Author's Note

The Periphery made at least one very impressive contribution to the human in the 3020s (at least in this history). Until 3024 the life expectancy of the nobility and the upper middle class (excepting those with dangerous military careers) of the Inner Sphere was somewhat in excess of a century.

In July 3024 the University of Canopus, one of the premiere medical schools of the human race, developed a treatment that could drastically slow the aging process if applied before the mid-twenties. Prolong, as it was dubbed, was terrifically expensive but proved irresistable to the nobility and - as costs were reduced - to the upper middle class. Life expectancy for recipients is estimated to be anything from the low side of two centuries to well over three hundred.

Clinics offering the treatment - and the later technique developed by the rival University of Luxen to actually regress the age of the elderly - sprang up across the Inner Sphere and money proceeded to flood into Canopian coffers since the Magestrix exploited the monopoly with ruthless capitalism. It's estimated that before the Periphery states were mysteriously moved back in time from 3031 to 2576 Canopian tax revenue rivalled that of some of the Successor States. This money was spent to finance an economic boom not only within the Magistracy but by extension within their trading partners.

Jumpship Poison Ivy, Trznadel Cluster

Luxen District, Magistracy of Canopus

4 April 2577 (5 April 3032 local calendar)

"Welcome to the home of the Canopian Navy Royal," Emily Alexander told Margaid Chon as she sat on the 'visitor's chair' in the bridge of the Ivy.

Margaid gave her a surprised look. "Not Canopus?"

The CNR ComCapt (who looked far more like a holo-actress portraying a naval officer than the genuine article) laughed lightly. "Oh heavens no. Canopus is just where we work. We're the largest single employer in Luxen District and the Navy owns the Trznadel Cluster outright. Every civilian who comes here is contracted to our employ, at least temporarily. The only other place like this is Reinbak and we have to share that with the Army and the Medical Corps."

"That's rather a strange arrangement."

Emily shrugged. "We needed the resources to build up the Navy, so finding the Cluster was provident. There's enough minerals in the asteroid belts to build almost any number of ships and as the Taurians demonstrated – will demonstrate, I suppose – the gravitational oddities of a star cluster like this make the interior highly defensible."

"Who's going to attack you here? We've got to be eight or nine jumps from the Inner Sphere," asked Osami curiously.

"Twelve years ago, the Capellan Confederation pushed their way to within one jump of Canopus," Emily told her. She gestured to the 'walking frame' that surrounded her lower body. "I picked up the need for this at the Battle of Borgan's Rift. Back then I was figuring on putting my time in with the MAF and then getting out and going into show business."

Osami winced. "Why did you stay in the Navy after that. Wouldn't they, um, invalid you out?"

"Normally, yes. But Savitri looks after her own. She'd taken personal command of the Navy for Borgan's Rift and she visited me in hospital and said that I wouldn't need legs in zero-gravity." Emily chuckled. "She sent me as liaison when a film company started making a movie about the battle and I even got a supporting role, so I had the best of both worlds."

"So is she going to look out for us as well?" asked Mela sardonically.

Emily smiled slightly. "Why do you think she asked you to take a cargo out here?" she asked reasonably. "More than eighty percent of our shipping within the Cluster doesn't enter planetary shipping wells, meaning you're not at a disadvantage compared to dropships. In fact, for long hauls, you're at a slight advantage compared to dropship/jumpship pairs."

Sara blinked. "You're telling me that the Magestrix of Canopus, ruler of however billion people, actually sat down and figured out a niche for a tramp freighter to turn a profit at? Why would she care?"

Her response was a glare. "Maybe I'm a bit starry-eyed about Savitri, but yes. She does care. I'm not saying she sat down and personally figured out where you would be able to make a living herself – that's what she has a staff for – but she sure as hell realised you were in a tight spot and had someone find you a viable option. If you don't like it, you're free to trade anyplace you want. But don't bad-mouth Savitri Centrella around me." Emily pushed herself off from the seat and towards the open hatch, floating in the zero-G of the bridge.

Margaid looked at the hatch and then at Mela. "I think it's a good moment for a shareholder's meeting. Ms Hayagawa, Ms Volkman, would you mind leaving the bridge."

