Opalescent Reflections
Stacking the Deck
Chapter 7
Hilton Head, North America
Terra, Sol System
25 April 3054Wei felt a little wistful as she watched Morgan Hasek-Davion confirm with his staff that they had dealt with all the points of concerns in the debates. There was no denying that the AFFC’s Marshal of Armies was very handsome, and it was extremely unfortunate that he was apparently sincere in his claims of monogamy and besides that he wasn’t on Terra where Wei could try to convince the Marshal and his wife of that practice’s obvious flaws.
Alas, that was not to be and she tried to hide that regret as Hasek-Davion turned back towards the holo-cameras at his headquarters on Tharkad. “Primus, Precentor Martial,” he said courteously. “My staff confirm their satisfaction that all of our concerns regarding the agreement have been addressed. May I ask if the same is true for your part?”
Precentor Martial Anastasius Focht nodded crisply and Wei smiled slightly. “I am pleased to confirm that we are indeed satisfied, Marshal Hasek-Davion.”
In the final act of the negotiations, Precentor Joe Murphy entered view on the far side of the live HPG connection to sign the physical copy of the agreement on Tharkad along with the Marshal. On Terra, Marshal Grissom Miller of the AFFC’s Department of Mercenary Relations, was admitted to the room to sign their copies alongside Wei.
Miller’s long term presence on Terra, as an unofficial member of the Mercenary Review Board alongside a representative of the Combine was one more irritant for Wei. Alas, he wasn’t as handsome as his superior and frankly, his manner grated on Wei. He saluted Hasek-Davion’s image crisply on the holographic display, before addressing the same gesture to Wei and Focht - eyes narrowed perceptibly and nostrils flared slightly.
“Thank you, Primus.” Hasek-Davion rose to his feet and placed one hand over his heart before bowing deeply to her. “The Federated Commonwealth is deeply grateful for your Order’s willingness to work with us in our common interests.”
“Blake’s Blessing upon you and all those who are under your command,” Wei replied, standing and placing her hands together in prayer. “Perhaps one day, we will enjoy the peace hoped for by Jerome Blake and, more recently, by Katrina Steiner in her noble peace proposal.”
The Marshal of Armies’ lips quirked upwards in a warm smile. “That would be a joyous day,” he agreed.
And then his image winked out, as Wei’s own most likely should on Tharkad. She refrained from relaxing right away, in case the timing was off.
“I will be available to coordinate movements of your forces,” Marshal Miller informed Focht before he made his own departure.
Satisfied that they were now alone, she looked at Focht. “Can you work with that man?”
“Miller or Hasek-Davion?” the Precentor Martial asked and then shook his head. “No, I know who you mean. Yes, I can handle Miller.”
“It’s obvious I dislike him?”
The white-haired officer smiled thinly. “You’ve never once even hinted at trying to seduce him. That doesn’t make him unique, but it stands out.”
“And here I thought I was keeping a veneer of courtesy.”
“You were,” Focht assured her. “But not to those who know you.”
Wei turned and walked to the wall. “Am I being unfair to him?”
“It is always hard to like someone who dislikes you,” Focht assured her. “Miller is good at his job, he gets on well with mercenaries because he deals in what they want, for the most part. Money, and respect. What he’s uncomfortable with is those who are more interested in those…”
“Now, hold on, Nasty. I’m not uninterested in either of those,” she protested.
Focht’s eye twinkled. “Perhaps not, but in his eyes you’re a Blakist and a Hedonist, first and foremost.” He paused. “And of course, that wouldn’t offend him half as much if you weren’t also very much his type when it comes to your looks.”
“And how do you know that?!” she protested.
“I had some knowledge of him from my misspent youth,” he said. “Though I am sure he does not remember me. He is good at his job, Primus. Just leave him to me.”
Wei looked at him and then decided not to press the matter harder. “We are spreading the ComGuards very thin.”
“It’s only one brigade,” Focht reassured her. “And we do not need as many forces on the St Ives-Capellan border now.”
