clothes here unsupervised.

Catherine reached into a pocket and pulled out well thumbed novel - she'd focused first on the second-hand racks at the bookstore - before opening it and carefully un-dogearing the corners.

There was a snort from the bench and Daniel saw one of the other customers was looking at them from the corner of the room. "Family?" the man asked wryly, shuffling cards he'd laid out on the bench.

"Something like that." He looked for something to do himself. Two hours of watching clothes spin around wasn't going to be very entertaining.

The other man nodded. "I'm getting bored of solitaire. Want to pass the time?"

"Why not." He moved to sit closer. "I'm Daniel, this is Catherine."

The blonde gave the man a casual wave without looking up from her book.

"Max Sears," the man said, shuffling the cards.

"Cy."

Both of them looked over at Catherine who ignored them both. Dan shrugged. "Don't mind her."

He got a nod of understanding. "Got it. You know how to play twenty-one?"

"Doesn't every school boy?"

"You might be surprised." Sears dealt two cards each and they studied their hands.

Duke of Steiner and seven of Davion for Daniel. "I'll hold," he said at a questioning look.

"Oh?" Sears dealt himself another card face up. Ten of Marik. He made a face. "Bust, dammit."

"It's not as if we're playing for money. What brings you to Zaniah?"

Sears dealt again. "I took the first ship I could get off Solaris VII when the fighting died down. Probably going to try to get a berth as far as Outreach."

"Going for mercenary?"

"I don't think it's a business that's going to shrink in the next few years. I lost just about everything but my bank account when the riots started."

"Rioters on the streets are one thing but when Mechwarriors join in..."

Sears made a pained face and then brightened slightly as he took the next hand. "Yeah. It's all very well in the arenas, but that got way out of hand. A lot of people are very unhappy."

"Both dead, so sad."

Daniel turned his head towards Catherine and saw her looking at them. "In your book?"

"No, Vandergriff and Searcy."

"Who... oh yes, the two who started it," he remembered. The championship bout had been between the Davion favorite 'Stormin' Michael Searcy' and an outside bet Lyran mechwarrior Victor Vandergriff. Their match, in the Steiner Colosseum had somehow rampaged through the spectator stands and then out into the streets. Fans and fellow gladiators had joined the battle, turning the multi-national Solaris City into a microcosm of the factionalism of the Inner Sphere.

"Chaos doesn't need a recipe, just a list of ingredients," Catherine claimed.

"And as you say, they're dead," Sears noted hollowly. "Finished their match and killed each other. What they deserved, some would say."

"Some would say, Searcy."

Daniel blinked. "Sears, not Searcy, Catherine."

"Am I wrong?" she asked quietly.

He shook his head. Not that he followed Solaris tournaments, but the champion match had been heavily advertised so he'd seen both mechwarrior's faces and... Daniel turned sharply to look at the man he'd been playing cards with.

Stormin' Searcy had been brash and confident, this man was white-faced and sweating. Otherwise... maybe...?

Catherine reached over and flipped the two cards Sears had dealt himself. Ace of Davions and the First Prince. "One more and you're bust, Mr. Searcy."

"Look," the man said quietly, voice full of dread. "I'm not asking for myself. If it gets out I'm not dead the riots could -"

The blonde shook her head. "How many mechwarriors on Outreach will know your face?"

"It's not my business, Mr. Sears." Maybe he could calm this down. "Catherine, you should leave him alone."

"My brother is hiring." Catherine pulled a pen out and scribbled her suite number on the Ace of Davion. "And we're leaving Zaniah very soon."

"Who are you?" Sears - or Searcy - demanded hoarsely.

"A turn of the cards that might be in your favour." Catherine put the pen away and returned to her book as if nothing had happened.

Dan and Searcy stared at each other then at her. Then by common assent they looked away and ignored each other until Searcy's washing was done and he bolted from the laundrette. But he departed into the Ned Kelly.


Chapter 6
Transient Jump Point, Zaniah III System
Skye Province, Lyran Alliance
13 December 3062

Peter waited for the airlock pressures to match before he opened the door that now connected the dropship Glowworm to Clovis Holstein's jumpship, the Bifrost. The last two days had been a rush of negotiations and even riding up from Zaniah's surface hadn't given him a chance to rest. In most systems the journey to a jump point would have been several days long but Zaniah's star had such a deep gravity well that it would have taken most of a month to reach the standard jump points above or below the system's plane.

Instead the Bifrost was waiting at a transient point between Zaniah III and its star. Barring those rare points times of their orbits when other planets in the system affected it, most trade to and from Zaniah III came through that jump point, regardless that it required more precise navigation.

There wasn't a lot of trade though - Bifrost was one of only two jumpships at the point right now. The difficulty of navigating to the system made it less favorable for transit and thus Zaniah remained something of a backwater despite its place on the border, an isolation that had spared it some of the worst of the Succession Wars.

On the other side of the lock he found Daniel Holstein and an older woman, probably his mother at a guess. The Bifrost's crew was tightly knit and he knew Clovis' wife was his deputy. "Permission to come aboard."

"Granted," the woman greeted him. "I'm Karla Holstein."

Peter pushed off and drifted across the interface into the jumpship. "I hope my sister hasn't been a bother." After she somehow picked up a washed up Solaris gladiator while getting her clothes washed he'd had Clovis send her on ahead to the Bifrost on their shuttle.

Karla gave him a searching look. "Follow me, please." The last word was clearly a mere formality.

What now? He looked at Daniel for an answer as he passed the man but the younger Holstein simply shrugged and crossed the airlock in the other direction.

Left clueless, Peter followed Karla into one of the narrow passages along the length of the Invader-class ship. As he'd expected she was leading him towards the habitation decks towards the prow but she stopped once they were out of easy earshot of the airlock.

"I know who you are, but I don't know what possessed you to bring your sister out here," she told him sharply.

Peter raised his hands defensively. "I can't exactly book her into a hospital, Mrs Holstein. Official attention could be deadly."

"So could digging around on a devastated colony. I had to go through the safety briefings three times with her before I was sure it had sunk in, 'Mr. Morgan'. Not because she isn't sharp, but because she can't concentrate for any extended period of time."

"Yes, I've noticed that." He ran one hand through his hair. "She's getting better, if slowly, but if need be we'll keep her aboard the Glowworm during the salvage operations. If we can get through the next few months then I should be able to get her set up somewhere safe with a therapist."

"And if those few months means she never recovers?" Karla persisted.

"Do you think she's competent to make her own decisions?" he snapped at her.

Her lips thinned. "Yes," she said reluctantly. "When she's managing to focus."

"I gave her the choice of staying at Saint Marinus, which would at least remain safe for her, or shipping for Arc Royal - one of the places she could probably get proper care and be safe - instead of coming with me. Catherine chose to come. And I'm not going to send her away if she feels safest with me."

Karla stared at Peter and for a moment he thought that she'd renew the argument but after a moment the tension left her shoulders. "I can't argue with that I suppose, but please be careful with her. You're not just her younger brother now, you're effectively her guardian as well."

He nodded and they continued as far as the habitation deck in silence. The quarters available were cramped - a narrow compartment with two bunks on each side, each given a little privacy with an opaque curtain, a small washroom and some lockers for personal items. One curtain was drawn when Peter entered and his sister's recruit was sitting in one of the others, an electronic book-reader in his hands.

"Mr Searcy."

"Sir." The man left the bunk and stood to attention, confirming Peter's guess he'd been regular military before going to Solaris.

"My sister?" he asked, nodding towards the closed bunk.

"Yes, sir. I believe she's asleep."

Peter nodded. "How much do you know about what we're doing? I realise Catherine more or less dragged you into this."

"I gather it's a salvage mission in a hostile environment. One of the old Terran Hegemony worlds?"

"Yes, that's right. You're more likely to be using a workmech or an exoskeleton than a BattleMech, which'll be a bit of a step down for you."

"Well, a change is as good as a rest. I didn't have any work lined up so this is as good as anything."

"We'll probably be moving on to Outreach or somewhere nearby after this so if things don't work out longer term you'll have saved yourself a few jump fares on the way there," Peter told him. "I take it you'd prefer to keep calling yourself Sears?" Technically false papers meant Peter was aiding and abetting a crime but he couldn't bring himself to care about that under the circumstances.

Searcy made a face. "It might be best, at least until things calm down a little."

"You may have an unreasonable expectation of the universe there."

Slinging his bag into one of the lockers, Peter stretched out on one of the vacant bunks and reached for the curtain. Then a chiming noise came from his comm.

"Yes?"

"Mr Morgan, could you come to the command deck?" Clovis didn't sound particularly apologetic. "Captain Colium wants to discuss picking up some supplies en route."

Peter rubbed his eyes mournfully. This was going to be worse than a field exercise in simulated battalion command, wasn't it? "Okay, I'll be there as soon as I can."

He left the bunk and went to the washroom to clean his face with a wipe. And I don't have a staff, not even an aide to help me. His mind went to Sears. Or maybe...

"Come along," he instructed the mechwarrior. "I may as well fill you in on some of the details of what we'll be doing."

The poor sap obediently shut down his bookreader and followed, not foreseeing the paperwork Peter intended to stick him with.

[Sir Chaos]

Hmm... not sure where this is going, but it looks promising so far.

[alkemita]

Oh, Happy Day!

Drak's back!

Okay, my stream of consciousness impressions.

* Good to see that Peter's still struggling with his temper at this stage.

* Minor quibble, but I'm not sure that the name of a Monk's room would change from "cell" to "cubicle". It's traditional, and religious orders are sometimes oddly stubborn about small details like that.

* I was half expecting the mysterious lady to be Princess Diana, especially with the £10 note in her wallet.

* Right now, I'm thinking clone sent back from the future.

Finally, you have my interest. I look forward to the ride.

[Dave Talley]

oooooh more!!!!

[Daryk]

I'll have to get caught up this weekend, but I'm also interested to see what Drakensis has put together, my distaste for the era completely aside.

[DOC_Agren]

ohh me liking it
More Please :thumbsup:

[Sir Chaos]

I'll have to get caught up this weekend, but I'm also interested to see what Drakensis has put together, my distaste for the era completely aside.

Drakensis can make any era interesting.

[Daryk]

Too true!  :thumbsup:

[Tegyrius]

Huh.  River Tam as Catherine Steiner-Davion.  You have my attention.

[snakespinner]

Drakensis, always an interesting story. :thumbsup:

[drakensis]

Part Two - New Dallas

Like how a single word
Can make a heart open
I might only have one match
But I can make an explosion

Chapter 7
Caddo City, New Dallas
Free Worlds League Space
31 December 3062

Finding New Dallas wasn't particularly a problem - Michael Searcy hadn't even heard of it but Captain Holstein of the Bifrost had the system in his charts. Possibly for smuggling, but if so, Michael wasn't about to enquire. That could be a good way to get invited out of an airlock. However comical the dwarf might look at times, he clearly commanded ferocious loyalty from his crew.

Bifrost's charts even included orbital data on the planet, which Holstein cheerfully admitted was a matter of luck. Otherwise they'd have had to run an astronomical search of the approximate habitable zones of the star system, which could have been time-consuming.

"What a shithole," Mael Colium muttered from the bridge of the Glowworm as the dropship made preparations to land. The captain was strapped into his seat, technically, but he'd loosened the restraints enough to have his feet up on one of the consoles. "Begging your pardon, Emma."

"I've heard the word before," the woman said from her own position. She was trim and squared away - if Michael hadn't seen how she looked at her husband, currently engrossed in plotting the landing, he might have made a pass at the dusky-skinned ship's officer.

"Mm-mmm," Colium continued. "It's hot down there, Morgan. You sure this is the place?"

Ardan Morgan glanced at the orbital imagery. "Yep. North-pointing peninsula from an isthmus, a city with domes. It matches the description we have perfectly."

"When you say hot," Michael asked warily, "Do you mean temperature or radiation? This place got nuked, right?"

"Hard to say from up here on the latter." Colium reached over and flicked the scan over to infrareds. "Local temperature's higher than I'd expect for a world that had cities like that though. Must have been miserable as Texas."

"You've never been to Texas, sir."

"I saved up years for a vacation on Terra and then the Word took over, Emma," he grumbled. "And this is apparently as close as I'm ever gonna get. Dallas was in Texas, I looked that up."

Ardan shook his head. "I'm guessing they had some sort of terraforming that cooled the climate and that it's collapsed since then. Caddo City was the original settlement but most of the population was on the inland sea further south."

"We're locked in," the ship's pilot said from his part of the Mule-class dropship's bridge. Whether he'd ignored the conversation or been genuinely oblivious to it wasn't clear to Michael. Burt Alleyne seemed to be in a world all his own when he took the Glowworm's controls. "Five minute window before I have to replot."

Colium glanced at Ardan, shrugged and then straightened up, tightening his restraints. "Take us down."

The Glowworm rocked lightly as they hit the atmosphere and started to bite into it. Michael could have sworn he felt the heat as a halo of fire engulfed them but when he checked the thermometer, the bridge temperature hadn't budged. Then the rocking intensified.

"Nothing to worry about," Colium called to him. "We're just under-loaded. Burt has it under control."

Michael gulped and nodded. The Glowworm had a notional full load of over eleven thousand tons - more than an Overlord-class military transport, but right now it had all that volume and a total mass closer to that of a much smaller Union-class dropship.

Gravity took hold and his stomach churned as 'down' became about thirty degrees away from the vertical orientation of the compartment.

"Visual on our landing zone," Burt declared. "Looks fine." One of the screens lit up to display the derelict remains of what had probably been a busy space port. There were runways for aerodyne dropships and shuttles, one blocked by what had once been a passenger liner, and dozens of firmacrete pads for more spherical craft to come down directly. "Can't speak for what it looks like on the ground, but those pads should be solid. You care which one we use."

"Make sure we have plenty of room on all directions," Colium said, cutting across Ardan, who had been about to speak. "I want plenty of room if anything's been undermined from the support structures."

Michael saw Ardan lean back in his chair and force himself not to speak. The younger man's temper was under close rein, which was good. He wasn't sure the redhead really grasped how much he was depending on the willing cooperation of Colium and his crew. The Morgans were obviously part of some noble house and neither seemed to have been out much in the real world, outside the protections of their family.

"Where's Holstein's shuttle?"

Emma adjusted her controls as the Glowworm came closer to proper verticality. "A good safe distance, sir," she answered her captain's question. "I'd guess he'll come down maybe a kilometer south of us."

"Hmm. His risk to take, that little toy doesn't weigh much of anything." Colium still seemed relieved that the fusion torch of the shuttle wasn't anywhere near his dropship. At close range, the drive would have ripped through the light hull of the freighter and done untold damage.

The view of the dropoort below was growing but not as quickly as Burt brought more power to the engines, slowing their descent. "Deploy landing gear," he ordered.

His wife activated a control and after most of a minute nodded sharply. "Landing gear locked."

"Slow and steady," Colium warned. "Have us ready to take off if the pad can't take it."

"We'll come down as lightly as a leaf on the wind," the pilot promised.

If so, Michael would have hated to see the leaves where Burt came from, but more than three thousand tons of metal came to rest against the landing pad with far less impact than bringing a Pillager assault 'Mech down on its jump-jets. The man flipped switches. "Maneuvering thrusters off, main thrust..." He glanced back at the captain and got a nod. "Off."

The engines' roar, a sound that Michael had largely come to ignore, cut out sharply and the Glowworm vibrated briefly as it settled against the pad.

"Once again, we have cheated death." Colium leant over his controls. "And the radiation count is... well, worse than a day at the beach but not much. More a matter of the thin atmosphere than residuals from nukes, I'd guess."

"Mech cockpits get pretty warm too," Michael said, unbuckling himself. He felt light on his feet, not unsurprising given New Dallas had a surface gravity only about five-sixths that of Terra.

"It's closer to boiling than freezing out there and the atmosphere's thick with carbon dioxide and methane," Emma clarified. "We can use the lower cargo deck as an airlock but this is going to be pretty miserable for anyone outside. Pressure suits might not be required but I'd recommend them over just going out in a mask."

Ardan shook his head. "We don't have enough for everyone, so masks are going to have to be enough. Besides, in this heat, the suits would have us sweating too much."

Michael glanced at the clock. "Three hours until the New Year," he noted. "I suggest we let the crews get used to the gravity and maybe take a walk around to acclimatize before we start any serious work."

His boss squinted at the screens. "It's close to mid-day local and given the heat, we're probably going to do most of our work in the twilight hours. We can let the pad cool but I want survey teams out and checking for access to the domes in... call it four hours."

"You're really in that sort of hurry?"

Ardan rubbed his chin. "A few hours might not matter in the grand scheme of things, or it could be all the difference in the world. Besides, the sooner we find the cache the sooner we can be out of here."

"Acclimatization isn't a joke, sir," Michael warned. "We could lose one of our work-mechs if the pilot stumbles."

"I thought you were some sort of hotshot," the other man said lightly. "You can take one out and I'll take the other. I'm not going to take a tumble in a frigging workmech."

Michael sighed. "Fine, you're the boss."

Ardan gave him a friendly slap on the shoulder, almost knocking him over, as he headed out of the bridge.

Behind him, Colium gave him a shrug, loosened his restraints and kicked his feet up again. "He can say what he wants but my crew have the night off. It's the New Year."

"What drives that man anyway?" asked Emma as her husband, also unstrapped, moved over to wrap his arms around her.

It was a good question, Michael thought as he headed out of the door. Ardan Morgan was almost as much of a puzzle as his sister.

Last time you worked for someone with secrets, you got a lot of trouble out of it, a little voice warned him. Michael blinked it away. Ardan was close mouthed, but he was nothing like the oily Drew Hasek-Davion who'd employed him on Solaris VII.


Chapter 8
Caddo City, New Dallas
Free Worlds League Space
5 January 3063

Moving carefully so as not to dislodge his mask, Daniel wiped sweat from his forehead. He was wearing a mechwarrior's cooling vest inside the confines of the construction exoskeleton but it didn't change the fact that New Dallas had a surface temperature nearly sixty degrees higher on average than Terra did and Caddo City wasn't in a particularly temperate location to begin with. Only the fact it was surrounded on three sides by ocean to absorb the heat made it bearable at all.

"We're almost through," Frye called from the other exoskeleton, shovelling away debris left by the drill mounted on the workmech they were supporting. "Once more should do it."

Frye was wearing no more than Daniel was - shorts and a cooling vest - but the sight had stopped being titillating long ago. He helped her scrape away the last fragments and then they backed up to let 'Max Sears' apply the drill again.

True to the Glowworm engineer's prediction, this time the drill dug less than a metre deep before resistance stopped. Controlling the 'Mech carefully, Sears withdrew the drill and then applied it again twice, widening the hole. Frye and Daniel backed up in case the structure broke down under the drilling and the mass of the workmech, but there was disarmingly little reaction from the dome's floor.

"Oh..." His voice cracked and he wished he could just take the mask off and drink freely. Instead all he could do was suck a trickle from the straw built into it for situations like this - enough to lubricate his throat but hardly satisfying. "Okay, let's see what we've found so far."

It was the thirteenth hole dug and the fifth to find a cavity beneath the massive crystalline domes that had once housed the nascent New Dallas colony. None of the domes was still intact but they were unsafe for the Glowworm, which had to remain kilometers away at the drop-port.

"Your turn to go first," Frye said with some relief and started securing cables to the nearby buildings. Daniel let her attach the cables to his exoskeleton and watched as Sears marched the workmech away only to return lugging a pair of A-frames and a connecting beam.

The simple crane arrangement was easily erected above the hole and Daniel marched around it, leaving enough slack in the three cables that were now attached to the upper spine of the exoskeleton for Sears to lift them up and over the beam.

"Ready?" asked Frye, rhetorically for she'd already activated the winch.

Daniel gulped and tried not to lose his lunch as the cables pulled him towards the hole and then up off the ground, dangling over it. He swung back and forth for what seemed to be forever until the motion died away. "Lower two metres," he ordered.

The cable played out and he descended steadily until his shoulders were level with the ground. "Another two metres."

Down again. The lights on his exoskeleton played out on unrecognisable angles and objects, too confusing to tell how near they were. "Wait one." He played one of the lights down and confirmed the floor below was clear. A laser rangefinder told him he was about twenty metres up.

"Five metres," he said cautiously and watched as the cable spooled out.

"Found something?" asked Sears. He sounded indecently comfortable, but then he was inside a sealed cockpit. He didn't even need to wear a mask all the time, the lucky rat.

Daniel played the lights around again. Walls in three directions, nothing visible in the other, at least within easy reach of his lights. "Some sort of storage maybe." He didn't want to get his hopes up. "It's tall enough for 'Mechs... give me another ten metres -" The line jerked out and he squawked the next word: "Slowly!"

"Sorry!" Frye apologised and the descent steadied. Daniel forced himself to remain still, he'd started to sway and that could be bad. The walls were broken by catwalks, he saw, and framing that could possibly be 'Mech bays. If so they'd been stripped of working gear and lay empty. Another disappointment.

"Okay, gradually give me another five or six metres," he requested.

The floor when he reached it was reassuringly steady. "Okay, definitely part of a larger complex," he said guardedly. "Not sure how large it is."

Flashing his torch around he saw something sprawled on the floor. Whatever it was, it was huge - taller lying down than he was in his exoskeleton. "I think I'll need some help to look around."

"Roger," Sears agreed. "I'll call in Mr Morgan and his team."

Daniel disconnected the cables and began to pace out the echoingly vast space. There were more of the shapes - all wrapped in some sort of white plastic, all broadly the same size... twelve metres long, at least five wide and more than three tall. Each was laid partially within the bays and partly extending out into the wide central corridor. Maybe he'd found a vehicle bay of some kind.

There were six on either side from his landing point to the wall at one end, but the broad storage area extended considerably in the other direction.

By the time he was back, a pair of exoskeletons were coming down and Daniel waited for them to reach the ground.

"What have you found?" asked Ardan Morgan. He played his own searchlights around.

"I don't know. This might have been a Mech hanger once I guess. But what's actually in here, I can't guess."

"Easy way to find out," Frye offered and deployed a pair of shears. "Let's cut this covering off and take a look."

Behind the mask, Ardan's eyes were eager but his words were cautious. "Don't cut through the contents. And make sure you can re-seal it if we need to."

"I brought duct tape," the woman declared and pulled a corner of the plastic wrapping away. The shears cut a little and then she had to relax them. "Damn, this stuff is tough."

"It's a good sign. Someone wrapped it for storage so it may be valuable," Ardan noted. He stepped aside as two more exoskeletons lowered. One occupant was visibly smaller than the other - Daniel's father. Looking down from above were others waiting to join them, Catherine Morgan's blonde hair easily identifiable among them.

Daniel started to help Frye, cutting away from her original incision as more prospectors descended. Eventually they'd cut enough away to open the incision and Daniel peeled it back and lit up the contents.

"Jesus, what is that stuff!" one of the team exclaimed, eyeing the slug-like contents visible inside the wrapping.

"Myomers," Clovis said eagerly. "It's a myomer bundle, this is some sort of industrial or military 'Mech."

Ardan nodded slowly. "Paydirt."

"If so, why lay out out flat?" asked Daniel. "And why isn't there any armour or at least a chassis?" It was unsettling like finding a giant body skinned.

"The owners can't have planned on going to all this trouble to keep it wrapped," one of the prospectors suggested. "Check to see if there's a seam that's supposed to be cut open and we can look at the whole thing."

Workers spread out around the frame, lifting and pulling the wrap. Eventually one found a blue line that had been under a fold in the wrap. Fresh shears made quick work of it and together, a half-dozen exoskeletons dragged the wrapping off it.

"It's a 'Mech alright." Ardan sounded chastened. "Not sure what type without the armour on it though."

"And no weapons." Daniel walked along the side and examined it. "Barely any arms for that matter."

His father started unfastening his exoskeleton. "Let me take a closer look."

Daniel moved around to help his father and was halfway through removing the salvage gear when Ardan raised his voice in alarm. "Where's my sister?"

A quick headcount turned up one missing member of the team: Cat Morgan and her exoskeleton. "We have footprints here in from the dust we dropped digging through," one of the prospectors noted and pointed along the store room. "She went that way."

Their boss closed his eyes for a moment and when he opened them they were fierce. "Okay. Clovis, stay here and figure out what we're dealing with. Who's lowest on air for their masks?"

Comparisons turned up that it was Daniel and Frye, which made sense as they'd not replenished since they began helping Sears dig this hole.

"Right, you two head back up and get fresh air and some water," Ardan ordered. "The rest of us will start surveying this place. Whoever finds my sister let me know."

It was tempting to insist on staying but water sounded real good right now. When he heard about the cache Daniel had envisaged powerful warmachines lined up, polished and ready for action given just a little preparation. The way they'd been in the Helm Cache according to Gray Death Legion accounts of that found. This stripped carcass of a BattleMech was far from that.

Sears, still in the workmech, hauled them up out of the hole. "What did you find?" he asked. "Some sort of 'Mech."

"About half of one that we've unwrapped so far," Daniel told him. "Whoever stored them seems to have stripped everything useful."

"I wouldn't go that far," Frye disagreed. "There's still all that myomer, the structural framing and it looked like it had a reactor. And there's, what... a couple of dozen of them?"

"At least that we found so far, yeah."

"That's got to be worth at least ninety thousand each, more if the reactors are in working order. And then there's historical value," she said optimistically. "It might not be what Mr Morgan was hoping for but at least he's turning a profit."

Daniel grunted as they freed themselves from the cables. "Maybe." The myomers hadn't looked corroded so that was something, he guessed. "I wouldn't want to be Cat Morgan when her brother catches her though."

"Oh yeah. He's the type to worry and let that feed his temper," the engineer said with a roll of her eyes. "Come on, let's get back to the shelter. Soon as I have more air I'm going back down there!"


Chapter 9
Caddo City, New Dallas
Free Worlds League Space
6 January 3063

There was a lot more to the space under the dome than Peter had expected. He shouldn't have been surprised given the Star League was infamous for digging deep into the ground for military bases, factories and almost everything else. The long hangar had opened into a central hub area with five other openings, two of them more storage and the others ramps leading up (once) or down (twice). Even if the ramp up was an exit - much easier than the hole they'd dug for extracting the 'Mech chassis they'd found - that indicated at least one more level.