Acknowledging the implicit command, the two opened the door and departed. Mela pulled out a cigarette and shifted over towards one of the compartment's ventilators before lighting up. "I'm guessing this isn't about how much you want to sneak our navigator into your bunk?"

"No, it's about you being on the rag for the last month and counting." Margaid fought the urge to cross her arms and stare down at the older woman. "I'm going to have to speak to Sara about this as well, but I know you're the one setting her a bad example, so what's your problem?"

"Besides the obvious?"

"Yes, besides the obvious."

Mela shook her head, smoke drifting up from the cigarette towards the air conditioning. "This isn't Canopus any more. A big shiny navy, hundreds of worlds all dancing to the tune of their monarch. Kossandra Centrella would have kicked their asses and be heading for the frontier by now."

"I'm not Kossandra Centrella."

"Nor is that over-stacked idiot on the throne. Hell, at least Crystalla understood this. My mother and the rest of the Black Brotherhood came out here to get away from all this crap."

"So what you're saying is, the universe has changed and you don't like it? Sounds like the same thing that the rest of us are dealing with."

"It's not the same!" The communications officer knocked ash from her cigarette into a zero-g ashtray. "Look, I know you and the others think I make too much of how my family were there when we colonised Canopus, but it's what I was raised with! Canopus was supposed to be a new start. You remember what it was like? A garden world, no terraforming required. And now what is it? An industrial wasteland and the party-capital of the Inner Sphere. Just another empire."

Margaid looked at her closely. "I think you're wearing some rose-tinted glasses, Mela. Kossandra always wanted the Magistracy to be big enough and rich enough to stand off House Marik. From what I've had chance to look at in their history, it may have taken almost five hundred years to accomplish that, but they got there. Canopus, Andurien and a couple of the other Periphery states banded together and smashed an attempt by the Mariks to conquer them. And they beat off the Capellans as well."

"Yes, but -"

"I'm not quite done, Mela." She paused until she was sure that the older woman was listening. "Your pride matters to you. Don't you think that they might have some pride in what they've accomplished over the years?"

Terra Prime, Apollo

Rim Worlds Republic

7 April 2577

Unbeknownst to Katherine Dormax, Charlotte Grimm wasn't as far away from her as she might have thought. The Confederation-class Destroyer/Carrier OCS Black Pearl wasn't only present to escort the two regiments that she had sent to retrieve Amaris, but also to ensure the maximum possible security for their queen.

The door to her stateroom – as near to a throne room as could be managed under the circumstances – opened and two infantrymen in the uniforms of Oberon's regular army escorted a man in manacles into the room with her. Charlotte looked at him inquisitively, as if unsure of his presence, while the guards attached the chains to a pair of loops set in the deck.

"Please don't step too close, your highness," the senior of the pair requested. "He's had at least some military training."

The use of the honorific drew the prisoner's attention and he looked up at her. "You. Who are you?" he demanded.

Charlotte smiled slightly. "My, such a rude guest. Should one not offer their own name first?"

"You already know who I am."

"Humour me. It's not as if you have anything but time on your hands right now."

If looks could have killed then his glare would have not only reduced the queen to ashes but also burned through the bulkhead behind her. "Ladies first."

That drew a laugh. "I'm a lot of things, but a Lady? Please." Charlotte glanced over to the junior of the two guards, then back to her prisoner. "Now you can play nicely, or I can have you put across the knee of one of these strapping young men and have your backside paddled like a naughty child. Last chance."

The situation was bizarre enough that the extraordinary threat seemed entirely plausible when to him. "First Consul Gregory Amaris, as you well know."

"Good boy. Are you sure about that First Consul bit?"

"I am. And once the my loyal soldiers and my allies in the Star League put down the rebellion, you will pay for this indignity."

Charlotte giggled. "Oh dear, you're so naïve. But I'm forgetting my own manners. I'm Queen Charlotte Grimm of the Oberon Confederation."

"Are you sure about that?" Amaris queried sarcastically.

"Let me check. Boys, am I your queen? In the non-dominatrix sense of course." They nodded, the younger even throwing in a salute. "There, you see. Feel free to try the same if you want."

"I'll pass."

"A wise decision." Charlotte crossed the stateroom to her chair, an armchair that looked formal enough to pass for a field-expedient throne. "Unlike some of your previous ones. I must admit to being a poor scholar of history, Mr. Amaris, and I've been wondering of late, why in the world did you want to join the Star League. It has, after all, cost you your throne."