The Seventy-Second Brigade of the ComGuards had been reconstituted recently using veterans from Camlann - along with equipment painstakingly pieced back together from salvage. What made it different from the other units was that each of its current four Level III units was configured to mirror a Clan Cluster, and used equipment to match. They made a fantastic training tool, and for the next two years they would be roving the Federated Commonwealth’s border with the Free Worlds League, facing off against newly formed AFFC units in training exercises that would hopefully benefit both armed forces.
“Thomas Marik has already managed to get wind of the matter,” Wei informed him. “He was quite polite, but he is asking for the same courtesy…”
Focht nodded gravely. “Well, we have already committed to ‘Invader Galaxy’ assisting the AFFC and he is not facing the Clans at the moment, so what is he offering?” The AFFC had agreed to share research data to help the ComGuards maintain their salvaged Clan equipment - and of course, that would help both the Order and the Federated Commonwealth move towards eventually being able to construct equivalent technology at a cost that wasn’t ruinous.
Wei exhaled slowly. “Reading between the lines… I believe he has found Jardine.”
“...the last of those hidden worlds?”
She nodded. “I hope to Blake that this really is the last. I suppose it makes sense that he would have a lead on its location.”
“I had wondered why there had been one in every Successor State except the League… allowing for later border changes,” the Precentor Martial admitted. “So this one was inside the Free Worlds League.”
“He has also been there before,” Wei said delicately. She wasn’t going to outright say what they both knew about Thomas Marik - currently a very discreetly held prisoner - and about the man who had been put in his place twenty years ago as the Captain-General of the Free Worlds League. “Jardine is where he received medical treatment after the bomb that killed Janos and Duggan Marik. It was primarily working on cybernetics, for reconstructive and augmentation purposes.”
“The first would come in very handy,” Focht acknowledged. “The latter… I care very little about. I take it that this will need to be discussed in person?”
Wei nodded. “That is always the most secure way to carry out such negotiations.”
“If you break the agreement we just made, it will be very damaging to your credibility.”
“Yes, and hopefully Marik will understand that there are things I cannot reasonably offer.” She shook her head, irritated. “Ideally, he agrees to share the data under the same joint medical programmes that are treating his son. It can always be claimed that his people found an old SLDF research station.”
Focht raked his hair back from his shoulders. “We can probably scrape together a fifth cluster for Invader Galaxy and assign it to work with the FWLM, mirroring his arrangement. It wouldn’t perform at close to Clan capabilities in real combat, but for training exercises where the shots are mostly simulated, it could serve.”
“I recall you mentioning that as a possibility,” she agreed. “He can’t be that worried about us training units along his border, they’re replacing troops that will be sent to fight the Clans.”
“To an extent,” Focht allowed. “However, I suspect that it is more likely that the new units will be sent to fight once they are up to strength. Hanse Davion is not going to bleed out all his best soldiers on the frontlines, leaving the AFFC without a solid core in the event of war on another front. You may have missed some of the implications of the designations of some of the new units.”
Wei arched an eyebrow. “I’m afraid not. I believe most of them are units lost in the Clan Invasion?”
“Seven of the ten,” he agreed. “Most significantly, Archon Steiner authorized the reformation of the Eighth and the Twenty-Fourth Arcturan Guards. By tradition, the Arcturan Guards draw at least a quarter of their personnel from Arcturus, something the LCAF was struggling with even before the end of the Succession Wars. Raising two RCTs of the Arcturan Guards when the world is under the rule of the Clans would be almost impossible unless…”
“Unless there was an implicit promise to reclaim the world,” Wei realized.
“Exactly. I am not saying that there is a plan for an immediate counter-offensive, but I think we can safely say that Morgan Hasek-Davion wants the units trained in fighting the Clans because the Archon and First Prince are making realistic plans to take the war back to the Clans.”
“Do you think that is achievable?”
Focht shook his head. “Not at the current time. But every battle fought, is teaching them more and more about the Clans. Without the Steel Vipers return to the Inner Sphere, I would have doubted that the Nova Cats and Jade Falcons could take every world above the truce line. If the truce holds to its full extent, then barring disaster the AFFC will be largely equipped to SLDF standards, which doesn’t entirely close the technological gap… and the general trend at the moment is that the Clans are winning less often and much less decisively than they did initially.”