Naturally, Catherine's footprints had led downwards.

He played his searchlight across the markings on the walls. They were obscure, probably to confuse an intruder like himself, but the basic logic matched a military base. Peter followed the footprints into an administrative section and to his annoyance, after wandering around for a whole and after he'd entered, Catherine had left because the footprints of her departure hadn't been there when he entered.

"Maybe she has private business, chief," one of the prospectors suggested. "Chasing a woman doesn't always work out. Wait and she'll be back."

"And if she has an accident and she can't?" he snapped. "See if the computers are working. Maybe there's a map - or a manifest of what's been stored here."

The halls echoed with his exoskeleton's feet as he stomped it out and after her again only to lose the trail in a hangar full of what looked like self-propelled guns - each missing the artillery guns that should have been mounted on their upper hulls. There was less dust here for some reason. Maybe the air conditioning had been better or maybe these sections had been cleaned out a few times.

Returning to the hub of the level - the third one down, no less - Peter halted his exoskeleton and tried to listen for any sounds. Nothing. "Catherine!" he shouted. No reply. He jammed his speakers to maximum and shouted into them. "CATHERINE!"

"-et-an?" came a distant reply.

Huffing indignantly, he marched off in its direction, finding a battered down door into what looked as if it might have been office space at one time. More broken doors led him at last to a room right at the back, Catherine standing just outside it, a cylindrical casing held in both her exoskeleton's hands.

"Found you!" she said brightly.

"No, I found you."

She frowned, considered and then nodded cautiously. "That's right. I found... hmm." Through the mask she looked down at the casing. "Ah, I found this." She held it up triumphantly.

"Dammit, Catherine! What were you thinking?" He moved his hand to knock it aside but thought better of it. "You shouldn't go off on your own. What if you had an accident."

"I'm not alone. You're here."

"But I wasn't with you until now."

"oh."

"Yes. Oh."

"Who was with you?" she asked, looking around.

"...no one," he admitted grudgingly. "Look, that's not the point. Is there anything here that isn't junk?"

His sister considered and then tucked the casing under one arm, before shrugging helplessly.

"Yeah, that's what I thought. These aren't mechs, they're wrecks. I should have just headed to Arc Royal or somewhere like that."

"Found this."

"Yes, very good," he snapped. "I'm sure that that makes up for all the time we've wasted grubbing around here." Peter threw up his hands. "Come on. We're headed back, how much air do you have left?"

Cat squinted down at the dial inside her mask. "Half?" she said questioningly.

"Right. Good job I found you." He didn't even have that much left. "At least this crap'll cover the costs. We'll get into the Federated Suns and head for Kathil. Clovis said there was fighting there between George Hasek's people and the Archon's."

"Kathil's a mess," Catherine said in a lecturing tone.

"Yeah, but I can probably get someone to take you to New Syrtis from there. George'll at least keep you safe. Maybe he can figure out who it is on New Avalon too."

"It's a qu-quagmire."

Peter grabbed her exoskeleton by the wrist. "Come on," he snapped and half-pulled her after him, up the ramps and back to the original entry point.

Searcy must have noticed his tone and didn't bother with any small-talk as he used the winch to hoist the two of them back up and out of the hangar. "Do you know where Clovis Holstein is?" Peter asked him.

"Back in the shelter, sir."

"Right." He took a deep breath. "I'll get a fresh mask and then we can see about finding the original entrance. We'll need that if we're getting anything out of there."

They'd set up a temporary shelter inside one of the more intact buildings under the dome, somewhat hampered by the local air-pressure. Peter's ears popped unpleasantly as they went through two separate airlocks necessary to get in. Even after that the air inside smelt rotten, which approximately everyone on the expedition had complained about to him.

"Ah, Ardan!" Clovis looked up from the technician's computer he was studying as they climbed out of the exoskeletons. "You found our lost lamb, I see."

"Lamb?" Cat made a face. "Horrible ration packs."

"What?"

"She doesn't like the roast lamb ration packs," Peter translated. "So what did we find?"

The dwarf set down the computer. "As far as I can tell, the 'mechs in the room we found are all the same model: the MCK-6S."

Peter blinked. "The what?"

"Mackies," Clovis expanded. "And a very early model. I'd not be surprised if we found MCK-5S models as well, the first production line version the Hegemony ever deployed."

"Entire battalions of them?"

"Basically, yes. Back then it was normal to fill out companies and battalions with a single design - there wasn't such a great variety of 'Mech designs to begin with."

"And these are early models... museum pieces?"

Clovis hesitated and then nodded his head. "I'd say so, yes. We're talking first generation designs. The armour's mostly been stripped but it's inferior to the basic types we use today. The cockpits are... well, they're probably functional with a little work but they're bulkier and cluttered with systems that fell out of use centuries ago."

"And the weapons."

"My best guess is that they were stripped for use as replacements on newer machines," Clovis admitted. "Same with the armour. You've basically got the core systems still - reactor, gyro, myomer bundles except in a few cases - but by mass I'd guess about half of each 'Mech is gone."

"You can fix them," Cat offered optimistically.

Peter shook his head. "With a mountain of parts maybe. And the reactors... wasn't there something about the reactors back then... I don't recall exactly."

"They had an efficiency problem," agreed Clovis. "And the shielding wasn't brilliant, mostly because they wound up having to use overpowered engines to get the same effect. Anyway, it'd be a moot point. I've never even seen a manual on the Mackie, I'd pretty much have to tear one apart and document it piece by piece to do anything with it and that would take years. No offense, but..."

"More time than you have?"

"Well, more than I care to invest in it. No offense."

Peter shrugged. "You've been more than helpful. It's not your fault Catherine led us to obsolete wrecks."

Turning back to her exoskeleton, Cat tried to pull the casing it was still carrying away. "Here, here!"

"What?"

She pulled again, staggering as the mass exceeded her expectations, nearly dropping the end she was pulling and barely managing to lower it to the floor while the other end remained supported by the exoskeleton. "Here, this is it."

"This is what?" Peter asked, walking over and with an effort pulling the other end out of the exoskeleton's grip. "What are you talking about?"

Clovis studied it and took a sharp breath. "It's a computer core. Where did you find that?"

"Buried," Cat declared. "Buried treasure! Like pirates. Pirate data!"

"I'm pretty sure there weren't any pirates around here," Clovis told her patiently. He plugged a cord in from his computer. "A bit too near to the centre of the Inner Sphere."

"Maybe in the twenty-third century." Peter thought back to long ago lessons. "This was outside the old Terran Alliance after they withdrew to their oldest colonies so things were pretty wild for a few generations."

"It's encoded. Pretty old security though." The dwarf typed away for a moment. "One science we never really lost, cryptography. Our computers back in the 3020s might not have held a candle to the Star League's but security programmes advanced a whole lot."

"Military espionage drove that I guess."

"Yup. This was probably really tight security back in the twenty-sixth century but today, feh." He typed in the final command and data began to appear on his screen. "...oho."

"What?"

"Manuals. All sorts of technical data," Clovis told him.

"On obsolete Terran Hegemony designs," Peter asked wryly.

"Not just them. Seeing Draconian, Capellan, Suns... looks like a database of technical data on every mech and vehicle they could scrape together. Sorted chronologically for some damn reason." He scrolled to the bottom and whistled. "Right the way up to the 2760s. Must have had a feed from somewhere else because this place has been sealed up longer than that."

"Fix the 'Mechs?" asked Cat hopefully.

"Maybe. It'd make it a lot easier."

"But still grossly inferior."

"Yeah. Sorry, but an engine that big is overkill for a 'Mech that size. I could probably fix the efficiency issue but it's still wasting..." Clovis paused.

"What?"

Clovis steepled his fingers. "I'd have to run some numbers. And we'd still need hundreds of tons of parts - armour and weapons."

Catherine dropped to her knees, lowered her head and kowtowed towards the dwarf. "Help us Obi-Wan Kenobi. You're our only hope."

"Oh come on, Cat, you're embarrassing him."

"I'm not embarrassed," the red-faced Clovis protested. "Although Karla would kill me if she knew a woman our kids' age was throwing herself at me."

[drakensis]

Chapter 10
Caddo City, New Dallas
Free Worlds League Space
9 February 3063

It took the better part of two weeks to dig out the original entrance to the bunker. Twelve days of work and one day off in the middle as everyone piled back into the Glowworm with not even Peter determined enough to make them keep working under the conditions.

He was as sick of the smell and the heat as any of them.

Clovis Holstein didn't seem to mind any of that but that was because he was holed up in his shuttle with the computer core and a datalink up to the Bifrost. He was probably the only one though and he did have the benefit of being in a sealed environment.

In the meantime though, they could finally start emptying out the cache using prime movers and a road that wasn't in the best of shape to say the least.

"Say, Morgan."

Peter pulled the radio handset off the cab of the truck he was riding shotgun of. "This is Morgan."

Mael Colium didn't sound amused. "You know anything about another shuttle coming down here?"

"No, I don't. Is it the Bifrost's other shuttle?" He didn't find that likely - not unless something was badly wrong because if something did go wrong that shuttle was the crew's only way to leave the jumpship.

"No, I asked Captain Holstein and he says his crew still have theirs."

Peter bounced his head off the back of his seat - deliberately rather than incidentally as had been the case all too often on this route. "Then I guess we're going to have visitor. How big a shuttle is it? And how long do we have?"

"Not more than a few minutes and it looks like an ST-46 or similar, so worst case is a platoon of battle armour or maybe a couple of light tanks."

"And right now we have... what to defend ourselves?"

"Small arms," Colium said flatly. "Which is a loser's game anyway you cut it. How long until you get here?"

The truck rounded a corner and passed what had used to be the dropport gate. "About the same as the shuttle." He leant forwards and craned his neck. "I see it. Looks like it's landing on the runway. I'll see if some sweet reason won't deal with that."

"Sweet reason?" Colium laughed bitterly. "Better than guns we don't have. Good luck, Mr Morgan."

Beside Peter, Frye jerked the wheel, sending the truck off the route they'd cleared back to the Glowworm and towards the shuttle. "I hope you're a silver-tongued devil, Mr Morgan."

"That makes two of us. Have you ever been shot at before?" he asked. She didn't look or sound like a soldier.

"Twice and neither time better armed than now. First when I was twelve and the Smoke Jaguars rolled over my home town and then when Prince Victor's troops rolled over the Smoke Jaguars."

Peter shook his head. "Well I hope this goes better for us than those two."

"I'm alive, aren't I?"

"Let's keep it that way."

Frye pulled the truck up as the shuttle touched down and they watched as it rolled down the runway towards the wrecked dropship, halting not far short of it. "Is that ComStar colours?" she asked.

Peter grimaced. "Their uglier cousins, Frye. The Word of Blake have arrived. Let's hope they're just selling copies of their holy texts." He checked his mask, hoping it would hide his face and climbed down out of the cab.

Ahead of him the shuttle began to turn around and the hatch on the side opened. Fortunately the man who exited it wasn't waring battle armour - or any kind of combat gear. Instead, save for a mask much like Peter's he wore the robes of an Adept, not so very different from those seen at an HPG station under ComStar.

"Good day," the Adept called.

Peter took a sniff of the canned air in his mask. "As good as it gets around here, Adept. Welcome to New Dallas."

The man walked closer. "I believe that that's my line, Mr..."

"Morgan." Peter offered his hand. "You're welcoming me? I thought you'd just arrived."

"Here in Caddo City, yes." The man accepted and shook it briefly. "But New Dallas itself is another matter."

Camp... robes... Peter thought back to Catherine telling him about New Dallas. Was this what she'd meant. "Ah, you have an outpost here?"

"Exactly, good sir. I can't say we watch the skies very closely, it's primarily a prayer retreat, but when we picked up some side-scatter from your datalink we thought that we should investigate. After all, it wouldn't be the first time someone found themselves stranded jumping through an uninhabited system like this one."

"And like the good samaritans that you are..."

"We do like to help those in need," the adept agreed. "I take it that you're not in distress."

"Not more than usual," Frye assured him cheerfully, having also dismounted from the truck.

The Adept took her in, all one hundred sixty centimetres of her wearing no more than she had to in the heat and took a deep breath. "That is pleasing to hear, Miss...?"

"I'm just Frye," she said cheerfully. "And you're..."

"Adept Coltrane," the man said after a moment. "I take it then that is a salvage operation?"

"Indeed." Peter thought a moment. "There's a bunker full right under the dome. We've got a fine example of what we've found back here. Come and take a look."

They went to the back and Peter opened the duct-taped hole they'd made in the covering of the 'Mech. "What you're looking at was probably the fastest 'Mech in the Inner Sphere when it was first fielded."

"Really?" The adept shook his head. "I have to be honest, I find that hard to believe."

"Well, that was back in 2443." Peter let a little of his smile show. "I dare say there may have been just a little bit of wear and tear over the last six hundred years."

"Do you know, I think you may be right. Is this junk... I mean, museum piece, really worth the time to haul it away?"

"Museum is right," Peter agreed. "And for any they don't it's still hundreds of tons of high value material as scrap."

"And then there's the core," Frye added.

Right in that moment, Peter could have punched her.

"A core, you don't mean like Helm?" The adept's eyes were wide.

"Something like that, but not as new."

"Yeah. It's been locked up since back before the Star League, but it should have all the information needed to rebuild these old 'Mechs good as new," Peter offered. "As well as a good number of other designs of someone wants to see what their own states were building at the same time."

"Well I wouldn't have thought that that would be worth all that much," the Adept admitted, "But it seems as if you've figured out how to make a profit off a find that most would have written off."

"I'd like to think I'm shrewd businessman," Peter assured him. "I'd offer you hospitality but this is kind of a working camp."

"Oh, we're all in favour of hard work." Coltrane cracked his knuckles. "Prayer is enhanced by some good old sweat in my experience. You won't offend me by that."

"Then why don't we give you a little tour," he offered the adept. With a bit of luck, Catherine would be out of sight and Coltrane wouldn't investigate Holstein's shuttle. The dwarf was even more distinctive than Peter's sister.

Two jumps to Terra, he thought. Or coming the other way. It's a safe bet that there's a working HPG here on New Dallas. Let's hope that they don't have anyone closer because the chances are mighty slim that the Word of Blake will be inclined to believe that the core and the 'Mechs are scrap.

That means we have two weeks, give or take, to finish loading and get out of here.


Chapter 11
Nadir Jump Point, Oliver System
Free Worlds League Space
22 February 3063

"Are you sure this is going to work?" Peter asked, eyeing the lashed together rig secured to Glowworm's deck. It had taken the dropship four days to reach the Bifrost, which was waiting for them with it's Kearny-Fuchida drive fully charged and a fresh IFF block that claimed it was a Combine-registered ship. No one would particularly doubt that story in Oliver, since the system was within a couple of jumps of the Draconis Combine and House Kurita was still paying the League back for wartime loans of equipment from the Clan Invasion.

"The simulator or the refit?" Clovis Holstein wiped his hands clean on a rag. "In the first case, it's not a proper simulator - I can't get a fully articulated rig in here and Captan Colium would probably have my guts if I tried."

"Better than five tons bouncing around on my decks? I would indeed," agreed the dropship's owner and commander, who had turned up to watch what promised to be a spectacle.

"But all the controls are working and any cockpits, even as old as these one, can run simulations." The dwarf tucked the rag away. "All I needed to do was wire them up and fiddle with the coding a little to reflect what we're going to be doing with them."

Peter rubbed his chin. "Yeah. I know a lot of mechwarrior families keep a spare cockpit rigged up like this, it's better than no simulator at all. I was thinking more of what you have in mind for the Mackies. I've never heard of this sort of refit."

"It isn't factory level work, kid. But your sister gave me the idea that if the engine is overpowered, then shaving off some weight to take full advantage of that could turn these lemons into something pretty decent. It all depends on if you can get the parts."

"I think I can manage." Peter went over to the row of four dismounted cockpits and opened the hatch of the one marked with a 1. "Sears, you want to try the other one? It's been a while since I strapped on a Mech so I should try and get some of the rust off."

The other mechwarrior glanced around. "I don't see why not. Don't expect me to go easy on you, though."

"In your dreams, hotshot."

The inside of the cockpit was a strange experience - the basic controls hadn't changed much over the centuries but the Mackie had additional displays, particularly detailing the status of the 'Mech. The holodisplay that overlaid tactical data for the mechwarrior was bulkier than Peter was familiar with and projected data across a 180 degree arc rather than the standard 160.

Still, the seat and neurohelmet were as he'd expected, even if the latter wouldn't actually be doing anything. It felt wrong to strap in without stripping down to shorts and cooling vest, but the cockpit wouldn't heat up the way an active 'Mech's would. Maybe it was more like one of the arcade simulators he'd heard about while at the Nagelring - a place for mall-rats to play at being mechwarriors.

The screens lit up, displaying a canal, bridged by a monorail track. Low commercial buildings this side, apartment blocks on the other and beyond them towering skyscrapers. City-fighting, not exactly his favorite exercise but one that would be all too important if they reached New Avalon.

No. They would get there, he told himself. They had to. What Catherine predicted was a war that would be fought for five years across more than eight hundred worlds, killing millions and utterly ending the dreams of his parents.

The 'Mech status lit up and he checked his weapon payload. An extended range laser in the centre chest, a particle projection cannon in the left arm and an ultra autocannon opposite. The high weapon mountings of the arms reminded him of his JagerMech from back in Skye.

"Straight skirmish," Clovis' voice announced. "Good luck, both of you."

Peter pushed the pedals down and the Mackie lumbered forwards, slashing across the shallow canal and towards the centre of the city. He flipped from visual light to infrared and then night vision. All seemed to work. Magscan also worked when he tried it, but it was next to useless surrounded by buildings with metal frameworks inside them, which was accurate enough.

Nothing interrupted Peter as he marched the Mackie in among the city blocks, following the roads and leaving a trail of incidental destruction as the blocky feet smashed through ground cars and street lights with equal ease. At least he hadn't battered any buildings yet...

A high pitched squeal and red flashes on the holodisplay alerted him that he was under attack. The view shook, simulating the shaking he'd normally have experienced as a second 'Mech unloaded into him from his left rear quarter.

Swivelling, Peter brought his PPC to bear and discharged it, following with the chest laser and then his autocannon as each crossed the corner where the other 'Mech had fired from.

The PPC dug into the barrel chest of Searcy's Mackie but the laser missed as the other Mechwarrior backpedalled into cover and the autocannon blew a fourth-floor corner office apart. Some of the shrapnel may have hit the retreating 'Mech but Peter wouldn't count on that.

He pushed the Mackie after the other warrior, pleased by the speed. From its size and the reactor he'd expected it to handle sluggishly, like Uncle Morgan's old Atlas. Instead, the Mackie was only fractionally less responsible than a JagerMech. Hopefully the reality would match up to what Clovis had programmed into the sims.

As he pounded towards the corner he checked his damage. About a third of the protection over his PPC was gone and a ragged scar had been gouged through the armour of the Mackie's left leg. A smattering of other damage suggested light missile or cluster round damage - he hadn't seen missile contrails which suggested Searcy's Mackie had a LB 10-X autocannon.

He reached the corner just in time to see Searcy backing around the building's next corner, having fallen back almost behind it. Peter fired his PPC a fraction early and the brief beam of charged particles barely clipped the searchlight on the Mackie's right shoulder. The laser shot was lower, scarring the chest alongside the damage from his earlier shot and the autocannon rounds spread across Searcy's own autocannon mount and the building behind him.

Keeping the momentum up, Peter ignored the autocannon burst that crashed across the left chest of his 'Mech and pushed the Mackie as fast as he could. Backing up was always slower, so he could catch up and then...

He rounded the corner only to see that Searcy hadn't backed up at all. The prince triggered everything but the PPC was too close to focus correctly. The swinging autocannon jammed muzzle first into the corner of the building and dragged backwards, pulling him off-balance as he fired his laser, the weapon slashing a shallow trail into Searcy's.

Then Searcy's Mech stepped forward and almost lazily kicked the legs out from under Peter's. Automatically bracing for an impact that didn't come, Peter saw the sky between the buildings, oddly disorientating when his inner ear told him he was upright even though the Mackie was.

Searcy fired two chest mounted lasers into the PPC mount, following them a moment later with his PPC. Unlike Peter's there was no focusing issue - he must have an extended range mount.

There wasn't any armour left on the left arm and Peter tried to roll the Mackie to shield the weapon with his right side. Backing up, Searcy let loose with more cluster rounds from his autocannon, peppering the Mackie. One shot hit the cockpit's faceplate, causing the holodisplay to generate hairline cracks that weren't reflected on the actual faceplate behind it in real life.

With a frustrated cry, Peter managed to get the Mackie upright again but there was no sign of Searcy or his 'Mech. The man had done a hit and fade, textbook urban combat and Peter had fallen for it.

Dammit.

"Player three has entered the match," a robotic voice announced.

"What?" Peter released one joystick to adjust his microphone. "Clovis did you rip some of this software off an arcade."

"I had the code handy," the engineer said unabashedly. "And your sister was getting upset at seeing you getting your ass beat so she's decided to join the scrap."

He shook his head. "Catherine's not a mechwarrior, and he is not beating my ass."

"I'm sure you have him right where you want him," Holstein said with evident amusement. "Which if you check your tactical display..."

A blue icon - Catherine's 'Mech obviously - was visible on the street map of the battlefield and an intermittent red marker popped into view. Searcy.

Pushing the Mackie to maximum speed, Peter raced along the street and turned at an intersection, ducking it under the monorail and emerging into a plaza cluttered with food stands and surrounded on four sides by what seemed to be hotels.

Two Mackies blazed away at each other, one backed up against a hotel and the other occupying the gap between two. Given the former's wildly inaccurate fire - it was doing far more damage to the hotels than its enemy - Peter deduced that it was Catherine and opened up on the other Mackie.

He had the satisfaction of seeing the armour broken on the right chest before Searcy's Mackie smoothly retreated behind cover, pivoting to put the wounded armour behind the building first. In a final salvo the Solaris mechwarrior fired his laser's into Peter's Mackie and his PPC into Catherine's.

The weapons display highlighted Peter's PPC in red, indicating one of the laser shots had hit it and put the weapon out of action. Catherine's 'Mech slumped backwards against the hotel behind it. A real building might have collapsed upon it but either this was made of stronger stuff or the simulation wasn't quite that realistic.

"Catherine, are you okay?"

"Fallen," she said plaintively. "I can't get up."

"...right." The stubby arms weren't any help, but this was just a sim. "Rock the controls a bit. It's not realistic but without a neurohelmet the proper way won't work either." Peter moved his Mackie to cover her as she worked the 'Mech free and the computer judged her to be upright again. "If you really want to learn to use a 'Mech, we'll need to get you fitted out and do this with a real 'Mech. No offense, Clovis."

"None taken. I just wish I had some popcorn."

Peter's damage display lit up again. "Stop distracting me!" he shouted and wheeled, firing his autocannon as Searcy moved behind cover yet again.

A full alpha strike crashed past Peter's left side and ripped a hole in the building Searcy was behind... as well as carrying away what was left of Peter's PPC.

"...sorry," Catherine said in a small voice.

He forced himself to count to ten before responding. "It's fine, it was broken anyway. Let's move back and get to some more open territory so he can't sneak up on us."

The two Mackies retreated, Catherine taking the lead as Peter focused at least half his attention on their rear arc. He noticed more property damage and realised his sister was absently bashing her autocannon arm against the buildings along the side of the street. "Try not to hit the buildings, Cat, it's not doing the 'Mech any good."

She stopped and adjusted her course, walking more centrally in the street.

"Okay, good," he said encouragingly and then a salvo of fire lanced out of an intersection, smashing the left knee of Catherine's Mackie. She lost control immediately and the 'Mech crashed down onto the street.

Wheeling into the turn, Peter marched past, firing down the street. His shots slashed through the air underneath Searcy's Mackie, which was standing on the monorail track, and return fire blew into the right chest of his own 'Mech with disturbing precision.

Raising his guns, Peter tried to track on the matching damage to Searcy's chest but the other mechwarrior twisted to use his left side as protection and fired again.

With a flash, the holodisplay went dead and the controls followed. "What?" He checked the screens and they were still live... although an overlay reported 'Ejection'. "Clovis...?"

"He hit your ammo bins," the engineer told him. "No cellular ammo storage on these crates. Sorry, kid, he got you."

"I noticed," Peter snapped. Damn, he'd not thought much of Searcy - real mechwarriors like Kai Allard-Liao and Galen Cox had mopped the floor with Searcy's rival Vandergriff and another gladiator back in 3056. I guess I was measuring myself on the wrong scale, he thought. "How's Catherine doing?"

Clovis' voice was pained. "Kid, she didn't last thirty seconds once you were done."

"Fair enough." He pulled off the neurohelmet and ran his fingers through his hair. "Can you put me through to Searc- to Sears?"

"Sure."

A moment later, Searcy's voice was audible. "I hope I lived up to your expectations, sir."

"Yeah. It was... good work." He rubbed his jaw. "And you know what the reward for that is?"

The triumph leached out of the older man's voice. "More work?"

"Yeah. I obviously need more practise and if Cat expects to use one of these for real she's going to need intensive practise. Can you guess who just got appointed chief instructor."

"I'm not sure how much good it'll do her in a real fight," Searcy said honestly. "These simulators have limits."

"I noticed, but hopefully we'll have working 'Mechs by the time she's ready for them." And by the time we need them, he added to himself.

[alkemita]

Have to admit, I missed the Firefly references the first time through, but it makes for quite a fun read.

Just waiting for the complications to kick in now...

[Tyrchon]

Nice! I've been hoping for a new Drakensis story lately.  This seems to have an interesting premise, with a focus being on Peter Steiner-Davion and a supposed crazy, time-traveling version of his sister(?) Katherine(Catherine) that has more in common with River Tam than the sister he knows and remembers.  Also, nice seeing some Firefly references in each installment.