"They're all fools. Membership in the Star League offers priceless political and economic advantages. With that, the Republic could at last be the equal of the other states."

Charlotte shook her head. "Really? I was right to call you naive. You think the Star League is coming to your rescue? They're doing nothing of the sort. Right now they're gearing up for the invasion of the Magistracy and the Concordat. It'll be years before they can spare any serious resources from those campaigns to deal with you, and even then you'll be lower in their priorities than even the Alliance. As for equality, don't make me laugh. The Republic will be treated just the same as the other periphery realms: they'll be territories of the Star League, with a voice but no vote at all in the leadership of the League. Oh, they'll let you and your heirs govern the Republic but you'll never be equals. And one day, generations from now, one of those heirs will have had enough and he'll tear it all down."

"You're insane." Amaris pulled at his chains. "You're not a prophetess, you're a jumped up pirate with delusions of a grandeur."

Charlotte giggled. "Oh I'm a little more than that, Mr. Amaris. But my father? He was a pirate, oh yes indeed. And so were his ancestors, going back another three generations. And sometimes, Mr. Amaris, I feel that blood a little more strongly than others. Would you like me to have you walk the plank? I could do that, you know. Let you die by decompression. Ugly way to die."

Amaris' breathing was shallow. "You wouldn't dare."

"You'd be surprised what I dare," she told him matter of factly. "But I'm not cruel enough to make yours a solitary fate. If I decide to send you outside without a suit, I'll make sure you have company. Your son, Richard wasn't it? He's been demanding to see that you're alright. I'm sure he'd be very happy to keep you company."

"I..." Amaris' eyes were wide.

"Did that hit a nerve?" Charlotte glanced around the cabin and then picked up a piece of paper and a pen. The paper was taken from Amaris' own study in his redoubt. "Well, I'm feeling generous. Must be something in the air. I'll make you a deal, Gregory. If you'll do one little thing for me, I promise you faithfully that I won't harm a hair on your son's head. All I want is one little autograph, right here at the bottom."

"B-but that's blank." Amaris shook his head. "You could put anything on that."

"You know what? You're right." Charlotte feigned a look of deep contemplation. "And what does it matter to you what I do with it? It's not as if you have anything at all to lose."

He took the pen and looked at it as if he had never seen one before. "I should trust the word of a pirate?"

"Oh it's worse than that. You're having to trust the word of a politician." Charlotte placed the paper on a small table and pushed it forward towards him. "Still at least I'm not a lawyer."

Amaris laughed bitterly. "You make a good point." He scrawled his signature on the paper and then closed up the pen. "So what now. You hand me over to someone that isn't bound by your promise?"

"Oh good heaven's no." Charlotte took the pen and paper, placing them neatly in a drawer next to Amaris' personal seal which one of the strike team had retreived. "You're going back to your cell, right next to your son's. And then we'll drop the pair of you off on a nice, discreet little asteroid with all the supplies you'll need to live out the rest of your life. Nothing very appetizing of course, but I'm sure you'll get used to military field rations eventually."

She nodded to the guards. "Take him away boys. I don't need him anymore."

The door didn't close immediately after Amaris was taken out of the stateroom. The reason became evident as Jerric entered the room. "How did it go?"

She nodded, eyes still fixed on the door as it slid closed. "I got what I wanted." Her eyes went wide. "You might want to – urp..."

And then she bent over and started throwing up her dinner all over her lap.

Pirate Point, Tellman's Mistake

Principality of Regulus, Free Worlds League

10 April 2577

There's nothing like an outside enemy to bring people together, Steven McSwiggans was finding.

The past two years had been nothing but tension between the two halves of the naval task force stationed to support the Twentieth Division: the four Congress-class frigates and three Davion-class destroyers manned by the SLDF to escort the transports; and McSwiggans' own FWLN detachment: three Atreus-class battleships and their escorting Libertad-class corvettes.

"If I'd known that Alena Husvar would obey my orders this sharply when we were facing an actual opponent, I'd have recommended invading last year and kept more of my hair," McSwiggans noted, running one hand across the balding crown of his head.