“And if the truce fails,” Wei asked, worriedly.
“There are too many variables,” he admitted. “Would other Clans commit to the fighting? How deep are their actual reserves of equipment, as opposed to what they brought with them. Would the AFFC be fighting alone or with allies?” He shrugged.
If they break the truce, then our enclaves are also open to attack, Wei thought. I would have little choice but to commit the ComGuards.
“I’ll set up a formal visit to Atreus,” she decided. “Later this year, we can find an excuse. I think the Captain-General will accept delaying any serious discussions until then.”
“What if he makes… unreasonable demands?”
Wei made a helpless face. “I don’t suppose that taking full responsibility and resigning would earn me assignment as Precentor for Bangkok, would it?”
“Bangkok doesn’t have an HPG,” he pointed out.
“One minor flaw in an otherwise brilliant plan.”
Dali, Tamar
Clan Wolf Occupation Zone
30 May 3054The chamber used for Clan Council meetings had served as some kind of chapel. Ulric had not enquired as to the specifics. It was a suitably impressive chamber, once Clan Wolf’s banners were hung in place of the original decorations. The candles had also been removed as the electric lights were perfectly sufficient and the smoke from them occasionally interfered with the holographic transmitters.
Once the holographic representations winked out, there was an immediately visible shift in the politics of the seating. The Wardens had congregated in the leftmost seats - on Ulric’s right, since the two Khans and the loremaster sat facing the seating. The Crusaders sat to the right, with the moderates of both faction congregating in the center with the handful of neutrals, both sides doing their best to cushion the extremes.
With the bloodnamed still in the homeworlds gone, the more extreme warden ranks were almost depopulated, Phela and a few dozen warriors quietly filing up one aisle to take their leave. Opposite, them the younger Crusaders were still there in force, sufficient of them that they were still filtering out when the loremaster took his leave, Dalk Carns rather pointedly picking their aisle and approaching a pair of young warriors to walk out with.
Natasha exhaled slowly as she watched them. “There goes trouble.”
Ulric glanced over at her. “We agree on that.”
His saKhan indicated one of the side doors. “No use sitting here like dummies, I have some beer in the backroom to take the taste of politics out of my mouth.”
“I have people to talk to.”
“There’s Timbiqui Dark,” the redhead offered, “I know you can’t say no to that.”
The Khan paused. The woman’s tone was… unusual. Not uncertain, Natasha was never that. But… uncomfortable?
Well, she was not one to ambush him. “You know me well,” he lied and gestured for her to lead the way.
Through the door, he found a small lounge that he hadn’t even known existed, wiring from the holo system neatly secured against one wall. Low padded seats ringed the room and Natasha used one foot to nudge a small crate out from under one. It was full of half-melted ice with bottlenecks rising out of it.
“You could not find a fridge?” Ulric asked, amused, as he took a seat next to her.
“The way they have this corner of the palace wired up for the holo projectors, I don’t dare plug in anything else, I could end up overloading something.” She worked the lid off one of the bottles and passed it to him.
Ulric checked the label and found it was the promised brand. As Natasha uncapped her own bottle, he raised his. “To what shall we drink?”
“Cyrilla Ward,” Natasha clinked her bottle against his and they both drank deeply.
“Hell of a way to go,” the Black Widow said, a little mournfully. “We always said we’d go out together, fighting the Smoke Jaguars. I guess the Steel Vipers are almost as good.”
With the news of the Steel Vipers throwing the bulk of their forces into the Inner Sphere, a hasty alliance of Wolf, Coyote and Goliath Scorpions had launched a flurry of attacks on the Steel Viper holdings on Homer. The enclaves captured had been divided up between the three Clans, but they had not been won without cost and Cyrilla Ward’s life had been one of those prices - a particularly high arching salvo of LRMs from a new Phoenix Hawk variant had clustered damage around her cockpit with one missile penetrating to explode inside.
“She has left a great legacy for Clan Wolf,” he agreed.
Natasha slammed the base of her bottle against the arm of the chair - fortunately the padding absorbed much of the impact and the bottle didn’t break. “A legacy that little turd carried right over to Radick’s little pack of hotheads!”