I have to say that I like that Drak has pulled in some of the more interesting, but lesser used characters of the Battletech Universe.  Seeing Clovis Holstein again is great, since he really didn't get much coverage after the Warrior Trilogy outside a small mention in Lethal Heritage and a quick appearance in Blood Legacy.  He is one of those characters in Batteltech that is criminally under utilized, especially given his technical genius and history with some of the more major characters and parties in the Federated Commonwealth.  Seeing Michael Searcy show up was a surprise, but not unwelcome.  I kind of always wondered what happened to him after Illusions of Victory but he never made an appearance or got a mention again, even when everything went to hell during the Jihad and it was "All-Hands On Deck!" to try and stop rampaging toaster-worshipers.  I'm now curious if some other lesser utilized characters might not make an appearance and play a role in the story since Drak has a great way of weaving together the strength of characters' personalities with the events of the setting and the technical aspects of the universe.

[cklammer]

Superb  :thumbsup:

[Daryk]

Just caught up, and am glad I have!   :thumbsup:

I'm surprised they got away as clean as they did from the WoB, but I'm sure that's not the last we'll see of them.

[drakensis]

Part Three - Addicks

And all those things I didn't say
Wrecking balls inside my brain
I will scream them loud tonight
Can you hear my voice this time?

Chapter 12
Nadir Jump Point, Small World System
Duchy of Small, Chaos March
17 March 3063

A knocking on the bunkroom door dragged Peter from sleep. "What?" he grumbled, looking at the clock. He felt as if his head had barely touched the pillow but according to the clock he'd been asleep for about three hours.

"Someone at the door," Catherine yawned from her own bunk. She rolled over and pulled her blankets closer around herself.

"Thanks," he sighed and threw his legs off the side of the bunk. "Who is it?"

"Hogg."

"Be right with you." He rubbed his eyes and then yanked a fresh - well, mostly fresh - jumpsuit out of his bag and shoved one leg into it, hopping as he wrestled the other in.

"Shouldn't have an open door policy." Cat reached for the curtain and pulled it closed, except for a crack.

"I don't," he sighed. "But I'm in charge." Not bothering with the upper half of the jumpsuit he just knotted the sleeves roughly around his waist and slid the door open. "What's so important you need to get me up at this hour, Hogg?"

Hogg - about Victor's height and twice as far around the waist - raked his greasy greying hair back out of his face. "I want to talk business, Morgan."

"And it couldn't wait until morning?"

"I wanted to strike while the iron is hot," the prospector told him. "The boys and I have been talking and we've been cooped up aboard here for a good long time."

"Going on a month now, I'll grant you."

Hogg shook his head, sending the hair around his head flying around and back into his face. "I'm counting from when we left Zaniah. That time on New Dallas doesn't count."

"Does what we found there count?"

"Only when we turn it into money."

Peter nodded. This was beginning to make sense. "And we're one more jump from the Federated Commonwealth, where we part ways - me with my share and you and the boys with yours."

"There's a war going on, Mr. Morgan. I'm not so keen on going all the way there," Hogg explained. "Now I can understand not wanting to stop in the Free Worlds League, since Thomas Marik's old man was more than prone to say that what's his is his and what's yours is his and that sort of thing runs in the family."

There was a snicker from from Catherine's bunk.

"You see." Hogg nodded in the direction of the bunk. "Miss Morgan knows we're right there. But that was two jumps back - that last jump through New Stevens means we've clear. And Small World's a good place to make the split."

"I didn't think the Chaos March was a good place for any sort of business, Hogg. Not with Sun-Tzu Liao eager to retake every world his grandfather lost and half those worlds still squabbling over who constitutes the government."

The old man shook his head. "Now I won't say you're wrong there, Mr Morgan, not for some worlds. But Small World's settled right down, it's even partnered up with Ingress and formed their own little interstellar union. That's as stable as it gets around here... and a lot more stable than any world where the Steiners and the Davions are settling their differences."

Peter rubbed his jaw. "Look, I have a schedule, Hogg. I'm not breaking off the Glowworm to drop you off on Small World. That's going to add two weeks to getting... where I'm headed."

Hogg shook his head. "Well we're not going any further. And there's a lot more people in my crew and J.D.'s and... well, Mael Colium doesn't count either way but I'd say you're outvoted."

"The isn't a democracy," Peter pointed out. "I'm in charge and we'll cash you out on Addicks."

"Addicks!" Hogg raked his hair back. "Are you out of your mind? Haven't you heard the news?"

"What news?"

"Ardan Sortek is invading the system," Catherine informed them from her bunk.

"...well, yes." Hogg confirmed. "Your sister is well informed," he added as an aside to Peter. "But there's no sense going to a system with that going on. Even if they don't shoot at you, Holstein and Colium will have their ships commandeered and probably the entire cargo will be claimed too! We'll be lucky to get a promissory note and that doesn't spend very well."

"That isn't going to be a problem, Hogg. I know a guy." My godfather, Ardan Sortek, for one.

"You may think you know a guy, Mr Morgan, but I don't know him. And I don't trust him. You can never tell what'll happen when soldiers come into it."

Peter leant forwards. "And what do you plan to do, Hogg, if I say no. Mutiny?"

The old man laughed. "Mutiny? This isn't a military expedition, Morgan. No, we'll bring in the lawyers."

"...what?"

"The lawyers. We'll hit you for endangerment, for withholding our pay, for entrapping us here and not letting us leave. The local government may not be all that well armed," Hogg finished, "But they can keep you from leaving and by the time the courts settle it'll be six months... maybe twelve. What'll that do for your schedule?"

"You son of a -"

"Mr Hogg," Catherine asked, pulling the curtain back a little. "Why're you arguing with my brother?"

Hogg flushed. "Well, you heard me! I just explained."

"But you're making it sound like there's nothing save for going to Small World and going on to Addicks?" she asked. "Aren't there any dropships leaving here for Small World - if this is stable territory then there must be trading ships?"

"Uh, well, yes, I suppose so," the man admitted. "There are four other jumpships here so I would guess there are dropships."

"Then why not just move your share of the salvage to one of those. That way you get what you want and we're only slowed by however long it takes to transship it."

Peter opened his mouth to object and then swallowed the remark. It was a fair solution.

"Well... I suppose that would work. But how do we pay for the transit?" asked Hogg.

"Take a loan against your salvage," she offered. "We can front you a deposit... that's fair."

He hummed and then nodded. "I suppose. I'll talk to the boys and see how they feel about it."

"Boys?" she asked in confusion. "There are children aboard?"

"No, I mean... you know, the crew?"

"I know Burt and Emma!"

Peter groaned. "Get some sleep, Cat. I'll sort out the rest with Hogg."

She waved her hand. "I like your white suit, Mr Hogg."

"Good night, Catherine." Peter dragged the curtain closed and ushered Hogg - who wasn't wearing a suit, white or otherwise - out of the room.

The older man sighed. "Are you sure she's getting better? Because she's a sweet lady but she's..."

"She's not stupid and she's not deaf!" Catherine called after them.

Peter slid the door closed firmly. "Hogg, I'll make the deal she suggested... but one more word about my sister and your ship to Small World will be the worst rattletrap I can find."

The old prospector thrust out his hand. "Mr Morgan, your sister just cut you a deal."

I'll be glad to see the back of you, Peter thought as he shook hands with the man. At least once we're at Addicks, uncle Ardan will be on our side.


Chapter 13
Johnson City, Addicks
Draconis March, Federated Commonwealth
31 March 3063

When he envisaged meeting his godfather again, handcuffs hadn't featured. Peter shook them in front of him. The guards had used the good sort, not impossible to get out of but hard enough that even his SERE training wouldn't let him open before it was noticed.

It wasn't any great comfort that both Cat and Clovis were similarly bound, something that was clearly uncomfortable for the latter with his short arms. Cat shook hers in emulation of Peter. "I'm not a number," she declared. "I am a free man. Woman. I think."

The guards - members of the Eighth Crucis Light Infantry - glared at her. "Keep it quiet," one warned. "Or we'll put you in the brig until the Marshal has time for you."

"It's okay, Cat," Peter assured her. "Just do what the nice corporal said."

She moved her gaze around the four guards and then reached over to tug his sleeve. "I see a corporal," she whispered - not all that quietly. "But he's not very nice."

The man in question grabbed Cat's shoulder and pulled her back away from Peter.

"He means that one," Clovis told her. "For the Crushers, this is pretty nice."

Cat opened her lips and then paused, raised her hand and mimed zipping her mouth closed.

"Smart ass," the corporal grumbled.

The door to the detention room opened. The Eighth Crucis Light Infantry had essentially taken over a police station to manage the various captives they were dealing with. The three new arrivals were only a drop in the bucket compared to the Draconis March Militia personnel who'd been captured since Ardan Sortek arrived on the strategically placed world with the Davion Assault Guards Regimental Combat Team and the First NAIS Cadet Cadre. The Eighth were just a small part of his task force.

The first people through the door were additional guards - bringing the total number in the room to eight. After that came four officers in battle-dress - two quite young and obviously aides, accompanying a stocky grizzled man with a Marshal's rank badge in black on his collar and a taller, balding officer that Peter recognised at once.

The last man looked over the three of them for a moment and then shook his head. "Well if you're not Clovis Holstein, you're one hell of an imposter."

"There aren't many men of my stature," the dwarf said drily. "And fewer who have my panache."

"Is that another word for paunch?" Ardan Sortek said wryly. "Karla must be feeding you well."

"She does try."

Peter's godfater nodded. "You understand the need for security."

"I'm not so worried about the dwarf," the Marshal interrupted. "But these two... they can't really be who they say they are."

Ardan looked them over and a chill went down Peter's spine. He'd known Ardan all his life but never once had he seen this expression. "I'd like to think that they are, but it does seem far fetched," he said slowly. "And we don't have the means to check their bona fides."

"I gave your people my ID card," Peter offered.

"Yes." Sortek leant back against the table and continued to study him clinically. "Unfortunately, while duplicating an AFFC officer's identity card isn't easy, nor is it beyond the capabilities of certain agencies... and it would be easiest of all for those under Katherine Steiner-Davion's control. Since they have access to the normal process of creating such cards and such."

He cracked a smile. "And of course there's the question of who the young lady is, since the Archon has made several public appearances on New Avalon in the last few days, so it seems very unlikely she's rushed all the way here."

"Then ask me something only I'd know," Peter suggested. "There must be something that only the real Peter Steiner-Davion could tell you."

Sortek tilted the head. "I haven't seen Peter in years. I have no way of knowing what he might or might not have told someone... although I suppose there's one thing he probably wouldn't have willingly shared."

"Like what?"

"I was the first one to take you out in a BattleMech, wasn't I? What do you remember about that."

Peter closed his eyes. "Really?"

"I can't be sure Peter might not have been forced to tell such an anecdote somehow but he'd never have volunteered that information."

"So?" asked the Marshal. "What was so special about this?"

"Well you weren't the first to take me in a Mech," Peter pointed out. "Father did when I was just a baby but I don't remember it. When you took me out in your Victor I was five."

"Yes?"

He sighed. "If anyone repeats this, I'll kill them. I was so excited that you had to stop and let me use the cockpit toilet."

"Really?"

Sortek chuckled. "He's right, Stephan. That's how it happened."

So the marshal was Stephan Cooper, commander of the Davion Assault Guards. Good to know, Peter thought. "And I'd rather it didn't get around."

"We all have these little stories of our childhood," Clovis said cheerily.

"Yes, but only royalty's are of interest to all and sundry." Peter raised his cuffed hands. "Is that convincing enough?"

"For now. I'll want to check your story, but for now..." Sortek looked over at the corporal. "Uncuff them. You're now a security detail - keep them out of trouble but keep them safe too."

Peter waited while the key was applied and his wrists freed. "I wasn't planning on being here for long, uncle."

"That's too bad." Ardan pulled back a chair and sat down, "May I ask where you were planning to go? I assume you have a plan?"

"What I had in mind was New Avalon," he explained. "I have some information from Catherine that suggests that... the Archon is planning to purge the First Davion Guards. I can't see your cousin standing for that."

"And you're going to stop her?" asked Cooper. "You and this lookalike?"

"Catherine is my sister, Marshal. I've checked that, and you're welcome to do another blood test if you want." Peter leant forwards. "Our dropship is carrying more than a hundred partially intact BattleMechs. If I can find the right parts - and the right people - then I can reinforce Bishop Sortek with an additional regiment of BattleMechs. That might be enough to give him a chance."

"That's a rather ambitious plan." Ardan smiled though. "Your father might have liked it, but New Avalon is in the Crucis March and Katherine's hold is stronger there. She also has the Davion Guards outnumbered three to one on New Avalon. Not to mention several warships at her disposal. On first glance I don't like your chances."

"Nor do I. But I don't like this war either. It's only a few months old and it's only going to get uglier. Civil wars are the worst wars for that - you must have had the same history lessons I got about the Davion Civil War and similar struggles. How long do you think it could last."

"Realistically, years." The smile slipped off Ardan's face. "We're still building resources and support. I'm sure you've guessed, that's why we're here."

"Addicks' Department of the Quartermaster base. It's one of the biggest supply hubs in the Federated Commonwealth, sending shipments as far away as Robinson, Kathil and even Skye." Peter hesitated and then decided to bet on what Catherine had told him. "My information is that the Sixth Federated Commonwealth RCT have dug in there and you're trying to talk them out."

Cooper leant forwards. "You have a good source of information. What is it?"

Peter's eyes flicked for a moment to Catherine and none of the others missed it.

Ardan nodded slowly. "Your sister."

"Cat," she introduced herself.

He bowed his head gracefully towards her. "And I am Ardan."

"I... think we've met," she said tenatively. "There was a rose garden... behind a manor house surrounded by wheat fields..."

Ardan nodded. "You're thinking of my family home no doubt. And how do you know this?"

"She -"

His godfather raised one hand sharply. "I asked her, Peter."

Cat stared across the table and then said slowly: "I remember things. An assassin chasing Omi Kurita from Mogyorod to Luthien. Kai Allard-Liao rescuing Clan warriors from ComStar and the Free Worlds League from my brother. An ambush at York, Bulldog, Serpent, Sharon Byran dying of pride and falcon talons." She faltered. "I... It's a jumble. Marik burns Regulus and they destroy Gibson." Her words began to hasten, tripping over them. "Warships above Camelot, fire raining down on Avalon, Black Thorns on Galedon and Peacock on the Dragon throne -"

Peter reached out and caught her wrist. "Cat, enough. We're on Addicks."

Cooper leant back in his chair, eyes narrow. "Is she insane?"

"Seine is a river in Paris, de Nile is a river in Egypt," the young woman snapped back. "Cooper and copper, guards versus guards, the sixth dies but the fifth fights on steadfastly."

Ardan blinked and steepled his fingers, eying Cat over them. "You said copper. Do you mean Louise Kopper?"

"You can't be taking this seriously," Cooper snorted.

Peter glared at him. "She led us to a cache of Terran Hegemony war material that had been buried for half a millennium. I don't claim to know how, but she's not been wrong yet."

"Butterflies everywhere," Catherine said with a nod.

"Kopper," Ardan said again. "What do you know about her, Catherine."

"Fifth Lyran Guards," she told him. "That woman sent them to destroy the First NAIS cadets."

He nodded. "That would match what we've heard. It's not impossible that they could come here, and casualties digging McConnel's Sixth RCT out will be bad enough. Adding another RCT probably wouldn't stop you Stephan, but it could cost us a great deal."

"If they really are coming."

"Do you really want to take that chance?" asked Peter.

The two senior officers exchanged looks. "Give him one more chance to surrender or withdraw, Stephan," Ardan ordered firmly. "But move your troops into position on Loknar because if he turns you down then we'll storm the base tomorrow."

"We already have the cadets picketing it," Cooper pointed out. "That just leaves the local militia to watch out for stray survivors of the DMM."

"I think that's an acceptable risk. We need those supplies." Ardan turned back to Peter. "And I assume that that's where you want to get parts from?"

He nodded, glad that things were going their way. "That's right."

His godfather turned to Clovis. "And these 'Mechs of his... you vouch for them?"

"It'll take time, but yeah. I can get them restored."

That got a nod from Ardan. "Another regiment of 'Mechs isn't something I can turn down. We'll see what we can do. As for the rest... well, we'll see."

"Really?" Peter's spirits lifted, but the old man shook his head.

"I said we'll see, Peter. In the meantime, make yourself comfortable."


Chapter 14
Loknar DQ, Addicks
Draconis March, Federated Commonwealth
1 April 3063

Jerry Foster's Locust staggered as LRMs arced up over the wall of the compound and rained down over the upper hull and cockpit.

"Keep moving!" Leutenant Melanie Troia shouted. "Don't give them a target they can focus down."

There was a crackle of explosions behind the wall as Jerry junked his 'Mech to one side. Artillery strikes, Conner Sortek thought as he rushed his Battle Hawk closer to give his classmate extra cover.

Another volley of LRMs flew past them both and the anti-missile system behind Conner's cockpit spat flechettes into their path, thinning their number. The missiles overshot, plastering the ground ahead of the recon lance.

"Thanks!" Jerry said and pushed the Locust into a run, ahead of the other three 'Mechs.

The ground seemed to explode where the twenty-ton 'Mech stood and he staggered to a halt. "Thunder LRMs!"

Conner swore and hit his jump-jets. The missiles hadn't been aimed to hit, they'd been laying a minefield ahead of them. Fortunately it couldn't be a large one and he soared over the impact site, followed by Troia's Valkyrie and Jasper Carrott's Jenner.

Jerry was backing his Locust up, the 'Mech seeming to mince as the damaged feet didn't adjust to the ground correctly - actuator damage, Conner guessed.

"Foster, get out of here," Troia snapped. "If you can't run you can't -"

Her signal cut off abruptly as a stream of tracer fire intercepted her 'Mech.

"- back up!" she continued a moment later, "We got company!"

Two 'Mechs had perched on top of the wall - an Enforcer and a Dervish, both classic House Davion designs. The Dervish pointed its spade-like hands towards Conner and he twisted away. Four missiles arching towards him showed he'd not managed to break the lock but only two hit as the anti-missile system chattered again.

Neither of the Short Range Missiles did much damage, but the Battle Hawk wasn't all that well protected to begin with. Conner slewed it around and raised his 'Mech's arms partly to bring the weapons to bear and partly to use them to shield his torso.

The Enforcer was nearer so he focused on that - three pulse lasers stitched holes in the blocky chest plate of the 'Mech but he couldn't get a lock for his Streak SRMs as the 'Mech leapt down to close the distance and to avoid the lasers - fired a moment later - by Jasper and Troia.

"Looks like we have their attention," the leutenant decided. "Pull back and let's draw them away from the wall.

Conner jabbed down hard on his pedals, firing his jump-jets again to pull away and re-orientate for a withdrawal. Jasper might be able to do that on speed alone - his Jenner could keep pace with Jerry's Locust now that the latter had damage - but Conner and Troia weren't so fortunate. The Enforcer and Dervish were collectively almost as heavy as the entire lance and they had top speeds almost identical to those of the Valkyrie and the Battle Hawk.

There was thump from somewhere below Conner and he saw the status diagram update, highlighting his 'Mech's left leg in red. Armour penetration! Glancing at the enemy he saw the Enforcer's arms were lowered, muzzles still tracking the Battle Hawk's legs.

More missiles streaked at him from the Dervish and he somehow used the last reserves of power in the jump jets to skid aside. The Long Range Missiles were within their minimum arming range and missed clean but four Streaks tracked him and this time the antimissile system only clawed one out of the air, three more digging into his 'Mech's light rear armour.

He had basically no coverage on the rear of his torso, forcing him to swing the Battle Hawk at the hip as he ran away, shielding the vulnerable plating with his right arm and the pulse lasers.

Even as he thought that, more LRMs arched up over the wall. Fortunately they missed him, unfortunately they landed in his path and Conner had to turn the Battle Hawk aside in case they were more Thunder LRMs.

"Can someone take out that turret!" he cried as he fired his pulse lasers. The Enforcer was leading with its right arm and several pulses of energy marked along the autocannon barrel and up to the shoulder.

The Enforcer pilot fired the autocannon first and then rotated his own torso to shield the damaged right side and fire his laser. A few of the cluster rounds scored hits on the left leg, tearing into its exposed myomers but the laser slashed armour away from the right arm of the Battle Hawk, stripping most of the casing around the pulse lasers.

"Artillery strike on the way," Troia snapped. "Can you still move?"

Conner felt the Battle Hawk sake as he pushed it towards maximum speed. "They've lamed me!" he reported tersely. "Get clear. I'll try to buy you time!"

"Don't give me that, Sortek!"

Firing his jump jets carefully, Conner skimmed away from the wall and the pursuit, bringing his left arm to bear. This time the Streak launcher managed to lock on and both missiles rocketed from the launcher, one cratering the right thigh of the Enforcer and the other smashing into the low dome of metal above the cockpit.

LRMs from Troia's Valkyrie added to the damage but the Dervish had hung back just far enough that its own LRMs could lock and both its launchers opened up, deluging Conner in missiles.

The AMS did its best but armour blew away and he came down off-balance, which must have been just the opening the Enforcer was waiting for. As Conner tried to stabilize the Battle Hawk a stream of high explosive rounds hammered into the 'Mech's left hip and the joint locked up entirely.

Fighting the gyro, Conner held the 'Mech upright but then more missiles came in from behind the wall. He got a brief impression of his 'Mech's left arm erupting in a fireball and then the cockpit blew away and his ejection seat hurled him up and away from the tumbling wreck that had been his Battle Hawk.

The change in perspective was almost as daunting as the hammer blow of the ejection, followed by another sharp jerk as his parachute opened. Training kicked in and he grabbed the control handles, trying to let the light wind carry him as far as he could from the firefight.

Without 'Mech sensors it was harder to identify the Mechs. The two navy blue ones were clearly the Sixth FedCom pair, but with blocky chests and domed heads it was only by the difference in their weapons fire that he could distinguish them.

More distant, and receding even as he dropped towards the ground, the three bottle green survivors of his lance were retreating. Troia was too responsible an officer to try to come back for him.

The ground hit Conner's feet unexpectedly and he folded his knees, trying to absorb the impact and bring the chute under control at the same time. He succeeded in the first but failed in the second and was tugged trailing along the ground as the wind caught the panels again and yanked him off his feet.

Cursing, the young mechwarrior freed a survival knife from his boot and sawed through the cords on his left shoulder. The chute lost its shape and fell to the ground, letting him claw free of his harness. The rest of his ejection chair, along with most of his survival gear, was a hundred feet away.

Conner tore off his helmet and stared up at the two 'Mechs stalking across the battlefield towards his chair and then himself.

"Nope," he decided and searched for a fold in the ground to hide him. The FedCom pilots would probably want a prisoner rather than to squash him underfoot but 'probably' suddenly felt remarkably unreassuring.

To his ashamed relief the two towering 'Mechs ignored him to pound after his comrades. It was too much to ask that they had missed him entirely though and he looked around, wondering from which direction supporting infantry would come to intercept him.

A distant whistling had Conner bury himself in the ground and pray fervently that the cannon cockers on whichever side was firing had better things than to lob shells at a dismounted Mechwarrior.

The answer was yes and an explosion behind the wall - towering over a BattleMech and gigantic to a man on foot - marked the death of the LRM turret that had fired on him earlier. From the sounds of it a shell had found the magazine.

The whine of a turbine engine alerted Conner to the imminent arrival of an Armoured Personnel Carrier and he looked up to see it crawling towards him, the turret-mounted machine gun definitely tracking his position as the small armoured vehicle circled the wreck of his Battle Hawk. He saw a stylised tiger's head marking on the flank, confirming it was the Sixth's infantry.

He'd just about resigned himself to captivity when the APC suddenly reversed to shelter behind his fallen 'Mech, the turret swivelling away from him.

Moments later the Enforcer returned to view, missing an arm and running faster than Conner would have cared to push the 'Mech. There was no sign of the Dervish and more 'Mechs were behind the Enforcer, two, four... a dozen, the lightest of them an eighty-ton Victor like the one his father had piloted when Conner was a boy.

There was a crack of something passing the sound barrier and the Enforcer lurched forwards, its remaining arm torn away.

A Nightstar spearheading the incoming assault 'Mech company brought its autocannon around to finish the job but before it could fire, a Stalker opened up with its full missile batteries and blew the medium 'Mech almost in two.

A trail of tracer fire lashed out from the APC but all that did was give the Nightstar a new target and the assault Mech's arsenal ripped through the light vehicle with contemptuous ease.

Conner pressed his face into the dirt to avoid being blinded by the weapons fire as the Assault Mechs began to hammer on the wall, joined by further artillery fire. They couldn't breach it, it was simply too thick, but within moments they'd broken down enough that Mechs could begin to scramble up it, joined by those few assault 'Mechs in the company that had jump jets.

Scrambling to his feet, Conner watched them enter the fortified supply base and then staggered towards the APC. There was nothing more he could do in the battle, he thought, but at least the APC might have something more protective for him to wear than cooling vest and shorts.

At his first sight of the interior, he doubled up and unashamed threw up, covering the bloody dirt with his breakfast.

The sound of footsteps brought him up and he saw an infantryman in stained fatigues staring at him, rifle clutched in one hand but clearly with no thought of aiming it at him.

"Are they..." the man said weakly. "Did anyone..."

He's younger than me, Conner thought. Must be a recent recruit. "I don't know," he said. "Help me check for survivors and a medical kit."

Presented with direction, the soldier slung his rifle and joined Conner in the search. The tiger badge on his shoulder and the NAIS diamonds on Conner's vest didn't matter now. And besides, they were part of the same armed forces... weren't they?

[drakensis]

Chapter 15
Johnson City, Addicks
Draconis March, Federated Commonwealth
2 April 3063

Characteristically, Ardan Sortek hadn't taken over the penthouse of the hotel for his headquarters. Instead he was occupying a two bedroom suite that had probably been chosen for it's terrible view - there were very few possible sniping positions that could have someone putting shots in the windows. Peter thought that the only reason it was even a two bedroom suite was because Ardan had an aide to accommodate.