On the tactical display the task force looked like a single force, for the first time he could remember. They were moving out at a steady acceleration of one point zero standard gravities towards the enemy.

"It's ironic," Sally Boazman noted, standing beside him. "Wasn't this the Captain-General's plan all along: lure the Canopians into launching an attack of some kind against apparently vulnerable supply bases. And now that she's gone, it's working."

"It's a bit closer that I'd have liked. Not quite a knockout punch, but..." McSwiggans eyed the group sceptically. There were eight Canopian cruisers – big, powerful vessels – and a dozen corvettes backed up by a similar number of dropships. "We've got a slight advantage in tonnage but there're a lot of fighters there."

"Then it's a good job we have our ace in the hole, however smug Admiral Husvar might be about it."

McSwiggans followed Boazman's eyes to the third group of ships on the diagram. He'd been bemused to suddenly receive reinforcements earlier in the week, but the pair of Farragut-class battleships were now looking like a godsend, skewing the balance of firepower decidedly in his favour.

Even better, Commodore Beatty, aboard the SLS Mitchell DuKirl, was apparently on the ball and had gone to silent running, cutting her drives and that of the SLS Alexander Rimes while the Canopian sensors were still adjusting from their own jumpflares. It would take some tight handling but a terse communication between McSwiggan's flagship FWLS Regulus and the DuKirl had settled on the SLDF battleships being used to outflank the Canopians, pinning them against the main force.

"I almost feel sorry for them," he said. "They won't know which way to turn when Beatty lights up her drives."

"For myself," Boazman confided. "I feel for the crews. Two and a half gravities is bad enough for manoeuvring, Sustaining it for almost an hour will be brutal."

McSwiggan grinned in a predatory fashion. "I'm sure the prospect of never having to buy a drink if any of my crews are around will ease their pain."

On the plot, the positions of the three forces crept along the tracks bringing them inexorably together.

And then the Canopian force split.

"What's going on?"

Boazman was already bringing up a more detailed display. "Damn, those are fast ships," she whispered. "Their corvettes and most of their dropships are pulling at least four gravities, moving ahead of the cruisers. I think they're going to make a fast pass along with the fighters."

"Four gravities?" That was as fast as some aerospace fighters. McSwiggan couldn't think of anything past a few specialised dropships that would be able to maintain that sort of thrust. "They can't have anything much in the way of armour and weapons if they've got drives that large. We'll take shots in passing but keep your eye on the cruisers. Those are the ones that we want."

"They could just be trying to escape."

"What for? This looks like the best chance they have of hurting us. I could believe it if they'd waited until Beatty started to decelerate, but the timing is all wrong. They probably think they can turn over after the pass and come back to pincer us." He laughed suddenly. "It's almost the same as our plan. Except it isn't going to work."

"I suppose not." Boazman opened up the display again. "And Beatty should be firing up her drives any time now."

A minute passed, then a second. Finally, when McSwiggan was almost ready to risk another tightly focused microwave transmission, a pair of fusion drives lit up. The kilometres long torches began to erode the substantial degree by which their course would have overshot the battle.

"Cutting it a little fine there, weren't they?" McSwiggan glanced at the plot and the revised curve of the course of the two Battleships. "Still, it's going to work." He looked around. "Does anyone want to make book on how long it takes for those cruisers to work out their only chance is to increase their thrust and break past us? My money's on five minutes."

If anyone had taken McSwiggan up on his wager then he might have turned a profit. Instead he was rich in the respect of his officers, having guessed to within three seconds how long it would take for the Canopian cruisers to go to full military power.

It wasn't going to be enough for them to escape the weapons range of the Dukirl and the Rimes. All four groups were now heading inexorably towards each other with the first to close being the Canopian corvettes and McSwiggan's task force.

"Sir, we're getting a signal from the Dukirl..."

The tone of the technican made it clear that this was not going to be good news. Fortunately they'd reached one of those points where being an Admiral required him to stand back and let everyone else work. Unless anything went drastically wrong, he'd do no good standing over his captains.

"Send it to my screen."

The screen build into his chair lit up and McSwiggan saw the face of Commodore Beatty. Except she wasn't wearing SLDF uniform any more, but a turquoise Canopian uniform with the golden diamonds of an Admiral on her collar.