“Vlad, quiaff?” Ulric sat back in his chair and took another gulp from the bottle.
“Aff. It grinds my gears to see him pissing all over her beliefs. He claimed her bloodright, I hate to think what she would have to say about him pushing for us to renounce the truce. He is even pushing to take leadership within the bloodhouse, and using her reputation as a stepping stone.”
“I doubt he will manage that, not quickly at least.” Ulric examined his beer. He was going to need more than what was left of this bottle if Natasha was going to use him as an ear for her venting. “Cyrilla made it clear that Phelan was the one she saw as a future leader of the Bloodhouse, even if he is not ready for it yet.” He drained the bottle. “And she respected Vlad’s abilities. It is not like Conal Ward - can you imagine what he would feel about his bloodright being carried by a warrior from the Inner Sphere.”
That got a startled laugh from Natasha. “There is that. If there is an afterlife, Cyrilla must be laughing at him.”
“If there is, then perhaps you will fight alongside her again one day.” He shrugged. “As for renouncing the truce, any Clan doing so alone would destroyed. There is a reason Showers is trying to build support rather than hurling his Clan towards Terra.”
The Black Widow snorted and passed him another bottle, cold and wet from the ice. “Cyrilla sent me a message before she went to war. Maybe she thought she wouldn’t be able to send another, it had that tone to it, you know?”
Having read the final messages of warriors who decided to end their lives on their own terms more than once, Ulric could only nod.
“She said we should talk. Which,” Natasha waved her bottle around to signal her confusion, “I had thought that we were. But apparently not in her eyes, and I trusted ‘Rilla.” She leant back, twisting into the corner of her seat to look at him as she drained what was left of her beer.
Ulric had to hide a shiver at the sight of those predatory eyes locking onto him. Natasha had been a legend for her lethality among the Clans before she joined the Dragoons, And fifty years later, she was perhaps even more deadly. Allegedly she had only been defeated once in all that time. “I had spoken to her, for advice.”
“And? This was my sibkin’s last request, do not make me kick it out of you, Ulric.” She crossed her legs provocatively.
He popped the cap off the bottle and decided it was better to approach the matter directly. “Erik and your conversations with him. You had told me you were a Warden, but your words since you became saKhan have been more those of a Crusader.”
“The hell, Ulric?!” Natasha jerked forwards. “Is that what you think of me?”
He raised his beer for a moment. “Cyrilla.”
The Black Widow glared at him for using the ghost of her sibkin as a shield but she recovered another bottle and clinked it somewhat petulantly against his.
“You have been talking about involving ourselves further in the worlds of our corridor,” the Khan pointed out. “And of adding worlds to it. I know you are not a politician, perhaps that is not what you intended to say, but these sound like the agenda of - oh, not of the firebrands who still think we can reach Terra, but at least of the more practical of the Crusader.”
“Like your sibkin, Erik?”
“Aff. Like Erik.”
Natasha gulped from the neck of her beer. “Alright.” She rested her elbows on her knees. “Something that Enders kid said rang true.”
He knew it! This was all that damned Diamond Shark’s fault! He wasn’t just lethal with a PPC, he must have a silver tongue! “What did he say?”
“He claimed that the entire issue of Warden versus Crusader was obsolete.”
Ulric tilted his head slightly to one side.
Accepting the invitation to continue, Natasha met his eyes. “When the invasion vote went through, the Wardens lost. We can’t un-invade the Inner Sphere. Even if we left entirely, they know we exist now.”
He nodded. Some of the more extreme Wardens would disagree with that, but he had to admit that some of his supporters were as blind to practical reality as Radick’s clique were.
“And Camlann killed the Crusader’s dream, even if they don’t want to admit it. Maybe,” she paused. “Maybe we could take Terra now. But you can see for yourself how much more resistance the Feddies and the Snakes are putting up after just a few years. But supposing we took Terra, do you think they would just surrender?”
“Neg.” Ulric chuckled. “And Terra would not fall easily. We have no idea how heavy the defenses are. It is possible that Primus Rong has restored them to the same level our ancestors faced.”