"I'm sorry I had to take precautions," his father's champion told them once they'd been admitted to the suite and taken seats on the couch. The aide, having offered drinks, delivered Catherine's flavoured water (Peter had dismissed the idea) and then withdrew tactfully. "There have been a couple of imposters claiming to be you, Peter, even if they didn't make it past even basic identity checks. We couldn't risk this being a more professional attempt."

"There were?" Peter rubbed his chin.

"Some people like the idea of being royalty. One was granted a pardon on condition of therapy and the second one should get out of prison in a few more years." Ardan had two fingers of whisky in his glass as he sank into an armchair facing them. "Abbot Giles confirms your identity and we've done another blood test on Catherine."

"I take it that it confirmed her identity?"

Ardan paused and then sipped from his glass. "It confirms your relationship, yes. Identity is something else."

"What else can it be?" Peter demanded. "Mother and father can hardly have hidden another daughter!"

"Your parents were very resourceful people. Admittedly I see no reason that they would have done such a thing, but there have been some very creative acts of espionage over the years."

"I am Catherine with a C," Peter's sister said firmly and then hesitated. "I don't know who is on the throne."

"No, and nor do we," Ardan confirmed smoothly. "We can hardly accuse her of being an imposter."

"Why not?" asked Peter. "Challenge her to take a blood test against... hmm."

"Yes, against whom? You, Yvonne and Victor all have an invested interest in discrediting her. Catherine is an unknown and, unfortunately, the explosion that killed Arthur left too little to use. She has every reason to deny such an allegation and unfortunately, Victor's credibility in presenting Catherine would be... lacking."

"Well why not?" demanded Peter and then the penny dropped. "Oh. Joshua Marik."

Ardan gave him a rueful smile. "Unfortunately, yes. I don't believe your brother had any intention of a long-term replacement of the Captain-General's heir with an imposter but presenting Catherine as the 'real' second child of Hanse and Melissa would seem suspicious to everyone - particularly when we don't know if Katherine - with a K -" he added as an aside to Cat, "- would pass the test. If she did then she'd gain credibility and Victor would lose it."

Peter leant back into the couch. "Alright. That makes sense... although I have to wonder where she came from."

"It's not impossible, if admittedly far-fetched, to think that someone may have obtained genetic samples of your parents and created their own Steiner-Davion in a test-tube. The technology certainly exists - the Clans make widespread use of it."

"That would be kind of a lapse of security. Then again, if Katrina isn't my sister then I have to wonder how she got through security checks"

Ardan looked pained. "Unfortunately, such checks are inevitably controlled by people and she brought her own inner security from Tharkad."

"And no one noticed?"

Catherine reached over and touched his sleeve. "The Captain-General rules the League based largely on House Marik vouching for his kinship to them after his time with ComStar."

"Well, yes. But he's a Marik." Peter saw a flicker of surprise on Ardan's face. "Isn't he?"

The older man shook his head slowly. "Now how did you know that, Catherine."

"Are you serious? Thomas Marik is an imposter? And we know about it?" He rose to his feet. "My God, Ardan!"

"Please sit down, Peter."

He obeyed slowly. "Why isn't Victor doing anything about it?"

Ardan steepled his hands. "Destabilising the Free Worlds League isn't in our interests. Until relatively recently we were badly dependent on them for shipments of equipment to refit our armies to face the Clans and since then they've been one of the pillars of the Second Star League. Also, the Captain-General was supposedly tested intensively when he returned from ComStar in 3030."

Peter snapped his fingers. "But not in 3036 when he returned after apparently dying in that bombing."

"We assume that such checks as were carried out were subverted. How, I'm not sure."

"Paul Marik would do anything for his brother," Catherine told them. "As Intelligence Minister he has the power to control such checks."

"But would he prop up an imposter?" asked Ardan thoughtfully.

"If his real brother asked him to, yes. Duncan Marik was losing support and the League's parliament would not accept a cyborg as Captain-General."

Peter groaned. "Marik's a cyborg, now? This is like a cheap novel."

"If he was sufficiently injured then Thomas might well have needed prosthetics." Ardan lifted his glass. "You could be wrong, Catherine, but it's a plausible explanation. Although once again, you seem to have sources of information we don't."

"Do you have any bombs to drop about Sun-Tzu Liao?" Peter asked. "Or Theodore Kurita? Why not go for a full sweep of the Inner Sphere?"

She hesitated and then sipped on her water. "We have a nephew."

Ardan closed his eyes wearily and Peter rose explosively from the couch and stalked to the drinks cabinet, rifling through it for a bottle of brandy. Half-filling a tumbler, he took a gulp and let it burn its way down his throat. "Okay. Omi, I assume?"

Catherine nodded.

"Could be worse."

"The Draconis March will go insane," Ardan predicted gloomily. "They've already got regiments occupying prefectural capitals after the raids last years. Now the Kuritas have a half-Davion heir the way they did back in the 2720s."

"Oddly enough, I trust Omi," Peter told him. "I met her on Solaris and I think she genuinely cares for Victor. The kid's obviously being kept a secret and we can rely on her to do that."

"Until her gardener assassinates her." Catherine rose and tried to hand him her empty glass. "Can I have more. Peter? Peter?"

Peter was surprised his own glass didn't break when he set it down sharply. "Can I have a little more detail about this assassin, Cat."

"Katrina hired him to kill Omi," she said thoughtfully. "The same man she used to kill Me- Mo..." She sagged suddenly and her glass did shatter as it slipped out of her hand and hit the tiled floor. "Mother?"

Peter threw his arms around her before she fell. Tears were beginning to flow from her eyes. "It's okay, sis. It's okay, just sit down."

"It's not okay." She struggled and he had to hold tighter. "She killed my mother."

"My mother too," he reminded her quietly.

"Oh." The strength went out of her. "I'm sorry. So sorry."

"It's not your fault." He lifted her up and laid her out on the couch, then turned towards Ardan. "And you think we should let Katrina rule for a moment longer than we must."

"I've never thought that," Ardan told him levelly. "But I owe your father too much to take a risk like going for New Avalon now with a half-baked plan."

"Even if it kills your cousin?"

The older man's eyes narrowed. "Do you think he's the only one at risk? My son Conner was with the assault on the DQ yesterday and barely escaped with his life. Did you think about that when you pushed us to assault the place?"

"Conner? Is he alright?"

"He punched out in time." Ardan pushed himself to his feet. "Get your head together, Peter. I'll send word to Luthien about this gardener. One thing that... Katrina is right about is that losing Omi would hurt your brother badly. We can't afford that."

Peter nodded slowly. "I'll speak to you again."

"When we're both calmer." Ardan rapped on the door and the aide opened it a moment later. "Prince Peter and his sister will remain here until she's ready to return to her suite," he informed the young officer. "I'll be in the comms centre."

"Yes sir. Should I join you there?"

"No, captain." Ardan glanced at Peter. "I believe the Prince has a requisition for parts from the DQ to put together. Give him a hand with that. We're going to need all the operational 'Mechs we can get and if Clovis Holstein says that he can get them fixed up in a useful timespan then I believe him."


Chapter 16
Johnson City, Addicks
Draconis March, Federated Commonwealth
3 April 3063

To be fair to Ardan Sortek, he didn't just make supplies available - although almost everything Clovis Holstein had asked for was available somewhere in the vast and mostly well documented warehouses of Loknar DQ - he'd also given access to intelligence reports from across the Inner Sphere. For the first time, Peter had an idea of how the war was going.

Virtually none of it was good news at this stage through. The Draconis March was far more interested in fighting the Draconis Combine than they were in dethroning Katrina - at least as long as she kept giving them supplies. The Capellan March was a quagmire with Duke Hasek notionally uncommitted to either side while task forces fought over key supply and command nodes, in his name, Victor's and Katrina's.

Across the Terran corridor Katrina's loyalists stood stronger except for a few cases. Victor's supporters on Arc Royal were pinned in place by Clan Jade Falcon just across the border and Katrina had had much longer to entrench herself. Victor himself had only just reached the Thirty-Ninth Avalon Hussars RCT on the far edge of the Lyran Alliance, who would hopefully form the core of his personal task force.

What drew Peter's eye though was New Avalon, the world of his birth and currently Katrina's capital.

There was no news so far that Katrina had moved against the First Davion Guards, but they'd been removed from the capital city itself to make room for the Third Robinson Rangers and the Tenth Deneb Light Cavalry. Adding in the New Avalon Crucis March Militia and subtracting the Davion Heavy Guards, who had been redeployed to Galax and left without jumpships to return to the capital and Bishop Sortek was outnumbered almost three to one.

"Ardan's right." Peter only realised he'd spoken out loud when Catherine sat up from the couch where she'd been lying.

"Usually right but never unsure," she told him. "About what?"

"Warships. Katrina has at least two near New Avalon and either could destroy Glowworm easily if we tried to land. She's just a freighter after all."

His sister nodded. "Subterfuge... or warships of our own."

"Right now the best we can do is FCS Intrepid." Peter rubbed his chin. "Just a corvette, even assuming Ardan let her join us. Against cruisers, she'd be destroyed easily."

Catherine swiped at lock of hair that had fallen over her face. "There are cruisers at Delavan," she offered. "The yards there are rushing Hanse and Andrew to completion."

Peter sat back at the mention and then pulled up the reports from Delavan. He'd never been very involved in the warship side of the armed forces but he knew enough to read the reports and Catherine was right. There had been three Avalon-class cruisers under construction as of the end of the year. FCS Robert Davion had been rushed into action over Kathil by the Loyalists and been forced into the atmosphere by a ramming attack, destroyed with all hands. The other two, named for Peter's father and grandfather, were at Delavan and still being worked on.

"If we can't get to New Avalon before the summer's out she'll have doubled the cruisers guarding her," he concluded. "Wonderful."

Catherine pushed herself up off the couch and went to join him. "The pieces fit together. But we can build our own picture from them."

"What do you mean?"

She pulled up a map of the worlds around New Avalon. "To defeat her we need more ships," her finger touched Delavan. "And more soldiers." Galax, then moving her finger towards New Avalon. "A little energon and a lot of luck."

"What's energon?" he asked.

Cat stared at him, and then slumped forwards to lean on the table, pressing her knuckles against her forehead. "Stupid, stupid," she castigated herself.

He leant over and took her wrists, pulling her hands gently back from her face. "You're not stupid, Cat. I think you might have hit on something Ardan can go with. Let me think for a moment."

She sat back obediently and Peter pushed his own chair aside and paced back and forth. "Ardan won't move the Assault Guards and the Cadet Cadre away until either he has more forces here or he's sure the Fifth Lyran Guards aren't about to attack. The supplies here are too vital to leave unsecured."

Five paces across the room. "That leaves our unit, which is only a regiment on paper. Even if we can scrape together the mechwarriors, we also need time to train them and get the 'Mechs ready. And the technicians and tools... Glowworm just isn't equipped."

"Would one more regiment make a difference on New Avalon?" she asked him.

Peter tipped his hand back and forth as he paced. "I don't know. We might, but we'd be awfully raw. Worst case we could be a liability, but add in another RCT - particularly an elite one like the Heavy Guards - and not only would the numbers be almost even, the calibre of the troops would swing the balance in Sortek's favour."

"So we need them."

"Yes. And they need jumpships..." He paused and darted for the noteputer on the table. "A Fox-class corvette like the Intrepid has dropship collars, what about the Avalon-class?"

The answer came up. They did. "If Ardan gives us the Intrepid, plus the crusiers, plus Bifrost... that's eighteen collars. Not enough for a full RCT but maybe half of it besides our..." Peter broke off. "We need a name for our regiment."

"Pride of the Federated Commonwealth."

He looked at her. "That's... a bit unwieldy."

Catherine held up her hand and raised her little finger. "Pride of Donegal." Ring finger. "Pride of Skye." Middle finger. "Pride of Tamar."

"Oh!" Peter slapped his forehead. "The Royal Guards!"

She nodded and raised her index finger. "Pride of the Lyran Commonwealth." And then her thumb. "Pride of the Federated Commonwealth."

"Fifth Royal Guards," he agreed. "It makes a statement. Okay then, so we take the warships and we've got near parity in warships and we've got the shipping to bring the Heavy Guards in. Taking the cruisers though... I'm not sure where we would begin."

A knock on the door interrupted them. Peter crossed to the door and opened it, then stepped back as he saw who was there. "Come in."

"Thank you." Ardan entered the room, glanced around and then smiled avuncularly at Catherine. "You're feeling better now, Cat?"

"It comes and it goes." She straightened. "And yourself?"

"Well enough." He turned and beckoned a much younger man into the room. "Do you remember my youngest, Conner?"

Peter couldn't help but chuckle as the young mechwarrior's jaw dropped at the sight of Catherine. "Welcome to the befuddlement," he assured Conner, slapping him on the shoulder. "No, we don't understand it either but Catherine is definitely my sister."

"Then who's on New Avalon."

"It's a very good question," his father agreed. "We'll find out, sooner or later."

"Sooner, rather than later," Peter said with a slight edge to his voice.

"Let's not argue about it now." Ardan made a gesture towards the door and Peter closed it obediently. "I'm actually here about your plan to form a new unit, which I do agree with."

"We've just chosen a name," Peter told him drily.

"An important first step."

"The Fifth Royal Guards." He paused for effect. "The Pride of the Federated Commonwealth."

The field marshal paused and then nodded. "I see. Yes, that's a good choice. It'll take some living up to though."

"I know." Peter shrugged. "And we have all of three mechwarriors right now."

"Two and a half. Maybe a third," Catherine corrected.

With a shrug he conceded the point.

"Well, I think I can help with that." Ardan glanced at his son. "Or rather, Conner may be able to."

The younger Sortek blinked. "Oh? Oh!" His eyes widened in understanding. "Would you be open to a volunteer?"

"Do you think General Sanchez and Colonel Vermillion can spare you?"

"I'm dispossessed right now," Conner admitted. "My Battle Hawk took a hit to the ammo bin and it's not fit for more than spare parts at the moment."

Ardan nodded. "There are about twenty mechwarriors who've had their mechs damaged or destroyed fighting here, drawn from the Assault Guards and the First NAIS. Normally we'd re-equip them from the DQ and put them back in the line but instead it seemed as if they might better serve by joining you."

"I'm not so foolish as to turn them away," Peter agreed with a smile. "Welcome aboard, Conner."

"It's an honour, sir."

Peter looked over at Ardan. "I was thinking I could look for volunteers among the soldiers of the Sixth FedCom and the local DMM."

"They already fought against us, Peter." Ardan shook his head. "How can we trust them to fight alongside us."

Catherine shook her head. "One day the war will be over, sir. And then we must rebuild that trust. Why not begin now?"

"She's right." Peter glanced at the other two. "Obviously there are some who're hardcore loyalists to Katrina but there are likely some who did nothing more than stick with their unit. Even if we can't get many mechwarriors, their technicians can hardly be accused of taking up arms against us."

"Some of them left booby traps before they surrendered," Conner told him sharply. "We've lost a dozen infantry to that sort of thing."

Peter hesitated and then shrugged. "Point taken and I'd have to be selective, but Clovis can't rebuild the 'Mechs on his own. Where else can I get the technicians? General Sanchez and Marshal Cooper wouldn't thank me for headhunting their support staff."

"It's a fair point." Ardan leant down over the table and looked at Peter's screen. "Looking at warships?"

"I've not really dealt with them before. Actually, not many people have. It does seem to me though, that we'd be much better off if we could prevent the ships under construction from falling into Katrina's hands."

"In principle, yes. But in practise, it's another case of too high a risk for us to take at this point."

Peter slammed one hand against his thigh. "If not now then when? She's sitting on media control, she's neutralised Hasek and Sandoval, she's got at least half the existing warships under captains loyal to her. We need to chip away at her position or she's simply going to be able to isolate our allies and destroy us piecemeal."

"Taking Addicks is just the first step," Ardan promised him. "Our next step is to secure Tikonov - that gives us a strategic position to support the fighting in the Capellan March and strike into the Crucis March. Not to mention giving us access to the factories -" He broke off as the comm on his belt chimed. "Excuse me."

Raising the comm to his ear he turned away. "This is Sortek."

There was a pause as he listened to the voice on the comm. His face grew set. "I see. I'll be there directly." Closing the channel he tucked the comm away. "Excuse me, I need to go down to the command centre immediately."

"Bad news?" asked Peter. Don't let it be Bishop Sortek moving now! It's too early.

"I don't know yet," the old Field Marshal said, but his face marked him as lying.


Chapter 17
Loknar DQ, Addicks
Draconis March, Federated Commonwealth
4 April 3063

Trucks rolling up to the Glowworm wasn't a surprise to Daniel. He'd expected that Ardan Morgan's mysterious acquaintance would want the BattleMechs off the dropship and in his hands as soon as possible. Perhaps Morgan would get his cut or not, that wasn't Daniel's problem.

The surprise was that the trucks were carrying crates, and if Daniel was reading the stenciled markings correctly - and he probably was, the amount of military hardware that his father handled made learning military shorthand advisable - the crates on the first truck contained Valiant Scutum ferrofibrous armour.

"Are you sure that you're supposed to be bringing that here?" he asked dubiously as the driver of the first truck came to a halt.

"Glowworm, right?" the man asked. "Ya, we unload this and then we're taking on cargo for the Clarent, over there." He gestured in the direction of the next pad over where an Excalibur-class combined arms transport easily half again the size of the Glowworm had its hatches open.

Daniel rubbed his forehead and then stepped aside to let them get on with it. Glowworm was Mael Calium's ship, after all. He and his father could take the shuttle back to Bifrost and leave the dropship and Morgan to their own devices.

He'd just about made it to the shuttle when his father arrived in a military jeep. "I was beginning to think they'd locked you up," he called.

Clovis shook his head. "Just until they confirmed my identity. The usual precautions."

"If it's all the same to you, dad, let's not take more jobs like this."

"You're young to be so jaded, Daniel." His father waved the jeep's driver away. "Some jobs need to be done."

"That may apply to maintaining a fusion reactor, but politics."

Clovis shook his head. "It's the same principle. Here, take a seat."

Daniel stared at him for a moment but when his father patted the steps by the shuttle hatch he sighed and obeyed.

"Societies are much like complex machinery," Clovis told him sagely. "There are many many parts and connections, and it's very hard to make it work. When it doesn't someone needs to fix it."

"And Ardan Morgan figures he can fix it? That's kind of ambitious." He spread his hands. "This war's bigger than any one person."

"I wouldn't be so sure." His father paused. "You know who he is, don't you?"

Daniel gave him a suspicious look. "One of your old Heimdall connections?"

That got him a thump to the upper arm. "Didn't you ever look at him, Daniel? That's Peter Steiner-Davion."

"...what?" He shook his head. "Dad, that's ridiculous. What are you going to claim next? That his sister's..." His voice trailed off. Cat Morgan did look a hell of a lot like the Archon. "You're kidding."

His father shook his head. "Heimdall's business is to keep the Archon from exceeding their remit. We've been ill-prepared to deal with Katrina, too many people assumed she would follow in her grandmother's footsteps when they should have known better."

"It's not our job to keep the Steiner-Davion's in line, dad. We run a jumpship. We provide engineering solutions. Not..."

"Poisoning a treacherous duke?"

Daniel blinked.

His father didn't meet his eyes. "I've never told you about your grandfather."

"I... thought he was dead. On one of the Skye worlds, during a Kurita raid? Grandmother she joined Heimdall after a raid back in 3005."

Clovis glanced around. "No. He was wounded then. Justice of a sort, since he raped my mother and his injury meant he could never do that again." There was a savage satisfaction to that. "But that didn't stop his plotting. Or his attempts to harm those who sought to defend the rightful Archon and her loyal allies."

"Dad, I don't understand, you said something about... he was a duke?"

"Have you ever heard of Aldo Lestrade?"

He thought. "One of Duchess Aten's family? She was adopted by the last Lestrade duke I think."

"You know," Clovis said. "I'm glad he's been forgotten. He was the Duke of Summer and the leader of the Free Skye movement up until the Fourth Succession War. He was my father." He leant back and studied the sky. "And when he pushed too far, I snuck into his castle, poisoned his brandy and then had a long and frank talk with him to keep him from realising until it was too late to do anything about it."

"Dad!"

"Does that shock you, Daniel?"

"Well, yes!" His father was an assassin! How could that be possible. He'd killed his own father? Daniel couldn't imagine doing that to one of his family.

"Good, then I've raised you right. If I behaved that way then I hope someone would stop me." Clovis put one hand on his shoulder. "The first time I met Melissa Steiner she was willing to surrender herself to save innocent lives. We couldn't let her, of course. The Archon-Designate in Kurita hands would be an nightmare, but she was willing to sacrifice herself for others. And she was almost certainly assassinated to clear the way for our current ruler - a woman who's abandoned allies, removed freedom of speech and even disbanded the Estates-General."

"You're saying she's worse than... than Lestrade." Daniel studied his hands. "Why us? Why not...?" He trailed off.

"What do you think Peter came here for? He's building a force to take her down."

"For his brother's sake. Or for his own?" Thinking about 'Ardan Morgan', Daniel could see in hindsight the confidence - arrogance really - of royalty. But was he really any better than the Archon was?

Clovis' face grew grim. "It's not a given that Victor will live to see Katrina dethroned. Ardan Sortek does not approve of rushing to New Avalon now, which is what Peter has in mind."

"So they're at odds?"

"In this case, Peter will have his way." His father's eyes were distant. "The latest news is that Prince Victor has been ambushed by the Fourteenth Donegal Guards, led by his cousin Adam. His forces are scattered and it's entirely possible he's already been captured or killed."

Daniel rose and looked over at the Glowworm. "That would gut resistance to the Archon, wouldn't it?"

Clovis nodded grimly. "Peter and Yvonne don't have the sort of reputation to step into his shoes. Catherine would almost certainly be dismissed as an imposter. If Victor survives, well and good. But if he doesn't then we have a limited opportunity to take her down."

"You don't think that this is a forlorn hope?"

"Of course it is. But so is one dwarf challenging the ruler of an entire planet." His father hesitated. "If you don't want to go with us, I'll understand. I know your heart isn't in it."

Daniel shrugged uneasily. "Do my feelings really matter?"

"If you mean, will I withdraw for your sake then no. But you're a grown man and just because your mother and I are willing to risk ourselves doesn't force you to do the same. If you want to follow another path, we'll not love or respect you any less."

"You wouldn't think I was a coward?"

Clovis stood up, his head barely above his son's even when Daniel remained seated. "It takes more courage to stand up and make a choice for yourself than it does to follow someone else's cause."

That was reassuring, but it was also a weighty burden.

"I don't care about causes," he said at last. "But someone obviously needs to be a voice of reason. Between you and his sister, Peter's going to need someone with a level head."

Daniel's father clasped his shoulder, wordless for a moment. "Besides your mother, you mean?" he said at last.

"Mother puts up with your sense of humour. I'm not sure we can rely on her for good sense. Now how about we dig out your design data on the Mackie, I've had an idea about how we can fix the ammunition storage."

His father's eyebrows rose and he gestured up the steps into the shuttle. "Now this I have to see. Getting cellular ammo storage in there would make me feel a lot better about their survivability..."

[cklammer]

This is getting better and better. 8)

[drakensis]

Part Four - Crucis March

This is my fight song
Take back my life song
Prove I'm alright song
My power's turned on

Chapter 18
Proximity Jump Point, Logandale System
Crucis March, Federated Commonwealth
27 April 3063

Searcy grinned as he saw the Mackie moving up the canyon. It wore the red-and-black of the Robinson Rangers but that was an artifact of the simulation - each mechwarrior saw enemy 'Mechs in those colours and friendlies in the blue-and-gold of the Royal Guards.

The 'Mech in question was moving awkwardly, something that marked the pilot out more than any colouring would. The Clarent's small cargo bay was tall enough for a pair of full simulator pods obtained from the Addicks DMM base to be installed, so simulated combat had moved to the Excalibur-class ship with most mechwarriors cycling through one pod to keep the basic skills sharp while otherwise relying on Holstein's more limited simulators (now up to six in number).

The only complete novice on the roster of the 5th Royal Guards had primary access to the second pod: as a complete novice, Catherine's training had to be as realistic as possible, so she split it between the simulator pod and when conditions allowed, heavily supervised practise in the Clarent's small mech deck with one of the completed Mackies.

She was still greener than grass though and no one was following her, which meant that Searcy had a chance to pick her off alone and drop the enemy force to only three 'Mechs.

It felt a bit like shooting fish in a barrel but he'd be doing her no kindness to go easy on her.

Moving his own Mackie forward slowly out of cover, he reached the corner she'd gone behind and darted around it.

He expected to see the red-and-black shape of her Mackie only a few hundred metres away, perhaps even facing him. Instead she was facing him almost right behind the turn and the two ninety-ton machines ground against each other, torso lasers slashing into each other at point-blank range.

Damn! Searcy thought and back-pedalled hastily. This close, the arm mounted weapons could barely be brought to bear and she could hardly miss with the chest lasers. Better to get back around and engage under more favourable conditions.

That was then a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eyes warned of more Mackies moving in. Searcy whipped the Mackie around as fast as he could, barely shielding his vulnerable rear armour, but he couldn't avoid taking a full salvo from two more of the enemy lance.

A pair of PPCs ripped into his left side, followed by lasers and autocannon. Almost a ton and a half of armour protection all but evaporated - and beneath that were three full tons of autocannon ammunition.

The explosion almost dropped his 'Mech to the ground. If Clovis hadn't updated the simulation to reflect the CASE being fitted to the real thing, the Mackie would have died then and there.

Back was deadly, to the side almost as exposed - Searcy flung his Mackie forward, jinking around Catherine's Mackie and using it as cover until he could reach the next twist in the narrow canyons. "Baker lance, this is Lead!" he snapped. "Engaging three hostiles at grid reference golf seven."

An instinct had him glance aside and he swore, throwing the Mackie to one side just before a PPC bolt nearly skewered his cockpit from above and behind. "Make that all four of them."