"It would be hypocritical of me to apologise for a ruse d'guerre, Admiral, but I don't believe in fighting under false colours. My real name is Stephanie Carrington and I'm aboard HMS Diamond Throne, in company with HMS Emerald Sword. Both are battleships of the Canopian Navy Royal."

McSwiggan fought back the red rage of anger. "This is a trap."

"Quite so, Admiral. It seemed likely that your forces might scatter when faced with an overwhelming fleet and so I have lured you into battle where you and your ships cannot escape. I sincerely ask, for the sake of your crews, that you abandon your ships."

The admiral – the FWLN admiral – looked for words and found none. How'd the Canopians seized control over a pair of the largest, most powerful ships ever built by the Terran Hegemony? For that matter, how'd they been able to fake the SLDF's communications security and authorisations so perfectly? Silently he closed the channel before looking across the bridge. "Captain Boazman -"

"Sir, the corvettes are turning to clear their broadsides!"

McSwiggan's eyes swung to the plot. Sure enough the smaller Canopian vessels had ceased to accelerate, a sure sign that they were shifting orientation to bring the weapons along their flanks to bear. He nodded. "Captain, re-designate the Dukirl and the Rimes as hostile."

"Sir?"

"We've been mouse-trapped, Sally." He looked at the plot and felt a spasm of pain as the handful of Leopard CVs that were escorting his ships, providing their small fighter squadrons to the covering force, blinked off the display one after the other. "But there's nothing you can do but fight the ship."

The Regulus rocked slightly as its forward batteries began to tear into one of the corvettes. In defiance of all logic, the little ship seemed shrug off the impacts.

There was an almost eerie lack of response – in fact, McSwiggan saw no signs that the powerful battleship had taken any damage at all. Then he realised that it was because the Corvettes were concentrating fire on their counterparts. FWLS Libertad – the lead ship of her class – blew up, killing more than a hundred crew and officers. Her sister ship Equalitie disintegrated in a cloud of wreckage and escape pods. The destroyer Marie Stuart spun like a top, engines misfiring, life boats and escape pods sent flying in all directions. It was a hazard to the rest of the fleet and McSwiggan was sorely tempted to order it blown apart rather than risk a collision.

Then the corvettes were racing past, the formations interpenetrating with his own. There was a bright moment as a fiery comet actually in visible range from the bridge turned out to be the burning wreck of a Canopian dropship but against that were two more of his escorts gone and three more reporting serious damage.

"Sir, they cut a swathe through our fighters," Boazman reported. "We've lost almost all of them just from that run through our cover."

"Jesus," he swore and then looked again. It looked very much as if one of the Canopian corvettes was spilling lifeboats, perhaps that one at least had been put out of action.

Then Admiral McSwiggan straightened his shoulders. "Order our corvettes to cease acceleration and pick up survivors," he ordered. "Admiral Husvar is to bring her frigates closer in. We're going to need concentrated fire to have any hope of knocking out their cruisers."

Low Orbit, Tellman's Mistake

Principality of Regulus, Free Worlds League

11 April 2577

Stephanie Carrington had gone her entire career without fighting anything more serious than an overconfident pirate dropship. Up until the day before. Winning the first fleet action in the short history of the Canopian Navy Royal should have been a proud moment.

The truth was, she'd been too busy dealing with the aftermath to reflect upon it. The surviving League corvettes had surrendered although three were fit for nothing but scrap.

As she watched, the Porcupine-class battlecruiser HMS Serpentine was towed slowly towards the pirate point where a waiting jumpship would ferry it back into the Magistracy for repairs. The little monitor was no larger than a small corvette – Stephanie could readily understand why poor Steven McSwiggan hadn't realised the threat they posed – but without the need to fit a jump drive into them, they could carry armour and weapons equivalent to a ship three times as large. They were also right on the upper limit of what a jumpship could ferry between systems.

The other eleven battlecruisers of her command were battle-ready: their crews already patching up armour damage and working around the occasional unlucky turret. Serpentine had taken a hammering in the first pass though the formation and lost half her engines. Com-Capt Terekhov had evacuated his crew and managed, barely to enter a stable orbit while the rest of the battle was raging. Stephanie made a mental note to recommend he be assigned command of the next available cruiser. Talent like that was too valuable to waste.