“Yeah, that hot piece of ass knows she’s in their crosshairs.”
“How disrespectful of you, Natasha.” He extended his bottle and she clinked it against his in a third toast, not to their dead friend now.
“I call it like I see it,” the Black Widow said unrepentantly. “And that ass is almost as nice as mine.”
“I see your narcissism is unchecked. So, you say the Wardens and Crusaders are… obsolete?”
“Chasing dogs that already got away. So the question is, what is the issue we’re dealing with now?” She sipped from her beer. “And it’s these worlds, how we handle them.”
“Alright. Tell me how you see it.” How Erik sees it.
“I got a lot of this from Erik, set him straight on a few points though,” Natasha said directly. “I’ve lived in the Inner Sphere, and he figured I’d have a better handle on how they thought than he did.”
“He is not a fool, for all we disagree on.”
That got him a nod of agreement. “Some of the Clans don’t have worlds here in the Inner Sphere. And sooner or later that’s going to turn into a staggering gap between their resources and those of us who do. More planets, more people… even if they aren’t as efficient at turning out war material, we could probably support a Cluster for every planet in the corridor, am I wrong?”
Ulric frowned. “Some of the worlds are not that wealthy, but on average…” Tamar had a population greater than all of Clan Wolf’s holdings in the homeworlds, and it was just one world. Repair the damage done by generations of raiding, establish factories fed by mines on neighboring systems… It could fuel a huge touman, one that could inflict terrible damage in the wrong hands. “Neg, you are not wrong.”
“Easier said than done,” Natasha allowed. “And most of the people here aren’t clansmen. They didn’t grow up in castes and the idea isn’t even the one that’s going to be hardest for them to adjust to, if they have to live under Clan Law.”
“Oh? What would you say is the hardest?” he enquired.
She grinned. “There is a wailing noise from the banks about the idea that work credits expire if they aren’t spent. You have no idea how much the idea of savings matters to the Inner Sphere economy. The other division we’re seeing develop is in how the Clans integrate the worlds here. Take the Smoke Jaguars at one end of the scale…”
Ulric winced.
“Hammer the round pegs into the square hole, and if that doesn’t work, hammer harder.”
“I sincerely do not think so poorly of you or Erik to imagine that you are advocating that.” He really hoped that they weren’t.
Natasha sneered. “No, but somewhere under that flailing they do have a distant awareness of how much it matters. Why do you think that the Steel Vipers came back to rejoin the invasion?”
The question may have been intended rhetorically, but Ulric answered anyway. “By your logic, because they think that without Inner Sphere worlds, they will become irrelevant.”
That got him a nod of agreement. “A Clan that doesn’t have a presence in the Inner Sphere risks becoming as relevant as a Fire Mandrill kindraa - Erik’s words, not mine.”
He chuckled, there was a certain amusement to the idea. Clan Fire Mandrill had been described (also by his sibkin) as ‘seven dwarf Clans trying to wear a giant’s coat’. The Kindraa, clusters of affiliated bloodhouses, functioned with near total autonomy under the general banner of the Fire Mandrills and with a resulting lack of cohesion that kept the Clan among the weakest of Kerensky’s children. It was widely agreed that the only reason they hadn’t been absorbed by another Clan was that no one wanted them.
“The other end of the scale is what we are doing,” Natasha told him. “And while I get that we don’t want to be like the Smoke Jaguars, the problem is that a Clan that doesn’t use their worlds is as badly off as one that doesn’t have one. That’s what Erik is worried about, Ulric. That if we stay hands off that the Wolves will be as irrelevant as the Clans back home.”
It was like a cup of cold water splashed across Ulric’s face.
“We have a potentially winning hand of cards - ninety-nine worlds, in one of the most densely packed regions of the Inner Sphere, not spread out around a stellar rift like the Diamond Sharks. One of the most wartorn regions too, and their united government was less than twenty years old, it didn’t have the depth of loyalty that a core region of a Successor State would have.” Natasha finished her beer and tossed it up in the air, catching it before it could hit the ground. “And you’re throwing that away.”
“And what is your solution?” he asked quietly. Intently. “Not to become the Smoke Jaguars.”