"Roger that, sir. Moving to join you."

"Negative. I'm retreating into foxtrot seven." He considered the map. "There's one up top, get yourselves into foxtrot six and catch him from the flank."

"Yes, sir."

Sir. He could get used to that. Searcy shook his head and slowed his Mackie, moving to shield the ravaged right flank. Punch the first 'Mech around the corner with his remaining weapons and then duck back. All he had to do was slow them down while his lance took on the 'Mech up top...

Waiting... His fingers tensed around the joysticks and he could feel sweat on his brow, not from heat as the temperature in this pod didn't alter appreciably...

Where were they...?

Telemetry from Baker Three disappeared from his monitor. "Baker Lead, this is Four. We've just been flanked from Foxtrot five! Three is down, we're falling back!"

Dammit! They'd suckered him! He turned the Mackie and started scrambling up the steep but not impossible slope of the side. It would have been easier with both arms, easier still if the Mackie had hands but at the cost of some superficial damage to his 'Mech he managed to get it up to the top.

Smoke marked the wreckage of one of his lance tracer fire identifying where the battle was still raging. Searcy opened his throttle and raced towards the sight and sound of the guns. He'd have the high ground now...

When he reached the next gorge though, all he saw was a pair of blue and gold Mackies, colours visible around battered armour and in one case the stump of the left arm. They snapped their weapons up as he reached the edge and he had to backpedal. "Situation report?"

"I think we lost them." Baker Four's voice was wavering with uncertainty. "They pushed us back down the slope and we took cover here and..."

"Okay, got it." He flicked his sensors to magscan, thermal... nothing. "Hit and run. Nicely done too. We'd better stick together now."

Searcy had thought the three less experienced mechwarriors would slow him down so he'd gone ahead to scout alone. Big mistake, he acknowledged as he worked the Mackie down the canyon side.

His first sign that this was a trap was a flare around the cockpit as a fusillade struck his Mackie's chest. He tried to back up, but the canyon side was far too steep to reverse his descent. With no alternative he let himself slide, dropping down below the rim of the canyon and avoiding further fire.

"Sir." Baker Two's Mackie tried to help him right his 'Mech. "I think they have us pinned down."

"You think?" Searcy looked at the map and then at the status of his lance. "Did you cause them any serious damage?"

"I don't think so."

If this was just combat training, Searcy thought, he would press on and do all the damage he could before the three of them were taken down. But right now he had next to no frontal armour left and the other two survivors were barely better - and this was lance on lance, with command performance being evaluated.

"Control, this is Baker Lead. We've tangled with a lance of enemy assault 'Mechs currently somewhere in the echo five grid square," he reported, fighting to keep frustration from his voice. "We got the worst of it and we can't push through to the objective. I request permission to withdraw."

He couldn't help but think back to another request he'd made along those lines. One that had seen him discharged from the AFFC for cowardice. The silence dragged on and then:

"Confirmed, Baker Lead. Pull your 'Mechs back to base. No use throwing your lance away."

Long before the three Mackies reached the original starting location, the screens went dead and the simulator hatch opened. Captain Gordon was looking down into it from above and extended his hand wordlessly.

Unbuckling himself, Searcy removed the neurohelmet and accepted the help in exiting.

"You've seen action before?" asked Gordon. The blond mechwarrior still had the badge of the Assault Guards on his jacket, patches for the Royal Guards not having been readily available.

"A few times."

Gordon grinned unexpectedly. "Good call pulling back. The best a new leftenant usually manages is pushing harder on instinct... which can work. But it can also cost us men and machines for no real gain."

"I have to give Steiner-Davion credit," Searcy admitted. "He mouse-trapped me pretty well."

"Yeah. You both learned something today." Something cold played behind Gordon's eyes. "Keep learning and you might be ready by the time we reach New Avalon."

"I'll do that, sir."

And that'll be the last time you lure me in with a wounded duck, your highness, Searcy thought sharply. Fool me once, shame on you. But twice? Not happening.


Chapter 19
Zenith Jump Point, Marlette System
Crucis March, Federated Commonwealth
1 May 3063

Every receiver on Bifrost and the two dropships was recording data. One of Ardan's provisions for the expedition had been every decryption key available to him, which wasn't as many military codes as he liked - Katrina's Marshal of Armies, Jackson Davion, was no fool and was changing those as quickly as he could since defectors were handing them over to Victor's allies - but it did include enough commercial codes to have some of the major interstellar corporations in a cold sweat if they'd realised.

"Lots of complaints about jumpship availability," Peter noted as he scanned through a summary of some of the intercepts.

Clovis nodded. "That would fit. I've had more than a dozen queries about whether we can take on a shipment. Some of them even offered to pay any cancellation fees for moving our current ships if we'd take theirs on."

"Generous."

Karla Brennan shook her head. "I would say worrying. At some point someone may wonder why you're not accepting these offers. There aren't that many possible answers."

The Bifrost had been using outer system jump points well outside normal traffic routes as they made their way deeper into the Federated Suns. False identity codes were most useful if no one ever challenged them, after all, but after shifting some of the completed Mackie chassis back to the Glowworm two days before, clearing room for another twenty-four incomplete units aboard the Clarent, there would be less suspicious activity for the next little while.

Moving the 'Mechs through zero gravity had been an interesting exercise with over a hundred people in EVA suits. Unavoidable though - the Clarent only had twelve 'Mech bays and they were in use for the actual conversion work. As a result, finished Mackies were being laid out in vehicle bays, a less than ideal solution given access routes and limited availability of flatbeds to move them.

"There's no point arguing over it now," Peter said as he closed up the summary and moved to a listing of what the news had to say. "We're here now and if it all goes wrong, feel free to tell me you told me so."

"I defer that to our son," Karla told him, taking Clovis' hand. "I think those were almost his first words."

Peter hid a smile at the married couple. Maybe he'd find himself such a relationship one day. It hadn't been possible at Saint Marinus House, but if Victor could find happiness... well.

The smile slipped off his face as he watched a Federated News Service broadcast. The focus was on the fighting with the Combine, with barely a mention of disloyal elements being suppressed by the armed forces. "What the hell happened to FNS? They used to be indomitable."

"It's easy to be indomitable when the government grants the press its traditional freedoms," Catherine murmured.

Conner Sortek nodded from his place at the table. He might be junior but his family connections gave him a perspective Peter found valuable. "Several of their reporters and presenters have dropped out of sight since Katrina ousted Yvonne's regency," he advised. "I wouldn't be surprised if they, and the more indomitable of the corporation's officers, are enjoying the Archon's hospitality somewhere."

"Using the ironic form of enjoyed there?" Peter shook his head to show the question was rhetorical. Technically speaking the Federated Suns didn't have a free press: government censorship was a firmly protected perquisite of the First Prince. But House Davion almost never actually employed that option. A little bad press, his father had told him, wasn't worth a reputation of fearing public opinion.

Clovis leant back as a chirp came from his comm and lifted it onto the desk. "Captain Colium?"

"Holstein, good." The dropship captain's voice wasn't quite as unruffled as Peter usually found it. "Have you been watching the recharge station?"

"Not personally. Why?" Marlette's Zenith point benefited from a recently restored Star League era recharge station that could bring a jumpdrive up to full charge in hours rather than the usual days. Its service wasn't cheap, which was one reason why Bifrost wasn't taking advantage of it, but it had helped the world hold onto its place on the trade routes between Terra and New Avalon.

"I think you should. There's been some military activity."

Clovis raised his eyebrows. "I'll do so." He left the table that they were using and the others followed him out into Bifrost's command deck where the dwarf brought up the holotank and selected a data feed on local space, backdating the last hour and running through it at twenty times normal speed.

"What's that, a Claymore assault ship?" asked Peter, pointing at one icon.

"Yes, and a squadron of Corsair aerospace fighters."

"I thought they were all in Lyran space."

Clovis shrugged. "It would seem not. They've expanded production at the Shipil yards, I know that."

Peter seized hold of a rail. "Remind me of their capabilities."

"About the size of an old Avenger-class assault ship but a bit slower - thrust to weight is close to that of the fighters. Enough weapons to be a problem."

Assault ships had been the backbone of the Inner Sphere's space combatants for the interim between the battles of the early Succession Wars devouring the warship fleets of the Star League and the revival of full-size warships to face the Clans. The Claymore was around one-tenth the size of the Clarent, but it had at least as much firepower, all concentrated into fore and aft weapon bays rather than spaced out for full coverage.

Aggressively handled the assault ship could destroy Peter's entire force, especially with the support of the fighter squadron.

Looking at the angle of movement, Clovis nodded. "Fetch Daniel so he can tell us he told us so. We've been rumbled."

"They're not heading for us." Conner studied the vectors carefully. "Not directly."

"No, but they're just being cagey." Sticking one finger into the display, Clovis cast a shadow across it. "They'll get about here, then light up their main drives and generate an intercept. I'd guess that that's when they'll challenge us."

"No boarding shuttles?" asked Peter curiously.

"The Claymore has a cargo hold, they probably crammed one in there."

He nodded his understanding and cursed himself for being overconfident. The matters on New Dallas had gone so smoothly, escaping well before any Word of Blake response might have arrived, that he'd assumed they could slip through the Federated Commonwealth with equal ease. He'd planned ahead, but there would be a price for the failure. "Alright. Still, it's possible they aren't after us. Unlikely, but we may as well let things play out. If they are, we'll still have time for our fallback strategy."

The hatch opened to admit Daniel Holstein who took one look at the holotable. "I didn't think that our cover would stand up to scrutiny," he concluded. "Do we have time to hot-charge the drive?"

Clovis shook his head. "Not a chance. Maybe if we'd started on arrival, but they'll be on us inside of an hour."

Daniel made a face. "Damn."

"Get everyone into vacsuits," Peter ordered. "I don't think we'll need them but I didn't think they'd spot us either. And have Clarent and Glowworm lock everything down for maneuvering."

While many of those aboard the three ships were able to prepare space gear quickly, it took most of the fifteen minutes Clovis had guessed they had for the rest. Catherine needed help to get into hers and Peter was helping her with the helmet when Clovis' voice came over the speakers.

"All hands, the FCS MacBeth has just challenged our identity. She's inbound with a six fighter cover patrol. Leftenant-General Sortek's men will prepare to receive boarders. Everyone else should stay out of their way."

"How many Sorteks are there?" Karla asked, looking over at Conner.

Conner dropped the visor of his helmet to check it was working and then lifted it. "Not that many, but most of us in the AFFC are with the Davion Guards. Terias is my sister."

"What? You never said anything!"

The young mechwarrior shrugged. "We had a falling out a few years back. Pretty childish really, but we never quite got around to burying the hatchet."

Peter shook his head, confirming his helmet moved freely, and then triggered the comm. "Clovis, have you sent the signal?"

"As soon as they challenged us. Do you want me to try and bluff them?"

"Yeah, it won't hold up but anything that keeps them from opening fire..."

The dwarf chuckled. "Yes, that could be unfortunate."

They reached the command deck again in time to see the aerospace fighters moving in, backed by the sleek, swan-like shape of FCS MacBeth. Clovis closed his microphone as they reached him. "Real hard-nosed commander over there," he said. "He doesn't believe we're carrying candy."

Peter glanced at the data readout on the Clarent, a clear military transport - not that many hadn't been reconfigured for cargo service over the years - and rubbed his chin. "But we're so innocent and inoffensive."

"Jump signature!" a voice called. "Big one, right between us and the enemy."

Conner pointed at the holotank. "They've noticed." The Macbeth and the six fighters had spun through ninety degrees and gone to overthrust. Hard-nosed or not, the assault ship's commander was clearly decisive. Being too close to an inbound jumpship was never a good idea and the sheer scale must have warned them of what it must be.

"This will be spectacular," Clovis told them all and indicated a screen. They only had to wait a moment and then iridescent light marked the jumpship exiting hyperspace only a few thousand kilometres away from them.

The light faded to reveal not the long, needle-like form of a conventional jumpship but a squat thimble-shape, each indentation marking some critical function. Deceptively small as it appeared, the new arrival outmassed the Bifrost and its attached dropships by a hefty margin.

"All ships," a level voice announced. "This is FCS Intrepid. We are now in control of this jump point. Units loyal to Archon Katrina have sixty seconds to vacate the area or surrender. This is non-negotiable."

The Corsairs, no fools and without the range to escape, flipped over and began to slow. Peter heard the pilots indicating their acceptance of the terms.

FCS MacBeth could readily have reached Marlette itself but instead it started shaping its course into a loop that would have brought it back towards the Bifrost.

"That bloody fool," Clovis snarled.

Peter grabbed a microphone. "MacBeth, this is Peter Steiner-Davion. Abort your maneuver before you get your crew killed."

There was no reply.

"I say again, abort your run!"

The little dropship's lifeboats burst away from its sides. For a moment he thought sanity had broken out but then the aft weapon mounts opened up on the lifeboats as they fell behind. One blew apart under the fire.

The first shots from the Intrepid's battery autocannon blew the wing off the MacBeth. The dropship went into a tumble but the broadside lasers fired next and intercepted it before it could stabilise.

"Crew of fifteen, less whoever's on the lifeboat," Daniel said in a strained voice.

"Plus any boarding troops they were carrying." His father's voice was no less shocked.

Peter lowered the microphone. "And as soon as an HPG message gets to New Avalon, Katrina will know I'm coming and that Intrepid's backing us up." He shook his head. "Could have turned out better, I must admit."


Chapter 20
Zenith Jump Point, Marlette System
Crucis March, Federated Commonwealth
7 May 3063

"Dad, we need to talk."

"That's what we have mouths for." Clovis had his head and shoulders inside the shoulder of a skeletal Mackie, working on a balky ammunition feed. "Pass me the hydrospanner."

Daniel scanned the available tools laid out. "Large or small?"

"Small."

He provided the tool. "I've finished the diagnostic checks on the upgraded Mackies."

"That was fast, we just finished up the fifth batch yesterday." His father made an adjustment and made an approving noise. "Very industrious."

Daniel sighed. "Okay, not those twelve. Just first forty-eight of them."

"And?"

"Thirteen have acceptable but undesirable faults."

"Only thirteen?" Clovis withdrew from the shoulder. "That's better than expected. Much better."

"Not really. Of the rest, thirty-two have unacceptable faults. Life support, sealing, myomers constrained by the armour plating... the list goes on. Only three of them are fully fit for service."

His father chewed on his upper lip. "You probably should have led with that." He scratched at the corner of his mouth and examined the oil that ended up on the finger. "Are there any that can't move and fight in a pinch? The definition of 'unacceptable' is a lot broader than most people assume."

Daniel checked his notes. "Nothing's below minimum functionality, but it's..."

"What?"

He sighed. "One of the techs working with me said it was like working with freshly shipped Quikscell units."

"Harsh." Clovis shook his head. "Harsh but not unfair. These aren't exactly factory conditions."

"I don't think there's much choice but to cycle the 'Mechs back through the bays and rewrite the manual on the upgrade process to try avoid this for the remaining chassis," Daniel told him. "It'll take time but otherwise we'll be putting the mechwarriors in danger."

"I'm not sure we have that time." His father shook his head. "We have a margin of time after we finish upgrading all one hundred and eight 'Mechs, but it's not long enough to go back over the ones we've already refitted all again. Just moving them in and out of the bays would take half a week."

Daniel pressed his lips together. "How do you think the Mechwarriors will feel about this?"

"Pretty ****** pissed off, but this isn't something new to the military profession. It's normal campaign circumstances for 'Mechs to be well below factory conditions. I'm not saying we shouldn't fix everything we can, of course," his father added in a pacifying tone. "But the priority is making sure we can field the 'Mechs in the first place."

He pursed his lips. "I'd like to hear that from the prince, father. I don't want him to have unrealistic expectations."

"Okay, let's ask him." His father pulled out a rag and wiped his face. "Better to settle this now."

The two made the familiar journey back to the collar linking the Clarent to the Bifrost and then up the jumpship to the habitation decks. So far there had been no immediate response to the Intrepid's usurpation of control of space around the recharge station, other than a lot of angry messages from the surface of Marlette where a General Waxton had vociferously protested the destruction of the MacBeth and what he styled as a blockade, even though Intrepid had done nothing at all to civilian shipping and the Nadir jump point was entirely unaffected.

As they reached the cabin still used by the two Steiner-Davions, they met Catherine leaving the room. "Good..." She paused and checked her watch. "Evening."

"Good evening, princess," Clovis greeted her warmly. "How's your training going?"

She considered. "I won't ever make a Solaris gladiator, but I think I'm getting better. Is there a problem? You're usually in the 'Mech bays at this time."

"We're having a quality control issue," Daniel told her. "I want to run a solution past your brother."

Catherine gave him a thoughtful look. "He's asleep, how bad is it?"

"We're going to have to run the finished units back through the 'Mech bays."

"It's not quite that bad, son."

The woman studied them and then gestured to a small nook that had been converted into a seating booth. "Walk me through it."

Daniel glanced at Clovis and then followed Cat when his father seemed amenable. "More than ninety percent of the Mackies finished so far are having issues," he explained.

She nodded. "Can you give me a more detailed summary, please?"

He turned his noteputer around and brought up his list of faults for the units. "See for yourself."

Catherine took the noteputer from him and read through the list. She stopped part way. "May I take notes on this?"

"Sure."

She nodded and opened up a spreadsheet programme, copying data across at a rapid pace. Daniel sat back and watched her, wondering how long she could maintain focus before her issues arose. To his surprise she managed to read through all the data before leaning back and rubbing her forehead. "How hard can it be?" she muttered to herself.

"How hard can what be?"

The blonde fixed her blue-gray eyes on Daniel for a moment. "I'm not entirely sure," she admitted. "Sometimes... never mind." She studied her notes. "The fourth batch of upgrades are the worst. Do the technicians need a day off?"

"We're under time pressure," Clovis reminded her.

Cat nodded. "Haste makes waste. Take..." She leant over. "Give them a day off and a day of coaching on what causes the worst issues. Do all these fixes need the 'Mech bays?"

"We can probably handle some of them in storage," Daniel conceded. "It'd be harder and we'd need people to do the work though."

"There are more than a hundred mecharriors," she told him. "Can you teach them the simple fixes?"

Daniel winced at the thought of people with limited technical skills trying to patch up the faults he'd catalogued. "Some of them."

Cat gave him a warm smile. "Make a list of the simplest repairs and help them," she instructed. "Giving the technical crews a break and some refresher training should mean the remaining 'Mechs are in better shape after conversion."

"It's a fair compromise." Daniel saw his father looking at him.

"Fine!" He threw his hands up and took his noteputer back. "You're going to be risking your neck in them, I guess if you're okay with it."

She nodded. "Let me know when you have 'Mech Repair for Dummies ready. I’ll work with them."

"I think you need the sims more than you need to be getting your hands dirty on the 'Mechs, princess," Clovis told her.

"Sometimes the best way to lead is from the front," she said seriously. "I have to set a good exe... example."

Daniel looked at her notes. "I should tell Prince Peter about this."

"After he has slept." Catherine held up her hand. "After you have slept. We all need our rest."

"Now you sound like my mother."

"Mother knows best," the blonde told him so sincerely that it took him aback.

"You have a point," Clovis acknowledged. "You've put a lot of time into checking the 'Mechs, Daniel. You need a break just as much as our crews do - and if I wasn't tired as well I would have noticed that myself. I'll go tell them to knock it off for twenty-four hours and then we can figure out how to avoid the problems you've identified."

"I..." Daniel looked at them both and then looked at Cat's notes on his computer. She'd identified that the conversion quality was falling off as they went on, something he'd missed. "Maybe you're right," he admitted.

"That's more case by case," Cat admitted so ruefully that he couldn't help but laugh.

[drakensis]

Chapter 21
Canaveral City, Galax
Crucis March, Federated Commonwealth
9 June 3063

"The Marshal will see you now."

Jon Davion thanked the aide solemnly and placed his uniform cap beneath his arm before entering the office. The room behind was about the same size as his own office, albeit with a slightly better view of the base parade ground where one of the regimental bands was currently practising. The furnishings - mainly an expansive desk and office chair - were perhaps of fractionally better quality and the flags of the Federated Suns and the Davion Guards were on stands to one side.

Jon paused a moment to look at the first flag. For almost his entire career the flag there had been the Fist and Sunburst of the Federated Commonwealth. The reversion to the Sword and Sunburst, along with the green AFFS uniform he wore, left him feeling a little off-balance.

Ann Adelmana had left her seat as he entered. "Jon, come in," she greeted him warmly. "Take a seat."

"Thank you for finding time for me," he returned the greeting and accepted the chair facing her desk.

Considerately, the Marshal adjusted the blinds so that she wasn't a silhouette against the bright sun outside. "How can I help you?" she asked as she sank back into her seat.

He'd thought through how to start but hesitated before beginning. "I was wondering if I should be preparing my brigade for movement offworld, Marshal."

Adelmana leant back in her chair. "We don't have any movement orders, General Davion." The earlier intimacy had vanished when he used her rank. "I would have shared them if I did."

"And if I may ask, have there been no suggestions from New Avalon that orders may be forthcoming."

A shake of the head. "Nothing of that sort. In or out of confidence. Were you expecting something of the sort? Some back-channel through your cousin Jackson?"

"I haven't heard anything recently from him," he confirmed. As Marshal of Armies, Jackson Davion answered only to their distant cousin Katrina, who had begun to style herself the Archon-Princess. "My concern is prompted by the arrival of the Remagen CrMM." He pronounced the last acronym 'cream' - it stood for Crucis March Militia. It was rare for a March Militia to leave the region or defense zone they were stationed in and though Remagen was a world within New Avalon combat region, the March Militia named for it was actually based in the adjacent Nunivak region as a result of historical boundary changes.

The Marshal shrugged with indifference that wasn't entirely authentic to Jon's eyes. "General Sheller isn't bringing his troops here to replace us, if that's what you're getting at."

"No sir. I had a brief message from Lucy Davion, who commands their armored brigade." She was also a close cousin of he and Jackson, part of the admittedly sprawling branch of House Davion that counted the world of Victoria as their home.

"And what did this cousin have to say?"

"Nothing we aren't both cleared for," Jon assured the Marshal. "But I'm aware that the Remagen CrMM are being called in to reinforce New Avalon's defenses. They've been travelling almost a month and they'll need another jump to reach the capital."

"Go on."

"We're only one jump away and meaning no disrespect to our comrades in arms within the CrMM... the Heavy Guards are a far larger and more capable force. If the capital is in danger, why call on them and not on us?"

"I would assume - having not been consulted - that Galax is also potentially at risk. And we are, after all, protecting a very important industrial world. Losing Nunivak, were it to be attacked, would be far less damaging than seeing the shipyards here fall into the wrong hands."

Jon nodded slowly. "However, New Avalon is an even higher priority. If it appears that the capital is about to fall, I would expect the Heavy Guards to be called on; and with some urgency."

"A reasonable expectation, yes." Adelmana folded her hands. "Unfortunately, we have no jumpships assigned to us at the moment so it would be rather difficult for us to respond."

Jon leant forwards. "It seems to me that it might be wise to see what could be done to remedy that. If transport command isn't in a position to restore our flotilla, there are civilian jumpships that could be commandeered."

She nodded. "That, at the moment, would exceed my authority. If the situation changes and Katrina Steiner calls for us, rest assured that I will respond appropriately."

Damn. She wasn't buying it. "I see, sir. My apologies for..."

Adelmana waved her hand dismissively. "Not at all, Jon. I appreciate you bringing me your concerns." She smiled crookedly. "Since have the time to worry, perhaps you could make more productive use of it by assisting the Department of the Quartermaster. We've had a request for assistance in evaluating Federated-Boeing's new troop transport and it seems to me that the Third Huron Panzers would be ideal as the armored component of the tests." The Huron Panzers weren't just part of Jon's brigade, they were his direct command.

"The new... Conquerors?"

"Conquistadors," she corrected him. "I was considering assigning the job to Colonel Iglar since one of her infantry battalions is participating, but a Major General would be able to take a broader view."

"Of course, sir. I'll contact Federated-Boeing directly and arrange matters," Jon agreed promptly. He'd not done an evaluation like this before but he could guess already that it would be time consuming and involve a lot of paperwork.

"Thank you, Jon." Adelmana steepled her hands. "And do remind your cousin that just because it isn't specifically prohibited to inform officers with the right security clearance of your unit's movements, nor is it authorised. Need to know is a principle as well as a security classification."

Jon dipped his head and, accepting the mild reprimand as a dismissal, rose. As he left the room he turned his head and saw that his commander was standing again, looking out of the window.

Did someone get to her? he wondered. Katherine is a Davion by blood, but not by much else, while Victor led us to victory against the Smoke Jaguars. If something's happening here, in the heartlands of the Federated Suns... what side is the Marshal on?

For that matter - and a chill went down his spine - what side are Jackson and Lucy on? Jackson's claimed so far that Katherine's the legitimate authority... and Lucy's unit has been called in, meaning that Katherine counts them as reliable.

Am I going to have to do what Victor's doing? Fight against my own family?


Chapter 22
Proximity Jump Point, Odell
Crucis March, Federated Commonwealth
14 June 3063

"In my absence," the prince informed the officers, "I'm leaving Max Sears in charge of -"

Conner frowned. "Sir."

"Is there a problem, leftenant?"

He'd have to pick his words carefully. "Respectfully, sir, his name isn't Sears. He may have qualifications I'm not aware of, but there are other, more experienced, officers here."

The cramped briefing room fell silent as all eyes snapped from Conner to the prince's aide. The mechwarrior was ranked as a leftenant but there were so few officers available to the Fifth Royal Guards that he was present as a company commander, as was Conner.

"So who are you?" Captain Gordon folded his arms.

He looked resigned. "My name's Michael Searcy."

"...the gladiator?"

Searcy nodded, jerkily. "Rumours of my death, etc." He looked over at Conner. "How did you guess?"