"We're in geo-synchronous orbit, Admiral," ComCapt Henke reported.

"Let's get on with this." Stephanie turned to the communications officer on the flag-bridge. "Ready?"

"We've got their military, civil emergency and primary news channels all pinned down. It's pretty well developed."

"The major industry is bat farming," Stephanie replied. "The colonists make a pretty good profit milking them for the medicinal properties of their venom, I suppose they can afford the best." She took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. "Alright, put me on."

The powerful electronic warfare suites of a modern warship were more than up to the needs of overriding civil (and by their standards obsolete military) communications. Within thirty seconds every targeted channel was displaying a video feed of the Magistracy's flag and every audio signal was replaced by the first few bars of their national anthem.

When the light beside her own monitor lit up, Stephanie knew that she was on camera.

"Ladies and gentleman of Tellman's Mistake and of the Star League's Twentieth Division, I am Admiral Carrington of the Canopian Navy Royal. On January Second two years ago, the Star League Council gave my nation three months to surrender our sovereignty to them on the grounds not of any provocation or crime on our part but due to their overweening pride and desire for war."

"Now that war has come to Tellman's Mistake. The ships of the Star League Defense Force and the Free Worlds League Navy stationed here have without exception been captured or destroyed. Your planet is blockaded and will remain thus for the foreseeable future."

"It is now my intention to destroy the military bases established here to house the Twentieth Division. As that Division is stationed here entirely as a prelude to their deployment as an invasion force against my nation, these facilities are legitimate military targets for orbital bombardment under the Ares Conventions. There is no arguement and no weapon at your disposal that can deter me from this course of action."

"As I see no need to cause unnecessary loss of life I will not begin the bombardment until eighteen hundred hours standard military time, slightly more than six standard hours from this transmission. This should provide ample time for civilians and military personnel to evacuate the bases. Neither I, my Navy nor my monarch will accept any responsibility for anyone within these military facilities as of eighteen standard hours today."

"Good day."

Chateau Filtvet, Filtvet

Periphery March, Federated Commonwealth

18 April 2577 (17 April 3032 local calendar)

The Arch-Duchess of Filtvet, Minister of the Periphery March and Marshal of that same March only needed one seat at the table since they were all the same person. Rachel Calderon-Davion-Gallagher was beginning to wonder if she might be better off going Kurita-style and investing in a hanko seal to spare her the handcramps of signing her name on all the innumerable pieces of paper that crossed her desk.

There were two sets of documents in front of her. One was her usual workload. The other was the decisions she usually referred to New Avalon for the First Prince to deal with. That wasn't an option right at the moment for obvious reasons, which left them for her to deal with.

"We've got a reasonably picture of what is going on now," her husband Simon told her from his own desk, set at right angles to hers and opposite the two smaller desks – currently vacant – for their secretaries. The working office they shared was set aside from the more formal apartments of the Chateau.

He brought up a map of the Inner Sphere on the holographic display suspended from the ceiling between their desks and then touched the controls to alter the borders from those familiar in the 3030s to those of the 2570s. A few blocks of colour however remained as they had on the first map.

"We're here, stretching across from the Taurian border, right up to the edge of the Draconis March. The Tortugan Dominion is right where it ought to be, rimwards of us. All the HPG relay stations connecting us are still in place. And anti-spinward of us is the Concordat, of course. Effectively they're occupying the same border with the Federated Suns that they did historically, except of course at Malagrotta. So much for the Federated Commonwealth."

Rachel rested her chin on one hand. "We're probably better stop calling ourselves that."

"What?"

"Without the Lyrans and the Federated Suns – or the Oberon Confederation for that matter – the Taurians become the dominant partner. I know my family history well enough to know that putting us under the Taurian banner would doom any chance of reconciliation with my many-greats-grandfather. Hopefully we'll still be allies, but..."

"I suppose you're right. We'll have to recycle a lot of headed paper though."

Rachel chuckled at the complaint. "So that's our core region. How about the flanks?"