“Not even becoming the Diamond Sharks, although they might have a better chance than most of the other Clans,” Natasha told him. “Something more like what the Ghost Bears are doing: seed enclaves of our civilians on their worlds. Our people live under Clan laws and we welcome those who choose to do likewise - make those enclaves beacons of prosperity that the rest of the planet will want to emulate.”
“Most will not, Natasha. They are too invested in their own ways.” The idea wasn’t entirely pointless, but it would require moving huge numbers of Clan civilians to the Inner Sphere.
“Even if only one in a hundred does, it will be hundreds of millions of people,” she pointed out. “As to the rest, they become a protectorate. We take on all the duties of the Republic’s government, including keeping the peace, and most importantly: we protect them. We do what the Kungsarme could not. Twelve years from now, when the truce comes to an end, we’ll have ruled them almost as long as the Free Rasalhague Republic had. We’ll be the new normal, living alongside them. And what can the Combine or even the Commonwealth offer them that will be worth the upheaval of another war?”
Ulric stroked his beard. “How much of this did you come up with, Natasha?”
“Not much,” she admitted. “No one thinks I am a great political thinker, not even me. But I found someone who was and we bounced ideas off each other. My main contribution was Rasalhague - freeing them would be a great gesture, Erik thinks. And we could do it.”
“Why did you not come to me?”
“I tried!” she snapped, eyes fiery. “But you didn’t listen to dumb ol’ Natasha, the weapon you wanted to wave at the Crusaders! Do you think I don’t know what you think of me?”
“I have never thought you a fool, Natasha,” Ulric assured her. “But nor will I say you do not have a point. You were not expressing these points at the time… and yes, perhaps I undervalued your grasp of politics. I am sorry. And I am listening now.”
She huffed irritably. There was more than a little anger still there, he was going to have to work hard to mend that bond. He had spent too much time worrying about Dalk Carns and the loremaster’s transparent aims to ride the young firebrands of the Clan Council to the khanship, not enough on keeping his key supporters happy. Natasha was not a blunt instrument, she was a sharp edge… and if she was a bridge to the more moderate Crusaders, that might help maintain a numerical edge within the Clan Council.
“Draw up a plan for Rasalhague,” he decided. “And I will talk to Erik. I make no promises to accept these plans of his, but you are right. I should consider them, we cannot afford our Clan to be left irrelevant.”
The Smoke Jaguars would fight fiercely for Rasalhague, he thought. It would be chancy, but if I stacked the units fighting there with Carns’ supporters… no, that might give them the glory of victory and if they were as callous of civilian casualties as the Jaguars were, which is possible, then this could backfire against us.
Some of the more outlying worlds of the corridor, those of the periphery, were marginal at best. Their populations were also adapting to Clan ways, seeing them as preferable to the poverty imposed by the bandit kingdoms that preceded them. Relocating those people as a seed for new Clan-style enclaves in the Inner Sphere… that might work - and shorten the borders to be defended. Or gift them to another Clan, one of the Warden Clans eager to have a chance at the gains being found here.
Ulric frowned. The idea of isolated Clan enclaves around others that did not live under Clan law reminded him of something… oh, of course. The Smoke Jaguars and the enclaves they allowed for those who refused to accept Clan Law. All of which, as he understood it, were growing massively as refugees flooded towards them with each fresh atrocity inflicted. What a precedent, he thought. If we cannot make those enclaves a shining light by comparison, it will be our people who leave them to join the Inner Sphere.
Ulric Kerensky considered the likely reaction of the Clan Council to that and shuddered inwardly.
“I could find an excuse to kill Carns,” Natasha suggested. “He was making enough noise about my age back when I was elected that I could invite him to participate in my next Trial of Position.”
“He is not suicidal, Natasha. Your victory made him a believer in your prowess, at least.” Four victories was unprecedented for a trial of position. “Besides, you and he will likely see enough action that you will not need to defend your status as warriors. Either on Rasalhague, or with more of these peacekeeping missions that Phelan has been finding for us.”
I have one more option for dealing with Carns, he thought darkly. I hope he sees sense and backs down before I need to use it.