"Everyone has a hobby, I happen to follow the games on Solaris VII. That mustache of yours isn't much of a disguise." Conner leant forwards. "As far as I'm aware, you were drummed out of the Kestrel Grenadiers in disgrace. I've no doubt you're an excellent mechwarrior -" They'd crossed paths more than once in the sims, after all. "- but leaving you in command is... concerning."

Prince Peter tapped the table, face thunderous. "If I may finish, leftenant?"

Conner coloured. "Yes sir."

"Leftenant Searcy - whose identity I am fully aware of - will take charge of first battalion during my absence. Overall mission command will be my sister's. Do I hear any other objections?"

There weren't enough 'Mechs for command lances so Peter himself led both the regiment as well as first battalion and one of its companies. The other two companies in first battalion were Searcy's and Conner's.

Seeing the Prince's attention was fully on him, Conner shook his head slightly. "No further objections, sir."

"Good."

"Are you sure Catherine is... able to lead?" asked Karla Holstein.

Conner arched an eyebrow. He'd stuck his neck out objecting to Searcy - a dishonoured former officer. But for a civilian to question the prince's decisions was even bolder, particularly when it came to his sister.

Surprising him though, Peter considered the point. "In regards to her health, I'd hesitate about a tactical command," he said at last. "No offense, Cat."

"I don't disagree," the blonde said quietly. "I've barely had time to take in how to pilot a 'Mech. Leading others... is best kept to those with more military training."

"Quite. But you know our mission better than anyone here." He glanced around. "Leftenant-General Sortek and I are necessary for one half of our operations, which leaves you the other half."

Conner watched as the woman squared her shoulders and nodded. Karla looked unhappy but said nothing. The prince's attention snapped back to Conner all of a sudden. "Since you're so concerned, leftenant, you can double as Cat's aide. She'll need one."

"Yes sir." Babysitting royalty. Was it like this for Dad?

"I'm not just picking you for this because you spoke up," Peter added. "You grew up around the Heavy Guards so you're a natural fit for this side of the mission."

"Yes, sir. I understand."

Peter nodded. "Any other business?" When no one spoke up, the prince stood and escorted Cat out of the room, other officers trickling out in ones and twos.

Not wanting to draw further attention, Conner remained seated and let them leave. He was startled to see Searcy was also waiting and when they were alone in the compartment, the gladiator nudged the door closed.

"Is there something I can do for you, leftenant?"

Searcy sat down again. "Maybe we should clear the air a little. You don't think I should be leading a company."

"I didn't say that." Conner hesitated. "In that respect you're probably more qualified than I am."

"And yet you needed to undercut me like that?" Searcy rubbed his mustache. "I suppose I may as well shave this off," he mused and then looked back at Conner. "We've got a little bit of a confused chain of command. As a company commander, you'll answer to me in the prince's absence. As the princesses' aide, you answer to her."

"And while she's a mechwarrior under your command, she's also the mission commander."

"Yeah, one little knot of conflicting authority. I'm not sure if the prince intended that or not." Searcy drummed his fingers on the desk. "If you have an issue with me, talk to me or talk to Cat. None of this calling us out in public. This isn't a game - I had to learn that the hard way. Right now, the Fifth Royal Guards are untested and taking hits to our morale could shatter us. If that happens, royal displeasure will be the least of your concerns."

"Because you'll make my life hell?" Conner demanded.

"No." Searcy stood up and went for the door. "Because most of us will be dead." He exited the room, leaving Conner alone and feeling about ten centimetres tall.


Chapter 23
Universal Shipyards, Delavan III
Crucis March, Federated Commonwealth
23 June 3063

There was no prospect of sneaking up on Delavan using false identification - the drive flare of a warship was far too large to be mistaken for anything else. Nor could they allow days for an approach - New Avalon was only a jump away if Katrina chose to despatch warships in response.

That left only one way to do this: quick and dirty. FCS Intrepid had jumped into the outer system a week before and while the jumpdrive recharged, the warship's astronomer had obsessively plotted the movements of the system's planets and moons, refining the data for a transient point arrival.

Peter gripped the arms of his seat. If the navigator's figures were right, they'd arrive only a comparatively short distance from the shipyard. If they were wrong...

Well, he'd probably not be alive to worry about it.

That thought wasn't very reassuring, honestly.

"I think they're aware of the transient point." Vice Admiral Paxson moved his finger to indicate another icon moving towards their destination. "Our data's a few hours old but it looks as if the Fox is moving to cover it - just in case."

Peter rubbed his jaw. "We'll need a moment to re-orientate on arrival," he recalled. "If Fox opens fire, she'll have us cold."

A sister-ship of the Intrepid - namesake of her class in fact - FCS Fox had just as much firepower, speed and protection. The image of FCS MacBeth's inglorious end came irresistibly to mind.

Paxson's face was grim. "We'll have to take it. Unless they launch nuclear weapons, we can survive a few hits. It's unlikely they'll have them loaded though. And they won't be at full battlestations, which could help."

"Alright. No change to the plan." Peter leant forwards. "We need to get the shuttles away as soon as we can. I hate to say this, but even if Intrepid is battered beyond repair, the shuttles have to take priority."

"Understood. I don't like it, your highness, but I agree."

The clock on the bulkhead was counting down and Peter watched it reach five minutes. Four. Three. He hated being little more than a passenger, but he had no choice. He didn't even have his 'Mech with him - not that it would be any use in this battle.

No more minutes, just seconds.

And then those ran out too.

In a flash of visible light and other radiation, FCS Intrepid and the hundreds of people aboard her bypassed the laws of physics and several million kilometres of space. Peter felt the usual nausea that he had always denied experiencing and closed his eyes for a moment as he drove it ruthlessly down.

When he opened them again the tactical holotank was updating.

"We're on target!" the navigator called. "Right where we should be!"

"Find me the Fox!" snapped Paxson. "Engines!"

There was a kick as the main thrusters lit, beginning to build up momentum and providing the bridge with gravity.

Then the deck heaved again as weapons’ fire smashed into the hull. Fox had found them - and her fire was just as accurate as Intrepid's navigation had been.

"Aft arc!" someone reported. "Damage to jump sail, collar number three and our aft missile tubes."

"Bring us around to port," ordered Paxson. "Launch all small craft. Your highness?"

Peter tapped the push to talk button on the microphone that was his only way to influence the battle. He saw icons bursting away from the Intrepid as he did so - shuttles and fighters deploying. "FCS Fox, this is Prince Peter Steiner-Davion. Stand down, Admiral Hagen. Don't make this harder than it has to be."

There was a momentary pause - every second one that the Intrepid's crew were using to shake off the shock of arrival and that Fox's crew must be using to reach their duty stations. "Respectfully, your highness, I must ask you to stand down and prepare to be boarded." Vice Admiral Hagen's voice was steady. "This is an exclusion zone and your arrival is hostile in the extreme."

"We both know that that isn't going to happen. Admiral, you're acting in defense of an illegal regime. Katrina has violated the fundamental freedoms of the Federated Suns and the Lyran Commonwealth." He paused. "And we've all but proved she's a matricide."

More seconds passed. Peter could see the weapons officers firming up a lock on the Fox.

"There are a great many people who disagree with you on that," the Admiral replied. "I doubt she'll thank me for blowing her brother out of space, but if you don't cut your engines and recall those small craft then I will do it."

Peter looked away for a moment. So here it was. "Too all those loyal to House Davion and the true spirit of the Federated Commonwealth," he declared. "In the words of my uncle Morgan Hasek-Davion: sic semper tyrannis."

Both warships opened fire as one, no ranging shots now, broadside to broadside. Fox's fighters launched, chasing after the shuttles and their escorts. Peter watched, the command deck shaking around him as the scientific savagery of void warfare battered at the two quarter of a million ton warships with forces that would have obliterated his Mackie with ease.

Fox's fighter squadrons couldn't have overtaken Intrepid's - there was too much of a lead - but the latter were tethered to the protection of the shuttles and that forced them back, engaging the loyalists to keep them away from the most critical part of the operation.

"More fighters launching from the shipyards," someone reported in a shrill voice.

"Whose?" Peter demanded.

"I don't know. Local defence, I think."

Of the twelve fighters from the Fox, only four were left, but the Intrepid's two squadrons had been cut in half. Six fresh fighters could make all the difference.

Peter closed his hands in prayer...

And the new arrivals streaked past the shuttles without firing, a grace they didn't share with the Fox's last surviving fighters.

"Oh thank God." Peter didn't realise until he heard the words that he'd spoken out loud.

"It's said that he -" The ship lurched again, forcing Paxson to a moment's distraction. "That he has a special kindness for fools."

"Inbound missiles!"

Peter watched as three capital missiles left the Fox's flank and dived towards them. One missed as the Intrepid twisted as wildly as such a massive vessel could to avoid them. Another was intercepted by Intrepid's point defense turrets. For a moment, he thought that the third would have the same fate...

Then white light blazed away, blanking half the battlespace in the holotank and sirens howled.

"Roll ship!" snapped Paxson, face white.

Peter stared at the holotank. "What happened?"

"Nuke," a petty officer concluded. "Damage control says... damn, there's a hole in the side you could park a Leopard in."

Clutching the push-to-talk, Peter snarled: "Hagen! Are you insane?"

For a moment, he didn't think he'd get a reply. But: "I don't need a egotistical boy to tell me my duty." Hagen sounded tired, but determined. "You'll never get those ships for your brother."

"She's turning away?" the navigator declared as the Intrepid's roll brought undamaged sensors to bear.

Paxson went even paler. "He's going to fire on the shipyards. Starboard tubes, tell me you have launch solutions."

"Sir, aye sir!"

"Fire!"

Peter nodded grimly. The eight capital missile launchers had been held back from firing so far for one simple reason: like the Fox's, they could carry nuclear warheads. "That may not stop them."

"I'll ram him if I have to," Paxson told him. "If we can catch him," the man added a moment later, which was probably more realistic. Even Peter could see how their courses were diverging. He watched the missile icons crossing the distance.

One missile missed, but Fox's point defense seemed ineffective for some reason. The next missile scarred her armour, blowing away broadside guns and a dropship collar. The last of Intrepid's broadside hit just aft, detonating almost within the warship.

The entire flank of FCS Fox disintegrated and a moment later, her hydrogen tanks blew - spectacularly venting their contents and sending the ravaged warship tumbling.

There was a muted cheer from the bridge crew but Peter didn't join in. Lowering his head he crossed himself and spared a moment to pray for Hagen and for the crew that had followed the Admiral - willingly or not.

"Your highness," Paxson said formally. "Our shuttles have a clean run on the shipyard."

He nodded understanding and turned to watch as the shuttles closed in on the silent hulls of FCS Andrew Davion and FCS Hanse Davion. They didn't pause to dock, troopers in battle armour spilling out to approach the two warships using their jump jets.

Terias Sortek had brought her own 48th Battle Armor Battalion from the Davion Assault Guards and the First NAIS Cadet Armored Infantry as well. Over five hundred suits of battle armour stormed the airlocks as Peter watched from afar.

"See if you can save anyone from the Fox," he murmured, as if to himself.

[drakensis]

Chapter 24
Canaveral City, Galax
Crucis March, Federated Commonwealth
25 June 3063

The sudden summons back to headquarters had caught Jon Davion working at the spaceport as a mixed battalion of the Third Huron Panzers and Fourth Huron Heavy Infantry practised disembarking from one of the new Conquistadors. His own staff had been amongst them so he was wearing field uniform as he entered the conference room next to the Marshal's office.

The room was well-appointed, a horseshoe-shaped table with a holotank in the centre and subtly elevated seats around the edge of the room so aides and other specialists could see the display past the senior officers.

He was one of the last to arrive and took his place among the armour officers on one side of the table, facing the infantry while 'Mechwarriors, pilots and other specialists from combat and staff positions more directly flanked the empty seat reserved for Marshal Adelmana.

"Do you know what's going on?" he asked Donovan Kleif. The colonel commanded the brigade's auxiliary - a mixed artillery and engineering regiment.

"Scuttlebutt says a shuttle landed three hours ago. Who was aboard it I don't -"

Kleif closed his mouth with a snap as the door opened to admit the Marshal. Like the other officers he and Jon stood and came to attention as their commanding officer rounded the table and went to her seat.

"At ease." Ann Adelmana scanned the room for a moment and then nodded in satisfaction. "Ladies and gentlemen, we have a visitor."

Jon looked back to the door, which hadn't closed after the Marshal's entrance, and saw a woman enter on cue.

She was tall, blonde and wore an AFFS-issue jumpsuit and field jacket without rank or service branch markings. The clothing and the ill-disguised unease on her face were so out of character for her that it took him a moment to recognise the face as that of Katherine Steiner-Davion.

"Be seated please." Adelmana sat and her aide, Wendy Karner, sharply unfolded a seat for Katherine to sit in the gap between the two ends of the table.

Other officers also sank into their chairs but Jon glanced to his side at Klief and then across the table at Linda Igler of the Fourth Huron. Both looked uncomfortable - understandably - but he could be sure of them and he thought most of the other officers would back him if it came to.

"Is there a problem, General?"

Jon placed his hand deliberately on the sidearm holster on his belt. "Marshal, may I ask why your guest isn't under arrest?" He took a determined step towards Katherine, Igler and Kleif moving to back him up.

There was a fine line between what he'd just said and treason - a line he doubted the usurper would care about.

To his surprise though, she looked first at his gun, then up at his face before deliberately turning her head back towards the head of the table. "It's a fair question, Marshal Adelmana. Am I under arrest?"

The Marshal's face was already reddening. "Sit down, General. This is a staff briefing, not a bar brawl. Don't make me disarm you."

Katherine raised her hand slightly. "Please, Marshal. General Davion's concerns aren't unfounded. If, once the situation is explained, he still wishes me to be arrested then it will probably be the best course of action."

"What situation is that?" Jon asked, not taking his hand away from his holster.

"She isn't who you think she is." The voice came from behind him and Jon turned his head slightly, seeing a young leftenant in dress uniform. A mechwarrior by the spurs on his boots and the red piping on his uniform pants.

"Permit me to introduce Leftenant Conner Sortek." Adelmana's voice was sharp, but her colour was returning to normal. "Many of you may remember him as Katriel Sortek, the youngest of Marshal Cadent Sortek's children."

Jon's service with the Heavy Guards had begun after Field Marshal Ardan Sortek's wife - a distinguished officer in her own right - had retired, but he saw nods of confirmation around the room.

"Why the change of name?" asked Donovan.

"I was tired of being called Katie." Conner shrugged slightly. "I love my parents dearly but they have no business naming children. And it made my kinship to them a little less obvious while I was at NAIS."

"Didn't you only graduate last year?"

Jon shook his head. "If the catching up can wait, please, I'd like an explanation. If this isn't the Archon, then who is it?"

"According to letters Leftenant Sortek brought me," the Marshal told him. "He and our guest came directly from Addicks, leaving in early April in company with Prince Peter Steiner-Davion and the Prince's personal command." She paused. "Both the prince and Ardan Sortek have independently had blood tests carried out, confirming that our guest is also a Steiner-Davion - the prince's full sister."

"That's... hard to believe." But Jon moved his hand away from his sidearm anyway. It was too wild a claim to be made without some confidence. "Where is the prince then? And if you're his sister... You can't be Yvonne."

She shook her head. "Peter is on his way via Delavan. Our last information had Yvonne somewhere in the Draconis March. And as for the Archon... I honestly don't know who she is. I go by Catherine - with a C not a K - but even I'm not sure if I'm Peter's elder sister or some sixth child of his parents that no one knew about."

"You're not sure?"

Catherine smiled weakly. "I was found wandering a desert with a memory like swiss cheese. For all we know, I was grown in a test-tube and brainwashed to believe I'm royalty."

"That's a bit fantastical."

"It's been done before," Conner advised quietly. "My father told me that there was a plot once to replace Hanse Davion with an imposter who'd been brainwashed by his handlers to the point he honestly thought he was the real First Prince."

Jon shuddered. "Really? This sounds like a bad espionage thriller."

Catherine's smile was wry but he thought it genuine. "I blame the Davion side of my ancestry. We seem to have a penchant for drama."

"As the Major General has displayed." Adelmana pointed to Jon's empty chair. "Do I have to order you again?"

"No sir." He returned to his seat. "My apologies."

The Marshal took a deep breath and let it out.  "In point of fact, General Davion, you do have the right basic idea. Two days ago soldiers in First Davion Guards uniforms attacked several military installations on New Avalon. Whether they were agents provocateur or genuine doesn't really matter at this point. Marshal Sortek - Bishop Sortek," she clarified, "Has declined to stand down his forces for investigation. In my estimation it's only a matter of time before the Archon orders the First Guards disarmed by force - and she has them outnumbered six to one."

"Six to one?" Catherine's voice was concerned. "I know the Third Robinson Rangers, the Tenth Deneb Light Cavalry and the New Avalon CrMM are on New Avalon."

"They've been reinforced," Wendy Karner informed her. "Two further March Militia Regimental Combat Teams and the Fifth Lyran Guards have either arrived or should do so in the next few days."

Adelmana nodded her head sharply. "If the First Guards aren't the best regimental command team in the AFFC, it's only because they come second to us. The weight of numbers though, gives me little hope for their success."

"Unless, of course, they also receive reinforcements," Catherine said quietly. "I've brought with me three BattleMech battalions of the Fifth Royal Guards. That is... probably not enough to turn the tide. Unless," and she smiled impishly, "General Davion would care to accompany us to arrest the person he thought I was?"

"You've definitely inherited the Davion genes for drama," Jon told her and then looked at Ann Adelmana.

The marshal left him on the hook for a moment and then nodded her head in agreement. "It seems our R&R on Galax is over, ladies and gentlemen. It's time for the Heavy Guards to go home."


Chapter 25
Nadir Jump Point, Galax
Crucis March, Federated Commonwealth
7 July 3063

There had been hundreds of partings on Galax as the Heavy Guards embarked, leaving dependents behind them with only a limited guard of planetary militia. Daniel hadn't realised the poignancy of this until his shuttle docked with the Bifrost and he found his mother and sisters waiting.

"This is it then?" he asked.

His mother gave him a sad smile and pushed the girls forward, each giving him a hug before they entered the shuttle. They carried bags that couldn't possibly contain all the possessions of their lifetimes.

Daniel waited until they'd entered before he confessed: "I don't know if I shouldn't join them. I'm sorry, I'm not as brave as father."

Karla cupped his cheek with one hand. "Your father has learned to hide his fears. Don't believe that he doesn't have them."

He took a deep breath, searched for words and then exhaled when he couldn't find them.

She drew him into a hug. "There is little I wouldn't give to go with you. Not because I love the prince's cause, but because I hate to see you and your father in danger without being there for you. But someone must care for the girls and if I asked it of you, you'd always blame yourself for anything that happened to us while you weren't there."

"Jumpships are usually safe," he offered.

"Usually. But nuclear weapons are rarely used and the Archon's troops used them at Delavan." Her arms tightened around him. "Be brave, my son. But also, be wary."

"I'll be careful."

She made a sound that was half-laugh and half-sob. "We are past that point, I think."

His mother released him and after one last look at him she entered the shuttle and closed the airlock. Daniel waited and watched as the small craft detached from the Bifrost and as its drive kicked it away on the trip to the jump point's recharge station. The station's ability to recharge jumpships had been disabled by an as yet unidentified saboteur after the Heavy Guards declared themselves against Katrina, but it still served a purpose in other support roles. His mother would refuel the shuttle there before taking the girls with her to Galax itself.

Forcing himself not to watch the shuttle diminish further, Daniel turned away from the viewport and caught hold of the rail along the axial passage, pulling himself through the zero gravity with instinctive ease.

Clarent was gone now, loaded with tanks of the Heavy Guards, but Glowworm had docked once more - carrying a battalion of the Fifth Royal Guards and thousands of tons of consumables for them. The other two collars now held Overlord-class dropships commandeered from repair docks on Galax to carry the other Royal Guards battalions.

Even with the addition of the two massive cruisers, each carrying five dropships, it had been necessary to commandeer four civilian jumpships to ferry the Heavy Guards. The owners had been paid as much in promises as in cash, with an unspoken threat to take the jumpships and man them with military crews if they resisted. If the jumpships were lost and if Prince Peter won anyway, they'd be indemnified. If the latter wasn't true, Daniel doubted that Katrina Steiner-Davion would honour her brother's promises.

Just short of the habitation decks, Daniel saw someone drifting in mid-corridor. It wasn't so wide that they couldn't have reached out and pushed themselves to the rail but they were making no effort to do so.

Brow furrowed he pulled himself closer and recognised the blonde hair pinned up behind her head. Catherine's eyes were closed and her breath was even.

"Seriously?"

She jerked at the sound of his voice, eyes blinking open. "Wha... Oh, Daniel?"

"Were you asleep?" he asked bluntly.

"I just closed my eyes for a moment." She paused. "I think." Pulling back her sleeve she consulted her watch and flushed. "Uh... twenty minutes ago, I think."

He shook his head and politely offered his hand to help her reach the rail. "Shouldn't you be adjusting to New Avalon's clock? It's the middle of the night in Avalon City."

"We were trying to trace the fault with Oh-Six-Nine's comm suite," Catherine said sheepishly. "It took longer than I thought it would."

Daniel shook his head. "Well you should probably get some sleep. Did you find the fault in the end?"

She nodded and Daniel pulled out his noteputer and updated his list of problems with the Fifth Guards' 'Mechs. The list had shrunk more than he'd thought possible, although it was still longer than he liked. At least now most of the worst cases were in fully equipped 'Mech bays and they had some support from technical crews on loan from the Heavy Guards.

He looked up and saw Catherine yawning.

"I said go to bed," he advised, a grin crossing his face as he did so. He couldn't help it. "You can't work properly if you're exhausted. I'll tell your brother that you're to sleep in as well."

"Tyrant," she muttered with a certain fondness of her own. She was probably older than Daniel but sometimes she behaved far too much like his sisters.

Plugging his noteputer into the wall, Daniel typed a quick message to the prince as he watched her leave and then a second, to his father. Turning he headed back towards the docking collars. Mackie Oh-Three-Seven still had that problem with the left knee actuator sticking, with a bit of luck he could get that sorted out before they jumped.

[mikecj]

Wow, great work as usual.  Thanks for sharing!

[drakensis]

Part Five - New Avalon

Starting right now I'll be strong
I'll play my fight song
And I don't really care if nobody else believes
'Cause I've still got a lot of fight left in me

Chapter 26
Orbital Space, New Avalon
Crucis March, Federated Commonwealth
14 July 3063

One of the major problems with securing New Avalon was that with three moons, it had several transitory jump points to police and guarding them all wasn't feasible.

FCS Andrew Davion had been the first to jump, carrying three large assault ships and two of the well-armed Conquistador transports. The pair of picketing aerospace fighters did their duty, which mostly amounted to screaming for help and trying to escape - there was simply no way that the two Sparrowhawks could have done more than that - and one of them was too slow anyway, losing a wing to a barrage of LRMs from the Andrew Davion's secondary turrets.

Through all of this Jon Davion was nothing more than a spectator. As a courtesy he'd been offered place on the command deck of the FCS John Gordon, but he'd declined and instead was watching from the amidship command centre, where there were all the communications and computer systems needed to run a full task force.

"How long do you think we have?" Donovan Kleif asked. "Before the loyalists respond."

Jon simply shook his head. "We'll find out soon enough."

On the display, FCS Intrepid arrived - the damaged corvette was carrying three more assault dropships, aged Avenger-class ships. If the jump point had been heavily contested then it made sense to frontload such craft but right now Jon would have preferred to see some of the heavy transports with his tanks aboard them.

His eye went to the bulkhead where a timer was ticking away the minutes until the jump point became unusable. "I'm more concerned with getting fully clear of the point. We really can't afford a collision."

Intrepid began to thrust quickly - there was no practical way to communicate the situation back to Galax, the ships just had to clear the jump point before the next transit. If they didn't and the jump fields intersected... both ships would be crippled or destroyed, with the same for the troops aboard them.

To Jon's relief though, it all seemed to go smoothly. Intrepid was followed by FCS Hanse Davion - the less completed of the two Avalon-class ships. Both had been rushed from Kathil after the loss of their sister-ship the Robert Davion early in the fighting over the critical industrial world, something that had done little to help in their completion schedules. The litany of issues both ships faced had been raised more than once at the frantic staff meetings as the invasion was prepared.

With the three warships clear, the jumpships came through at broader intervals, each carrying a single tug that could haul them clear of the jump point. Peter Steiner-Davion had commandeered the still relatively rare tugs from Delavan over howling protests from the owners.

"It's going too well," Klief muttered. "Something has to go -"

"Hostile warships!" one of the ratings declared. "Two cruisers, one corvette!"

"You just had to say it, Donovan." Jon tightened the security harness on his seat as sirens began to blare, warning that the dropship was about to manoeuvre.

The last jumpship arrived, detaching the Royal Guards' dropships and the flotilla broke apart into constituent parts - transports rushing to the surface, assault ships and warships moving to intercept Katrina's loyalists, who had escorts of their own.

Given its armament, the John Gordon took position on the outer edge of the formation of transports. Anything that got past the main space combatants would reach them first.

"Do we have confirmation of a landing zone?" Jon asked with forced calm, trying to focus on something other than the chances of dying here, helpless to control his fate.

"Last data has the First Guards somewhere in the Grand Avalon mountains. We're trying to establish contact."

Bringing up a map, Jon confirmed his understanding of the geography of New Avalon. He hardly thought he'd be mistaken but foolish errors were part and parcel of the stress of combat.

The mountain range stretched east-to-west across much of New Avalon's largest continent with Avalon City at the easternmost point and the Royal Court located on the sides and peak of Mount Davion, the first of the mountains overlooking the city. The confined valleys and passes would slow the Guards' advanced but they'd also make it hard to track them and even harder to bring the more numerous defenders of the city to bear against them.

On the other hand, landing reinforcements in the mountains would be a miserable business...

"Transmission from the Marshal!"

Jon nodded. "Put her through."

Ann Adelmana was in a similar seat to Jon, aboard one of the other Conquistadors, the FCS Michael Barlow. "Jon, we've established contact with the First Guards. The situation has changed - they're out of the mountains and south of Avalon City."

He checked the map. The southern approaches to the capital were relatively open with scattered commuter towns, the campuses of Albion military academy and the New Avalon Institute of Science and the Peace Park occupying the Camelot region. "That should make landing easier."

"Yes. I'm copying you the data, but the good news is that the March Militia forces are still trying to catch up. I'm -"

"Sir, the Intrepid is gone!"

Jon jerked his head towards the main display screen. Gone was perhaps too strong a word - the corvette was still visible on the screen but the mass of red damage codes around it couldn't be a good sign and it was no longer in formation with the two cruisers. Escape pods and lifeboats began to escape the ship, signalling the crew's own assessment of their fate if the Fox-class ship continued to fight.

Adelmana's face grew tighter. "I've... advised the Prince to take his Royal Guards down to join Bishop's forces directly. You're to take the Huron Panzers, the Seventh and Fourteenth Lexington and everything boarded with them to land west of Sortek's position and keep advance elements of the March Militias from catching up. I'll land the rest of the Regimental Combat team south-east of Sortek and pincer the loyalist troops in his path."

"Understood, sir." Jon already had a good idea what would be grouped with his three principle combat formations and it would make for a decent combined arms force, even detaching two-thirds of Klief's support command to support the remainder of the infantry brigade and BattleMechs.

The marshal cut the channel without further comment and Jon set his staff to the specifics, keeping one eye on the space situation as he hastily reviewed the information on the First Guards' situation.

Thus he was among the first to see a change of status on one of the Loyalist cruisers. "What's that... the Lucien doing?" he demanded, picking the name of the ship from the data codes.

One of the technicians checked the data. "Accelerating," she reported, curiously. "She's taken a pounding though, and she's exposing herself without the rest of the enemy warships backing her up."

An older officer turned from plotting the landing zone and slashed a line along FCS Lucien Davion's course. "Trying to break through," he decided. "It's a risk but they only have thirty more minutes before we hit the atmosphere. If she can make it past, the Lucien will rip us apart."

"Let's hope she can't." Jon paused and then looked around. "Get back to work," he reminded them, seeing eyes focused on the main holotank rather than duty stations. "We've still got ships of our own out there to handle her."

Unfortunately, the Hanse Davion and Andrew Davion seemed to be more focused on pounding their other sister ship, FCS Alexander Davion to scrap and it was dropships and fighters that turned to intercept the Lucien Davion.

Despite his own orders, Jon couldn't look away as the massive ship continued to accelerate at three gravities. The John Gordon began to weave, setting some of his staff to retching into sick bags as the dropship tried to make itself a difficult target.

Based on some logic on readily admitted he didn't have the training to understand, the Lucien Davion began to turn as it approached the transports. Then explosions wracked its aft section - small compared to the size of the ship but something must have affected it for the ship stopped turning.

"Steering controls, maybe some engine damage?" the naval officer suggested hopefully. "Just a few minutes to the atmosphere and they're going to overshoot us unless they slow down. We're still in extreme range though and..."

Damage codes sprang to life suddenly around one of the transports. Jon looked closer and saw it was the Michael Barlow. "Get me a status report on the flagship!" he ordered sharply.

The big aerodyne was still flying, but more red data lines sprang up.

"Major hits," the technician reported. "Probably long range fire from the Lucien's naval gauss rifles."

"Can you raise them?"

"Trying, sir."

Jon forced himself to sit back and nod approvingly. "Keep me informed," he ordered.

The first dropships were already beginning to glow as they hit the upper atmosphere before the Barlow's communications were restored.

"Sir." The technician's voice was unstead. "Barlow is aborting the landing. They've taken massive damage to the ventral mid-section. The troop bays took the brunt of it but they can't land without substantial repairs.

"Casualties?" Jon demanded.

She hesitated. "They're not sure. High to total, one shot went right through and vented the control centre. Marshal Adelmana isn't accounted for."

Jon closed his eyes for a moment in prayer. Then he opened them. "We continue as planned. Inform General Tuttle that I'm taking command and that he's to carry on the south-eastern landings, coordinating directly with Marshal Sortek and Prince Peter until we regroup."


Chapter 27
Camelot, New Avalon
Crucis March, Federated Commonwealth
15 July 3063

Conner's first thought when he counted twelve 'Mechs moving towards the flank of the First Davion Guards was that he'd run into a fresh company. It wasn't until he saw a tan-coloured Battle Hawk amid the predominantly red and black 'Mechs that he realised this must be a scratch force mixing Robinson Rangers and Deneb Light Cavalry.

Survivors then, more dangerous in some ways and less in others.

A low-slung shape darting behind the enemy 'Mechs reminded him that the 'Mechs weren't the only dangers on the battlefield. LRMs arced from the Fulcrum hovertank and smashed against the chest and right arm of his Mackie, marking the blue and gold paintwork.

"This is Crucis Actual," he ordered. "Hit them hard."

His company had unusual mass and uniformity - very few units could concentrate a full company of assault 'Mechs much less one entirely made up entirely of one model. They were also a design that none of the Deneb and Ranger Mechwarriors would ever have encountered before.

His first target was a Cestus, one of the largest enemy 'Mechs present. Conner brought his crosshairs down on it, trying to stabilise the shot. For a moment he thought he had the idea shot, right into the gauss rifle below and to the right of the cockpit but at the last moment something shifted under the foot of his Mackie and the shots hit too high - the laser and PPC ripping into the armour of the smaller 'Mech's right arm while the autocannon fire went wild.

The Gauss Rifle spat a shot back at him, the slug cracking the armour on the Mackie's chest right below the red and white pschent that marked the regiment's identity. Backing up and bracing, the Cestus raised both arms and slashed systematically with one laser after another.

Armour was peeling away and Conner twisted to prevent a penetration, bringing the autocannon back down and tracking shots from it back onto target. Several of them dug into the battered shoulder of the Cestus and the entire right arm gave way, much more easily than it should have.

He had no chance to enjoy that minor triumph though as a salvo of missiles corkscrewed into Conner's Mackie, peppering the 'Mech with shrapnel and doing equal damage to the farm fence he was straddling.

Turning he identified the source, a forty-ton Chimera just as it rose into the air on its jump jets, firing down onto him as it bounded aside from his return fire.

The light 'Mech didn't get away entirely as explosions wreathed its ungainly looking legs. Conner traced the source of the fire to a Davion Guards Blackjack OmniMech tracking the Chimera with a pair of autocannon.

"Deal with the Cestus," a gruff voice demanded, the Dalban Micronics set wired into the place of the original electronics automatically highlighting the source as a laser transmission from the Blackjack's commsuite. "Where did you even get those museum pieces?"

Another gauss rifle shot, this one tearing into the armour plating of his 'Mech highlighted the need to finish the Cestus. Conner charged it, firing everything he had and was satisfied to see armour plating fall away - red-black and bare metal patches crumbling. The Ranger mechwarrior tried to sidestep but Conner moved aside to match him and fired his PPC again just before they got too close for the bean to focus properly. Blowing through the right side, protection, this shot did what he'd hoped - there was a flash of light as the capacitors for the Gauss Rifle blew, ripping apart the engine shielding on that side of the 'Mech.

The cockpit burst open as the mechwarrior ejected and the heavy 'Mech fell.

Turning to check his company, Conner saw one of the Mackies staggering as an Enforcer III outflanked it, punishing the rear armour with its high speed autocannon. He braced, checked his heat and then fired everything.

Only the laser hit but it was enough to penetrate just above the Enforcer III's left hip and wreck the laser mounted there. Not much but it drove the medium 'Mech to back up and gave the Mackie a needed chance to stop trying to outturn it.

"Are they running?" someone asked.

"Just switching it up, look out!" the Blackjack driver shouted in warning as a line of hovertanks swept easily past the reforming 'Mechs, sensor locks dissolving as electronic countermeasures played havoc on the generally reliable systems Holstein had fitted to the Mackies in place of long-removed or obsolete equipment.

Conner stepped forwards to cover the damaged rear of his Mechwarrior and let fly at one of the Pegasus hovertanks, tearing a strip out of one flank with the extended range laser, although his PPC shot just blew a few square metres of farmland apart.

Beside him the Blackjack was more successful, the sub-munitions of his autocannon ripping apart the skirts of one of the tanks. The Pegasus slewed to the side until one edge hit the dirt and then flipped, landing upside down.

The return fire from the line of tanks was mostly short-ranged missiles and Conner saw them batter at damaged 'Mechs, picking out the most vulnerable with practised ease.

He expected damage, he didn't expect screams as four of his Mechs emerged from the salvos ablaze with fire. One fell immediately, smoke and flames rising from a ruptured cockpit. The others glowed ferociously on infrared scanners, overheating and quite unable to risk firing their weapons.

"Infernos!"

And now the enemy 'Mechs, having taken the opportunity to cool down, pressed again. Only six left but a column of mixed tanks were grinding along behind them, dirt spraying up from their tracks.

"Baker Actual to Crucis Actual!" The voice of Michael Searcy cut across the command net. "Wheel your left flank back - we're coming in on them."

"Acknowledged," he snapped back - there was no time to argue. "Crucis Company, refuse the flank!"

The three burning Mackies were moving sluggishly but they complied under covering fire from Conner and the other five Mackies as they focused their fire on a Firestarter and Javelin leading the renewed loyalist attack.

Conner saw the Javelin go down as one leg snapped but the tan-painted Firestarter ducked and weaved, armour pockmarked with damage but never quite enough. A Bushwacker stalked in behind them and Conner highlighted it. "Drop the 'wacker!" he ordered - the Firestarter was just too nimble - and opened fire, tracing autocannon shots along the left arm's long barrelled missile launcher and blasting away armour plates between the cockpit and the left shoulder assembly with the PPC.

A torrent of autocannon fire and LRMs hammered Hancock's Mackie down, the young mechwarrior - one of Conner's classmates - losing control and toppling his 'Mech backwards into the dirt as the fire ripped away armour plating across its front. Clearly the Guards didn't have a monopoly on concentrating fire.

For a moment Conner thought Hancock would be able to right the Mackie but two missiles arched down out of the sky and blew through the fallen 'Mech's sides with devastating ease, ammunition stores erupting from the hole on the right side and flipping the 'Mech over as safety mechanisms tried to divert the secondary explosions out the back, unaware that there was a solid surface behind it.

"Arrow IV battery," the Blackjack pilot said grimly, still blazing away at the remaining Pegasus hover tanks. "These little devils are spotting for them."

They weren't just spotting, a handful of SRMs slapped napalm across the side of Conner's Mech and he cut the Mackie's large laser out of the firing circuit as temperature soared inside his cockpit.

A moment later, the Pegasus responsible blew apart and fresh Mackies charged into the fray, catching the loyalists in their flank as they tried to wrap around Crucis Company.

On the fresh blue and gold paint jobs, Conner saw the markings of Baker Company and understood what Searcy had been doing. He turned his sights back on the Bushwacker and fired again, his shots tearing through the armour on one leg and severing a myomer bundle. A moment later, a Crucis Company Mackie, covered from shoulder to fire in napalm, reached the bird-legged Mech and drove a kick into the damaged leg, snapping it like a rotten twig and toppling the Bushwacker to the ground.

"Still think we're antiques?" Conner asked as he looked for a fresh target.

"Maybe a little old-fashioned," the Davion Guard replied as he moved his Blackjack to stand next to Conner's Mackie. "But we respect that in the First Guards."


Chapter 28
Avalon City, New Avalon
Crucis March, Federated Commonwealth
16 July 3063

Peter recognised the streets they were fighting over now as part of the small town on the southern side of Peace Park. He'd walked through them back when he was a cadet, shopping or just hanging out with classmates - inside a subtle perimeter of security, admittedly.

Now ground cars and buses were replaced by 'Mechs and armored fighting vehicles. Whoever was running the defense - reports were divided over whether it was Jackson Davion or Simon Gallagher, the Prince's Champion - had replaced the battered DLC and Rangers with fresh troops from the Lyran Guards.

Similarly worn down, Bishop had agreed to let Peter's Royal Guards take point - they had the weight and despite losses yesterday, they hadn't had to consolidate their units yet. In fact, most companies had more than replaced their casualties as volunteers who'd been keeping their heads down due to the heavy loyalist presence felt free to at last bring their 'Mechs to join the fight.

For security reasons, most were being kept away from the Steiner-Davions but Peter had more than a company added to his battalion, drawn from former members of Team Banzai that had been teaching at NAIS. Doctor John Parker had taken the lead in bringing the reinforcements together and now his Warhammer - a Clan variant that had been brought to NAIS from the battlefields of Operation Bulldog - was rounding out the command lance.

As the lance pushed up the street, a Vedette moved out of cover, followed by a Hetzer wheeled assault gun. Catherine showed the presence of mind to prioritise the latter and her autocannon ripped one of the wheels off before the crew could turn it enough to bring their heavy gun to bear.

Peter pushed his Mackie forward into a run and delivered a kick to the side of the Vedette, rocking it up on one track for a moment but not quite breaching the internal compartment. The turret turned and it unloaded the autocannon into the calf of his 'Mech.

A moment later, Parker's pulse lasers ripped through the damaged flank of the medium tank. For a wonder, neither ammunition nor fuel was set off but hatches sprang open and the crew bolted from their vehicle in reasonable concern that such an explosion might be imminent. Flinging up their hands, they eyed the towering 'Mechs around them with obvious concern.

"Drop your weapons and walk south with your hands behind your head," Peter ordered on his loudspeaker. He didn't have time to take prisoners and he wasn't going to just massacre them. There was an infantry company behind him that could take the crew into custody.

The Hetzer tried to back up on its three remaining wheels, but the steering was wrecked and it rear-ended into a bakery. Peter aimed down onto the upper hull and carved carved a shot through the already damaged armour with his laser. This time the ammunition did go up, blasting smoke and parts of the bakery across the street.

The fourth member of the lance, Greg Coulthard, moved up to take point for the next block. The dug in Lyran Guards weren't fighting for every block but there were enough ambushes that the advance had to be cautious.

"I think I see -"

What Coulthard saw was cut off as a pair of PPC bolts smashed squarely into his Mackie. The 'Mech staggered and he turned it to try to protect the flank. Then a gauss rifle shot crashed against one knee and the Mackie fell.

"Fresh contact!" Peter saw units moving out of buildings further down the street, a white-painted Demon battle tank in the lead.

"Blakists!" Cat screeched. She opened up on the first 'Mech to enter view, one shaped not entirely unlike their Mackies - the characteristic 'walking ovoid' shape of many Star League designs.

Unlike their mechs this one had fists though and it was moving fast. Peter's tracking system hesitated before identifying it as a SPT-NF Spartan. He didn't need sensors to recognise that behind it was a Black Knight of some kind, but the Demon was his first priority - he and Parker combined fire on the tank with its turret mounted gauss rifle.

The thick frontal armour vaporised under the impact of the Warhammer's clantech PPCs and Peter's shots stitched holes across the turret and took out one wheel - although the six-wheeled tank was far less impaired than the Hetzer had been and it continued to roll forwards, firing its forward lasers and SRMs into Coulthard's 'Mech.

"Cat, take out the tank!" The submunitions of her LB 10-X were ideal for anti-vehicle work - she should be prioritising it over the Spartan.

His sister jerked her Mackie around, the chest lasers scarring the roadway before they intersected with the Demon, barely scratching at it. Then she triggered the PPC, the shot ripping through the damaged frontal plate.

An instant later the tank's turret blew off.

Peter flicked his sensors to infrared for a second. Unsurprisingly, his sister's Mackie was overheating. "Back up and cool your 'Mech!" he ordered her.

"We should all back up," Parker warned. He fired his PPCs again, aiming low to the ground rather than at the approaching 'Mechs. "We have inbound Battle Armour."

Peter shivered. He'd seen footage of Mechs being swarmed by Clan Elementals, and if that happened to him it would be entirely too soon. "Coulthard, can you get up?"

The Mackie struggled and rolled. To Peter's dismay, the move briefly brought two suits of Standard Battle Armour back into view, along with the damage they were doing to the Mackie. The pair slipped behind the cover of the fallen 'Mech before he could pick them.

"I don't think so, sir," the mechwarrior replied, voice unstead. "I... damn, that was my shoulder actuator. Get out of here."

"Punch out, we'll pick you up!"

Parker pushed his Warhammer in front of Peter's Mackie. "Negative, sir, we can't risk you."

"I'm not leaving a man behind!"

"Peter, we're not the only ones being hit." Cat's voice was surprisingly steady. "Listen to the battalion net."

He paused and let himself listen to the background chatter he'd been tuning out as he dealt with the immediate situation.

Almost every channel spoke of white-painted 'Mechs, tanks and battle armour deploying. And in most cases, the Royal Guards were struggling.

"Greg, get out of there!" he demanded. "Don't get yourself killed!"

The Black Knight stepped forwards as the Spartan paused a moment to fire its pulse lasers and streak SRMs into Cat's Mackie. With a grim deliberation, the seventy-five ton command 'Mech planted one foot squarely on the Mackie's cockpit.

"You son of a -"

"Gendo Blake's Beard!" Cat yelled, causing ringing in Peter's ears. She cut loose with PPC and autocannon, eradicating the ComStar badge on the Black Knight's chest.

Gendo? Peter wondered to himself. "Back off, Cat." He forced himself to take the same move. "This is Alpha Actual to all Royal Guards," he forced himself to transmit. "Pull back and regroup. I repeat, pull back."

The ComGuards tried to follow them, but once they reached the intersection, the rest of the company was already consolidating there. The Spartan halted sharply and retreated into the smoking urban sprawl of Avalon City, the slower Black Knight - to Peter's great satisfaction - didn't quite manage it as a dozen PPCs tore through its armour, de-legging it and leaving coolant streaming from at least three holes through its chest.

A second volley finished the 'Mech off.

Switching to the command channel, Peter updated Sortek's headquarters in terse terms. It only took a few moments for Bishop Sortek to get onto the channel.

"Your highness, we've confirmed the 299th ComGuards Division has joined the city's defense. Can you break through?"

Peter looked at his company. Down two mechs, everyone with armour damage - stage four or five mostly. Granted, that was still fourteen 'Mechs due to Team Banzai, but... Once they got out of the town, Peace Park was open ground - a kill zone if the defenders deployed correctly, which seemed likely. "If we re-arm, maybe. How long do we have before the Militia forces catch up?"

"No time," the Marshal said flatly. "Jon bought us a day, but the New Avalon CrMM expended most of a brigade breaking through his flank. He had pull back or be cut off so our rear-guard is almost on Albion's campus right now."

"Wheel east?" He hated to say it, since it would mean ripping through even more of Avalon city, but..."

"I lost half a battalion trying," Sortek admitted heavily. "The Remagen CrMM have linked up and Marlette are backing the other two up. And the mountains are fortified from here - we'd be walking practically over Fox's Den - there are a dozen choke points we'd have to get through."

"You're saying we're encircled."

Sortek paused. "Yes. I'm consolidating the Heavy Guards to rearm. Can you hold your current positions until they can do that."

"Yes." Peter's reply was immediate. The ComGuards were probably far more seasoned - veterans of Tukkayid and with Star League equipment for the most part - but they didn't seem to have the mass to push the Fifth Royal Guards back unless Kopper's Fifth Lyran Guards rallied to join them. That would take hours after the pounding they'd taken so far today.

"Good." The field marshal lowered his voice subconsciously. "We still have enough air cover to get a couple of dropships out. Once the Heavy Guards can replace you on the frontlines, I want you and your sister back on the Hanse Davion."

Peter paused. "Respectfully, sir, you don't have a Galen Cox here to coldcock me and throw me aboard."

"...I'm not too old to do that myself, your highness. We're in a very bad position."

"We're still alive, and they're taking a battering as well. Mount Davion is literally in sight, sir. One more push..."

Sortek hesitated. "One more. And I want your sister back at headquarters, not out with you. We can't let you both fall into loyalist hands if the worst happens."

Peter glanced aside at the scarred shape of Cat's Mackie. "Agreed."

"I'll let you tell her then," Bishop Sortek informed him and cut the channel.

"Alpha Actual to all Royal Guards. Take defensive positions," he ordered on the regimental channel. "The Heavy Guards are re-arming and then we'll try this again."

After getting confirmations from Conner Sortek, Michael Searcy and his battalion commanders, Peter switched to a private channel to his sister's 'Mech. "Cat, we have to talk."

[drakensis]

Chapter 29
New Avalon Institute of Science, New Avalon
Crucis March, Federated Commonwealth
19 July 3063

It had been years since his cadet days but falling asleep exhausted in a student dorm still felt very familiar to Peter.

So did being dragged awake long before he felt he was fully rested.

"They're attacking again?" he asked, rubbing his eyes as he shook off the hand on his shoulder and pushed the blanket aside. He'd taken off his boots but otherwise he was still in sweat-stained mechwarrior shorts and an almost equally sweaty jumpsuit. He'd intended to use the small shower but the siren call of sleep had dragged him to the bunk before he made it that far.

"Not yet." Daniel Holstein didn't try to pretend it wasn't just a matter of time though. What was left of the Third Robinson Rangers had spearheaded a counterattack the previous evening and ground themselves almost to the point of destruction pushing the Fifth Royals and the Heavy Guards back out of the Avalon City limits, but they'd had enough back-up to achieve their goal.

Peter sat up and rubbed his jaw. His Mackie had limped back into the NAIS hangars missing one arm and with his autocannon hanging by little more than myomer and a frozen shoulder joint. The latter could be fixed but the former would need a replacement and there wasn't really time to fabricate one. Possibly one could be salvaged from a more damaged Mackie. He twisted and threw his legs off the side, groping around for his boots. "So?"

"Good news." The young engineer looked as if there was a great weight off his shoulders. "We have reinforcements!"

"That's great," he said, trying to muster enthusiasm. "More defectors?" Lucy Davion had crossed the lines under cover of the earlier attack, bringing half a battalion of disaffected Remagen tanks with her.

"No, in orbit."

Peter found his boots by kicking them over. Grabbing them he shoved his feet into them. "Orbit? Now that is good news! Who?"

"The Assault Guards and the First NAIS Cadre."

Closing the boots clasps, Peter dashed for the door. The cold morning air prickled his skin as he and Daniel ran across the divide between the dorm and the classroom block being used as the command centre for the Heavy Guards.

Jon Davion and Bishop Sortek were there already - or more probably still. Both clutched mugs of coffee in their free hands. "Why isn't the Lucien Davion moving to intercept?" the former was asking as Peter entered.

"Your guess is as good as mine," Sortek told him. "Maybe it took more damage than we thought - the commander may not be confident of winning in a second round against the Hanse Davion."

"If it can't fight our warship then it may as well not be there." Jon looked up and saw Peter. "Your highness, Bishop's cousin has arrived late to the party."

"Not too late, I think." Peter joined them. "I thought he'd be pinned down holding the Addicks supply base down for other operations. I guess I was wrong."

Bishop shook his head. "We've only got fragmentary communications so far - Katrina's forces are using satellites under their control to jam transmissions wherever they can - but he must have left only a few weeks after you did, and taken a more direct route."

"I'm not complaining." Peter looked at the map laid out of their situation on the ground. He didn't see anything about the situation up in orbit. "Are any other orbital assets moving to block them? And when are they expected?"

"Not yet, that we can tell. And late today - they had to use a transient point further out than the one you did." The Field Marshal lifted his coffee and took a deep gulp. "Which means the Archon has most of a day to..."

"Sir, our pickets are reporting incoming metal - lots of it!"

Peter nodded and rubbed his eyes. "Yeah, means she's got to try to crush us before the Crushers get here. I'll -" Damn, his 'Mech... "Daniel is my 'Mech...?"

The younger Holstein shook his head. "We yanked both shoulders for repair - you'd be going into battle with just one laser. The armour isn't even patched yet."

"Damn." He thought a moment. "What about Cat's?" She'd sat out yesterday's attack - under protest - so her Mackie shouldn't have been damaged.

As if on cue, his sister's voice came over one of the command channels. "Hindquarters... sorry, headquarters. This is Alpha-Four, Fifth Royals. I've got a lance together from the repair bays and we're ready to move out."

"I guess she's showing initiative," Jon noted drily. "Do you want to rein her in, Peter?"

He stared at his cousin and started to agree, then paused. Was this a trap? Was it a question of trust...?

After a moment, he shook his head. "No, tell her... actually, I'll do it."

Crossing to the comms section he took a microphone and switched to the proper channel. "Baker Actual, this is Alpha Actual. You have first battalion right now. Alpha Four is bringing every 'Mech she can scrape together to join you."

"Confirmed, Alpha Actual." Searcy sounded obscenely well rested. "We'll keep an eye on her for you."

"Try to keep it professional," Peter said, what he meant as being half a joke coming out as more of a snarl.


Chapter 30
Camelot Region, New Avalon
Crucis March, Federated Commonwealth
19 July 3063

The New Avalon Institute of Science was Hanse Davion's legacy to the future, more directly tied to him than even the Federated Commonwealth (which was a joint effort). There was something unfortunately symbolic in the fact that parts of it were on fire.

The Marlette CrMM were streaming through the campus, the last loyalist reserve that Searcy was aware of... but they were fresh and that was enough.

Even under this pressure, the Guards didn't break... but they were giving ground. The Davion Guards held together out of pride, the Banzai veterans perhaps for the same or perhaps for some abstruse calculation of military science as far above Searcy's head as the other references that they exchanged between themselves.

And the Fifth Royal Guards clung together and fought on through sheer stubbornness that they wouldn't shame themselves or their prince by being the first to break.

We're a stupid breed, soldiers, Searcy thought to himself as he backed up - the remaining half of Baker Company maintaining formation on him - and fired into a Javelin that was overly ambitious in trying to get close enough to deliver its SRMs.

His autocannon had no more cluster ammunition but standard shells were more than enough to rip through the armour plating on the Javelin's left arm as the pilot threw it up to shield his chest. The arm was half-severed and a moment later, Searcy's ER PPC lashed out and sliced into the armour just above the limb, vaporising armour and blotting out two missile tubes.

Aiming carefully he followed up with his lasers one at at time. The first shot missed the wound, although it finished off the left arm, fusing the shoulder actuator solid. The second medium lasers carved a line right across the damage caused by the PPC.

The Javelin's head disintegrated, mechwarrior rocketing skywards in his ejection seat. A fraction of a second later the torso of the light 'Mech did the same as two tons of short-range missile warheads and propellant vented their fury from inside it.

One 'Mech down but more were coming - supported by tanks and infantry. The Dalban sensor suite of Searcy's Mackie was picking up APCs moving through the campus, sweeping it for allied hold-outs.

You're just a little too late, he thought, grateful that the 'Mech bays had been evacuated in time. More than a dozen 'Mechs had been left behind, but they'd take days to restore to service and the technical staff had made it out with their critical tooling.

A volley of LRMs arched out from behind one of the College of Chemistry buildings. too many for a single launcher - the CrMM must have a lance of LRM carriers back there.

Searcy spotted a Scarabus painting the building with it's TAG and guessed that it was transmitting targeting data back to the support elements in Albion's campus. He angled his Mackie to screen the light 'Mech from incoming fire, his gyro struggling for an instant as a Warhammer pinpointed him with both PPCs. That was going to cost him.

It was worth it though. The second volley of LRMs to rise up from behind the laboratories was replied to by at least a dozen artillery shells. The explosions were visible around - and to a lesser extent through - the structure.

There were no more LRMs from the position. It was unlikely that any of the thin-skinned LRM Carriers had survived, but if they did then they must be fleeing for their lives.

Abstractly, Searcy hoped that not too much damage had been done. More practically, he focused on the Warhammer and returned fire. It was out of reach for his medium lasers, but the ER PPC shot smashed along the length of one of the long Donal PPCs, the electromagnetic flux conveniently also dragging the beam of the Warhammer's second shot awry.

His autocannon shells hammered against the Warhammer's chest and it paused then ducked aside, waiting for reinforcements.

Seeing the Scarabus had fallen back, Searcy resumed the retreat. The tracked carriers hauling the last damaged tanks and 'Mechs that had been pulled out before the attack arrived were reaching the edge of Albion. It was more than time for his rear-guard to do the same.

"Crucis Actual, I need a rear-line," he instructed. Sortek's company had been in worst shape when they began the retreat, but after the last fifteen minutes that situation had been reversed - it wouldn't be long before Royal 'Mechs started to fall. Searcy's armour was paper-thin in places and he was one of the best off in Baker. Alpha's handful of survivors were split between them.

"Roger." Conner Sortek sounded steady. "Alpha Four, hold where you are. You're the left flank, I have the right. The rest of you spread out between us."

Searcy waited, stepping backwards three times to give them time. A flicker of white in the NAIS buildings warned him the brief lull was about to end. "Baker company, about turn!" he snapped. "Reform behind Crucis Company!"

Matching action to word, he snapped the Mackie around crisply and forced every ounce of speed the lumbering beast had out of it.

Surprised, the first shots of a resumed ComGuards attack splashed the ground behind the retreating 'Mechs.

"Command, we're pulling back," Searcy reported as he reached Sortek's position and dug in one of the Mackie's heels to turn just as sharply. He was the first to reach the line and counted off the 'Mechs arriving. One, two, four... the fifth of his companions fell just short as a Grim Reaper ripped open its rear with its large lasers and then exploited the breach with its LRM launcher.

Heat bloomed from the fallen Mackie and the pilot punched out, the angle of the cockpit hurling him up and over the new defensive line.

"We're under heavy pressure." Searcy opened fire on the Grim Reaper. His PPC burned through one of the armor skirts over its hips and his autocannon chewed up over the missile launcher in the right chest. A moment later, cluster rounds blew into the rents, half-spinning the 'Mech around and he saw the shot came from Catherine Steiner-Davion's Mackie - she must have been hoarding the rounds. "Can you give us supporting fire?"

"We can do better than that." There was triumph in the voice of the operations officer. "Just look up."

Searcy spared a glance upwards, saw nothing and dropped his crosshairs onto a one-armed Falconer in New Avalon CrMM colours that was trying to cover the ComGuards' Grim Reaper. He snapped the shot into one of the jump-jet housings that flared up above and behind the cockpit, then glanced up again.

He was in time to see parachutes bloom outwards. "Airdrop?"

"The best sort," the operator declared.

Catherine's Mackie raised its autocannon skywards and for a moment he was afraid she was going to fire on the new arrivals. Instead she transmitted in the clear: "Crush them now, Giant Robo!"

Apt, if totally confusing. But that was the mysterious Steiner-Daivon in a nutshell.

The attackers had also seen what was coming down and they split between trying to press harder, to fall back and to fire on the troops dropping from the sky.

A Salamander in the red-white-and-blue of the Davion Guards didn't even wait to land before it fired off a volley of LRMs. The missiles rained down on the Grim Reaper - among those that had tried to fire upwards and it fell to the ground, white paint blackened by the explosive warheads - where it still had armour at all!

The Falconer was no more fortunate. The mechwarrior had seen the writing on the wall and was bounding backwards towards the NAIS campus when a Gunslinger blasted free of its harness and literally rammed it out of the sky.

The two BattleMechs - with a combined mass of a hundred and sixty tons - slammed to the earth with the Falconer on the bottom and both its hips snapped.

Apparently undaunted, the Gunslinger rolled to its feet and as more 'Mechs and infantry landed around it it both gauss rifles fired, the barely visible supersonic slugs carooming off a ComGuards Rhino that had been pushing up behind the 'Mechs and suddenly found itself caught in the open by a superior force.

More tanks swarmed out from Albion - Rommel and Patton battle tanks from the defense perimeter now unleashed to reinforce the troops being landed.

"All units," a sharp voice rang out. "This is General Jon Davion. Advance on NAIS before the loyalist can reorganise."

Searcy didn't wait for any further instructions, he moved his 'Mech sideways to prevent Catherine from pushing her Mackie forwards into this advance. "You're in the second line, your highness," he insisted.

"I didn't think Davions got special treatment on the battlefield," she observed tartly, although she halted her Mackie in place.

"It's not special treatment," Conner Sortek told her. "We're in no state to spearhead this push. Half our armour is gone and most of us need a reload." And not to mention that the entire First Battalion of the Fifth Royal Guards was currently less than a company in strength.


Chapter 31
Avalon City, New Avalon
Crucis March, Federated Commonwealth
20 July 3063

Under Clovis and Daniel Holstein, the technical crews had worked through the night and as a result Peter's Mackie was fit for service... more or less.

Mount Davion was rearing up in easy view as Peter marched his Mackie forwards, crosshairs tracking across a red-and-black Centurion that was trying to shelter behind a very expensive apartment building. He fired his ER PPC and the wave of heat reminded him not to follow up with his large laser - the heatsinks simply couldn't cope with two extended range weapons firing at the same time.

His shot missed anyway, but the ultra autocannon blew the crest off the Centurion's head, damaging the sensors there.

A moment later, John Parker's Warhammer IIC hit the building right at the central foyer and simply crashed straight through. The tenants of the building would probably be horrified but eighty tons of metal was barely slowed and the NAIS professor placed the muzzle of one of his PPCs against the Centurion's chestplate and fired the charged particle beam directly through the armour and into the ammo bins behind.

Fortunately for the mechwarrior within, the Centurion must have been refitted with CASE because the secondary explosions didn't gut the entire reactor. However, losing it's entire ammunition load would have left it of limited tactical value, even if the reactor shielding had survived.

As it was, the Robinson Ranger's Centurion spun through a quarter circle and then fell - left arm first - into the apartment block, doing more no doubt very expensive damage.

"We're almost there," Peter exclaimed as he moved past it and saw the government buildings ahead.

Cat's Mackie - concerns about them both being on the battlefield were secondary to pressing their current advantage - was right behind his. "Almost only counts with horseshoes and hand grenades," she told him tersely.

"Then let's get inside and be done with the 'almost'," he told her and scanned the area. "There should be an entrance to the 'Mech hangers near the front gates."

The wall around the exterior of the Royal Court only looked small compared the state buildings beyond it and the gatehouse was suitably fortified, but there were almost fifty 'Mechs from the Fifth Royal Guards, Davion Assault Guards and Team Banzai which let them make light work of the turrets, the heavy metal doors and the pair of Lyran Guards Demolishers that had been waiting in ambush between the inner and outer doors.

Peter and Catherine yielded to Conner Sortek's caution and held their 'Mechs back from the gates as the allied 'Mechs broke through. Their first warning that the attack had gone awry was the explosion of light and fire from behind then wall as the first 'Mech through the gate was obliterated.

"Get away from the walls!"

The source of the warning would have to be identified from Battle ROM's later. It came too late for some.

Little more than a second after the cry of warning, the sections of wall to either side of the gate crashed outwards and the attackers suddenly found themselves on the defensive, under fire from an equal number of black-and-grey painted 'Mechs as battle armored troops swarmed closer.

Those 'Mechs caught under the wall had been battered and knocked from their feet, but few were entirely out of action. That mercy ended as they took the first brunt of the assault.

Peter shouted in fury as he saw a Marauder II crushing one of the Royal Guards' 'Mechs into the ground with one foot. The enemy 'Mech lowered its arm and deliberately fired into the cockpit with the PPC and laser in one arm.

Raising his own weapons, Peter forgot all about heat control and hammered the black-and-grey Marauder II with everything he had. Sweat sprang from his brow and warning lights turned amber, while the bird-like 'Mech seemed to shrug off his fire.

Catherine added her own fire to the attack, but the rest of the attack force were caught up now in their own struggle - 'Mechs battling in twos and threes at most while battle armour scurried around their feet - Lyran made suits of quadrupedal armour, Fenris suits - firing pulse lasers or machine guns into vulnerable ankles.

One pack of the suits charged towards the siblings but PPC bolts lashed out from one side, executing the first pair and forcing the rest to move more cautiously. Flicking his eyes to one side, Peter saw the fire had come from John Parker's Warhammer IIC.

That distraction cost the mechwarrior, for a lumbering assault 'Mech - something the warbook called a Hauptmann - ripped into Parker's armour with lasers and a heavy autocannon. The Warhammer IIC fell.

Peter released the trigger of his left joystick. leaving his ER PPC out of the next salvo rather than risk shutting down his 'Mech. With the hand free he jabbed the command channel active. "Axe-Actual, we're heavily engaged at the gates. Looks like the Fox's Den security battalions!"

He had time for no more because the Marauder II had its own weapons up and aimed for him now. A gauss rifle shot blew the searchlight from his shoulder - two metres left and it would have decapitated his Mackie - and armour blew away from his right arm and all across the Mackie's chest as its lasers and PPCs hit true.

Peter had to focus entirely on keeping his 'Mech steady under that barrage. As it was it staggered back, knocking into the shoulder of Cat's Mackie, and throwing her next shot from the autocannon astray.

The Marauder II still stood tall, despite the pounding they were delivering. Assault 'Mechs were simply not that fragile, and a second bird-like 'Mech joined it - a lighter but equally deadly Maelstrom.

Gritting his teeth, Peter pushed his 'Mech forwards, this time dropping the large laser out of the circuit. His ER PPC bit into the shoulder of the Marauder II and he adjusted his aim to let his autocannon fire at the same joint. The limb was left half-severed and Cat took his hint and peppered the heavier 'Mech with her autocannon. One of the cluster rounds intersected with the shoulder actuator and the Marauder II's right arm dropped away from it.

Fox's Den - buried deep beneath Mount Davion - was the AFFC's most secure command centre. A sprawling administrative complex was located on the northern edge of Avalon City that handled most of the running of the Armed Forces on a day to day basis, but major strategic command took place there.

Its guardians were selected just as carefully than the members of the Davion Guards - in fact, on paper, they served as part of that brigade. But where the Guards drew from decorated heroes, top-ranking cadets on a basis of honour, ability and loyalty to House Davion; the security were chosen on loyalty above other moral issues, particularly recruiting from DMI veterans who had carried out deniable operations on foreign soil. It was said of the security battalions that they would have held their ground and defended the Den even if their own families were used as human shields against them. No one had ever put it to the test, of course.

The Maelstrom fired on Catherine, side-stepping to keep line of sight on her as Peter shielded his sister from the Marauder II's return fire. Cat ignored the smaller 'Mech, continuing to pound the Marauder II alongside Peter, although he saw armour shattering across her flanks.

Out of the corner of his eyes, Peter saw Michael Searcy's Mackie, coolant pouring from cracked and broken armour rammed itself up against a JagerMech III. The cockpit cover exploded and the mechwarrior hurtled skywards. A second later the reactor overheated and superheated air erupted from its damaged torso. The explosion smashed the JagerMech thirty metres backwards, missing much of its frontal armour, but it remained upright until an Assault Guards Victor eviscerated it with a shot from the arm-mounted heavy autocannon.

Cat's Mackie fell suddenly, its pilot crying out in alarm. Peter unleashed a full alpha strike into the Marauder II, accepting the heat burden, and glanced back. One leg had been severed just above the ankle and he realised the Fenris battle armor was back. He lashed out and kicked one, the armour no match for the impact of his Mackie's foot.

With brutal force, a PPC shot penetrated the side of his Mackie and he realised the Maelstrom had taken advantage of Cat being on the ground to get behind him. The shot had smashed a heatsink, hampering his ability to bleed off the heat of his alpha strike.

I should have forced Cat to stay at HQ, he thought, swivelling and trying to keep both the enemies in his gun arcs. The Mackie rocked again as the Marauder II's own PPC lashed against it with ferocious force.

On the ground, Cat didn't bother trying to stand, just rolling to point her remaining guns at the thus far undamaged Maelstrom.

It was like spitting into the wind and the heavy 'Mech returned fire, shots visibly punching into the prone Mackie's inner systems.

Then a shot slammed into the Maelstrom's own rear armour. The pilot spun to deal with the new arrival but was only halfway around when a Victor body-blocked it to the ground.

An elephantine Goliath followed, PPC and LRMs plastering the Marauder II from the right side. More LRMs came down - long range shots as Peter saw a pair of Atlas far behind the new arrivals, running flat out to catch up as best they could.

Even more welcome were four Blizzard hover transports, doors open as they roared down the avenue at high speed, Cavalier battle armour leaping recklessly out with weapons already firing on their Fenris counterparts.

Through the Marauder's broken armour, Peter could see the structural framework and the myomer bundles... and what he thought might be the outline of the fusion reactor at its core.

His autocannon came up almost without his realising it and he centred the crosshairs over that shape and closed his index finger on the trigger.

There was no hail of shells though - with a sharp bleep the battle computer reported a jam.

"Sonuva-"

A scarred and battered Mackie, almost unrecognisable with no arms and little armour remaining, fired the 8cm laser in its chest, skewering the reactor. For a moment the Marauder stood stock still and then the tension bled out of its myomers as the reactor safeties shut it down. The assault 'Mech fell to the ground in an undignified heap.

Peter tried to make out the markings of the Mackie, only to see what little protection it retained ripped away as another 'Mech crashed into the skirmish.

Black and grey armour, a skull-face, pulse lasers in each forearm that ripped away the guts of the Mackie. It didn't need the massive, multi-barrel autocannon above its hip to finish the kill but it fired anyway, tracking shots up through the barrel chest of the Royal Guards 'Mech.

Some sort of custom Atlas, Peter realised. He fired his PPC into it, tearing away a swathe of armour across one of its upper arm, and the assault 'Mech turned smoothly towards him, autocannon still cycling.

The shots crashed against his Mackie with brutal force, ripping open armour. The gyro strained to compensate and failed. Peter saw the sky, blue where it wasn't stained by smoke, as he felt the ninety-ton machine topple backwards, crashing down on Catherine's.

If I roll either way, he thought, looking up at the Atlas looming above them, I'll be exposing Catherine.

The Atlas brought its arms around and Peter could practically see the focusing lenses within the large pulse laser mounts...

With flared jump-jets the Assault Guards' Victor leapt between them. The eighty ton 'Mechs rocked violently as the Atlas unleashed a murderous barrage into it, and then that in turn fell back on top of Peter's Mackie, pinning it.

There was a sudden pause in the fighting and then the Atlas lit up as every 'Mech remaining on the battlefield seemed to concentrate their fire upon it at once.

Few 'Mechs could boast the durability of an Atlas, but not even it could remain standing under such a ferocious close-range barrage. Armoured panels blew out, venting autocannon rounds and SRMs before they could detonate inside the 'Mech, but the assault 'Mech was reduced to a smoking wreck in mere seconds.

Realising he couldn't free his Mackie, Peter started unstrapping himself. He'd have to get out and hope he could make it to one of the Blizzards.

Popping the hatch he clambered out and saw - as he could not have from within his cockpit - that the Victor's head had been shot through by the Atlas' autocannon. Light was streaming through the ruptured faceplate and out through the back of the helmet-like armour plating.

The mechwarrior must have been killed instantly, he realised. I should at least find out their name - they died saving my life.

It only took a few steps before he had a clean line of sight on the stencilled letters below the Victor's cockpit hatch.

A. SORTEK.

Peter's knees went out from under him.

[drakensis]

Chapter 32
Castle Davion, New Avalon
Crucis March, Federated Commonwealth
21 July 3063

The coffin holding Ardan Sortek's bodily remains lay in state in Notre Dame Cathedral. Fortunately, the centre of the New Avalon Catholic Church had been spared more than incidental damage in the fighting - looking down from Castle Davion, Peter could see a few scars but the centuries old cathedral would still serve.

Perhaps the same could be said of the rest of the Federated Suns.

"Not even a trace?" he asked in frustration.

Michael Searcy shook his head. "I'm not an expert investigator, but she seems to have packed thoroughly and the cleaning staff are very efficient. We're bringing in forensic teams but I don't know if we'll find any usable DNA samples in your... in the Archon's quarters." He paused. "Has there been any sign of her?"

Peter snorted. "If we had her then I wouldn't need forensics to try to find samples, now would I?"

"Okay..." Searcy raised his hands defensively. "I'll just... go keep looking, shall I?"

"Thank you," Peter said sharply and then sighed. "Sorry, this just... isn't how I saw things as turning out. I appreciate your help."

Castle Davion's last defenders had surrendered shortly before sundown the previous day, although there were still hold-outs in other parts of New Avalon - most of whom hadn't heard or simply didn't believe that the leader who they were fighting to protect had departed Avalon City at some point the day before. The arrival of Ardan Sortek and Stephan Cooper along with the Davion Assault Guards and First NAIS Cadet Cadre had apparently been enough to convince her that the battle had been lost.

Several thousand soldiers had still died on both sides, loyalists kept unaware that they were no more than a diversion for Katrina's escape.

Searcy nodded in understanding and opened the door to leave, only to step back instead, admitting Captain Gordon.

The captain saluted crisply. "Your highness, we've found someone you need to see."

Peter rubbed his chin tiredly. "Who is it?"

"Jackson Davion, sir."

"What damp rock was he hiding under?"

Gordon shook his head. "He was in the palace detention centre, your highness. As far as we can tell he'd been locked in there for at least forty-eight hours."

Wrinkling his brow in calculation, Peter tried to fit that into the timeline of the last few days. "Before Sortek landed? How sure are you of that?"

"We're double-checking, but it adds up so far."

Peter looked around and confirmed that the office he'd commandeered had enough chairs. "Did you bring him here?"

"Yes sir. He's under guard in one of the anterooms."

"Okay, send for General Davion... Jon Davion, I mean. And General Lucy Davion as well." This could get confusing. "I'll see him once they arrive. They're family, they deserve to be here."

The cousins arrived fairly quickly, along with Catherine.

"I thought you were resting." Peter looked at his sister with concern. She had bags under her eyes.

"I'll rest as soon as you do," she told him. "How much sleep did you get last night."

He sighed. "I'm fine."

"You won't be if you don't get a few hours of downtime."

He rubbed his jaw. "I promise I'll get a full night's sleep tonight."

"And I'll do the same." Catherine slumped into a chair at the side of the room, her posture nothing like the proper and dignified way that Peter remembered Katherine behaving before he left for Saint Marinus. Back then she'd been very much aware that she was on display at all times. He thought that this Catherine might be something of a surprise to the royal court by contrast.

"Alright, captain." He looked over at Gordon. "Bring Marshal Davion in please. And thank you for finding him."

The white-haired Field Marshal entered the room crisply. His uniform was a little creased - Peter guessed that he'd been wearing it since he was locked up - but otherwise he probably seemed little different from how he would have reporting for duty to Katrina a few days ago. His frosty blue eyes flicked from one to another of the four who awaited him and he paused a moment on Catherine, brow furrowed.

"Field Marshal Davion." Peter kept his tone neutral.

"Your highness." Jackson inclined his head. "Not quite the homecoming you expected when you left New Avalon?"

Peter frowned and shook his head. So much had been different then. His mother had taken up the reins of government after father's death but none of what had happened since had been in Peter's expectations. "You may as well sit down. You'll remember your cousins of course."

"Naturally." Jackson nodded equably towards Jon and Lucy. "And this must be the mysterious Catherine Morgan." He gave her a second look. "Although our reports didn't convey the resemblance to your sister."

"Catherine is my sister." Peter couldn't keep a snap of anger from his voice. "I don't know who you've been working for."

The Field Marshal froze for a moment, halfway into his chair. "I... What are you suggesting?"

Jon leant forwards. "Blood tests confirm that Catherine and Peter are siblings - and more distantly, relatives of ours. Do you know of any similar test to show that the woman you were working for was really a Davion? Or even a Steiner?"

Jackson slowly finished sitting down, saying nothing for a moment, eyes lowered in thought. "I don't recall any such test being carried out. No one had any doubts of her identity - after all, she's been in the public eye at all times. Do you have her in custody?"

"No. She left her soldiers to die here. We don't know where she evacuated to. Do you?"

The old field marshal shook his head slowly. "No. I was dismissed and detained once it was clear that you were going to take the city." He smiled thinly. "I recommended pulling back to Brunswick - we have, or at least had, enough dropships to withdraw our forces more or less intact and we could resupply from the factories there."

"She didn't like that?" asked Lucy.

He shook his head. "No. I assume Simon Gallagher took over. Did he get away as well?"

"Not exactly." Jon folded his arms. "He shot himself after the gates were breached."

Jackson lowered his eyes for a moment. "Poor Simon. Loyalty should be a virtue, but when it isn't returned..."

"Should we expect the same from you?" asked Peter. "I don't plan on giving you access to a gun with one bullet, even if it might be traditional."

The older man stiffened. "That would be no kindness, your highness. I assume that I will face a court martial."

Catherine stirred in her seat. "We can't crucify half the Armed Forces. There isn't enough wood and the..." She broke off and blinked in bemusement as everyone stared at her.

"Cat, crucify?"

Her face coloured. "Damn. Court martial," she said, enunciating carefully. "Sorry."

"But then what would wood have to do with court martials?" Jackson asked carefully.

"Wooden walls and iron men, like Athens against the Spartans." Catherine looked around the room, as if for support. "We need them against Blake?" she offered weakly.

Peter stood and went over to her. "Cat, you really need to sleep."

Her voice was truculent. "So do you."

"I promise," and he held his hand up in quasi-salute, "That I'll get some sleep as soon as we're done here."

Catherine met his eyes and then nodded meekly.

Peter helped her to her feet and guided her to the door, handing her off to Captain Gordon. Once the door was closed he slumped against it. "Dammit, I thought she was getting better."

"What exactly is wrong with her?" asked Lucy, clearly speaking for Jackson in this.

"I don't know," Peter admitted. "We've not exactly had time to get her proper treatment or even diagnosis. When she found me on Zaniah she was barely coherent. Her memory is scrambled. It leaves her making connections that aren't there or are at least tangents. I'd take her to the College of Medical Science but..." He made a helpless gesture.

"Well there are other hospitals," Jackson offered kindly. "You've won the day, your highness. Even if the war goes on, you can afford time now for her, surely."

Peter returned to his seat. "Yeah. She's not wrong though. While I never planned to crucify anyone literally, I can't exactly purge the AFFC of everyone who's fought for Katrina. Or who is currently fighting for her. We've got two wars on our hands and could have a third at any time, depending on what Liao gets up to."

"Are you proposing an amnesty?" asked Jon.

He rubbed his chin and then nodded. "I'll court martial over war crimes," Peter declared. "But I can't honestly blame soldiers for following Katrina when, up until Art... until seven months ago, there was no other Steiner-Davion stepping up to lead them." He turned his head to look at Jackson. "There's going to have to be a lot of reorganisation and I'm not confirming anyone in the jobs they held."

"I take it you want my resignation?"

"I can't keep you as Marshal of Armies." Peter studied the older man for a long moment. "If you want to retire, your long service has more than earned you that. Or... if you give me your oath that you won't follow Katrina any further, then I certainly have a job for you."

"I think she's done with me, whatever I say," Jackson mused. "You'd trust my word."

"Bishop Sortek speaks highly of you." He shrugged slightly. "He's the new Marshal of Armies, if you hadn't guessed."

"And Ardan as your champion?"

The lightly asked question sent a shiver down Peter's spine. "No one's told you then."

Jackson paused. "Told me what?"

Peter searched for the words and Jon stepped into the breach. "Ardan Sortek was killed in action yesterday," he said gently. "One of the last shots fired hit his cockpit."

Jackson's eyes seemed to dim. "I knew it could happen, but I never thought it would. Losing friends and family is one thing, to lose them to troops under your own command..."

Peter nodded in understanding but said nothing.

After a moment to gather himself, Jackson looked up. "If you'll accept my service, your highness, then you have it."

"I'll need a formal, public statement of that."

"Of course."

"And in the meantime." Peter looked out of the window. There was still smoke in the sky, but it had lessened to a degree. From the clouds coming westwards off the ocean, the city could expect rain in the near future. "In the meantime, Jon can take you to the communications centre. See if you can talk any of the holdouts into laying down their arms. I don't want to kill more of them if I don't have to."

[drakensis]

Here's a link to a map that should shed some light on where the worlds of the story are, respectively.

[mikecj]

Wow.  This is great.  Thanks for sharing.