"Despite the loss of the links across the Draconis March, we know that the Outworlds Alliance is still there. The Taurian Expeditionary force emplaced new relays as they went so we're in fairly reliable contact now. There's a gap around them -" a narrow curved arc around the Alliance glowed briefly on the map "- made up of worlds that they lost to the Combine and the Suns in our Reunification War. SLDF and DCMS forces have moved into that region, which has complicated President Avellar's efforts to re-integrate them into the Alliance we're accustomed to. Anti-spinwards, we've spoken to Magestrix Centralla and to Caesar O'Reilly. I think we'd have to consider them as wild cards. They're saying all the right things but in reality they could go either way."

She frowned. "Why do you say that? Savitri has always been friendly and the Marians were allies during the Secession War."

Simon shook his head. "That was seven years ago. Since then, the Caesar's become much closer to the Free Worlds League. It's possibly they might elect to seek an accomodation there rather than stand with us against the Star League. They'd certainly have a lot of offer: MIIO believes that their weapons research might have been ahead of us in some respects."

"Alright. There may be something there, so we'll need to get some diplomats out there to convince him to stay allied with is. But Savatri? Simon, I've know her more than a decade and she hates the Star League. She even extorted that apology out of Uncle Hanse, Kristen, Theodore and Katrina at the Sian Conference."

"Yes, but look at it from her point of view. Just by arriving, she's gutted the SLDF's VII Corps and their Auxiliaries. She's basically at no risk at all right now. She can afford to sit back while the rest of us are worn down fighting the Star League and then establish a power base once no one can contest us. She already has Andurien – imagine how influential she could be if she carved the Capellans or the Free Worlds League apart into satellite states."

"I think you're reaching too far. Even if she wanted an empire, which I honestly doubt, she'd not have the support in the Magistracy for a war of aggression. Back when she intervened to help Andurien break away, she was really hurting for support from the population. They'd probably accept defending themselves from the Star League, but a war of conquest would be another thing entirely."

Rachel pushed her chair back and walked over to look at the map again. "We'll need a few months before we can defend ourselves it need be. But if we give the Star League too long, they may be able to concentrate enough forces to post a serious threat to one of us."

"What will you do if Prince Alexander demands we rejoin the Federated Suns? You are a Davion... I know you pledged your allegiance to the Suns when Prince Hanse invested you as Arch-Duchess."

She turned to look at him. "I don't know. Joining the Star League..."

Simon closed down the holographic display. "Perhaps it is the other states that are worrying about our reliability. Are you sure that negotiating with your ancestor is the right thing to do?"

"I think we owe him the chance." Rachel looked at her husband and smiled wryly. "He's one of the great Davions, you know. Perhaps the greatest ruler we ever had... Even if he did take us into the Star League. Maybe it's old fashioned of me, but I don't want to put him through another civil war if I can help it."

Presidential Offices, Famindas

Alpheratz, Outworlds Alliance

20 April 2577 (19 April 3032 local calendar)

"A belated welcome to the Alliance, Admiral Cain."

Callum Avellar, President of the Outworlds Alliance looked absurdly young to lead an interstellar nation – no older than some of the rookie pilots under Cain's command. He was actually in his late thirties, but the Canopian's ground-breaking rejuvenation treatment had worked wonders for him. It wasn't vanity that had led the President to spend six months in a hospital bed getting a fresh leaf of life: he'd spent a year in a coma following a career-ending aerospace crash later traced to sabotage. Rejuvenation had repaired the nerve damage that kept him out of the cockpit, with the restored lease of life merely a bonus.

It didn't occur to Garius Cain that being combat ready arguably did count as vanity on the part of a head of state.

"It's good to finally be here, President Avellar," he assured the younger man, taking the offered hand in a crushing grip. "I gather from our earlier communications that you have some problems?"

"You could say that." Callum gestured for the Admiral to take a seat on one of the couches flanking a coffee table. "Something to drink?"

"Is there any rum in that coffee?"

"There can be."

"Then yes."

Callum laughed and pulled a bottle out from under the table. "Your reputation precedes you." He poured a finger of the contents into one of the mugs and then added coffee before sliding it over to his guest. "Right now the DCMS have landed on Tabayama and Amos Forlough's II Corps have landed troops on Niles and on Bryceland. There was an attack on Groveld but the First Defense Fleet was able to take that apart before they hit orbit."

"It sounds as if you're stretched quite thin."

"You're not wrong. Jaime Wolf was able to buy us some time on Niles but there are too many ground troops there for me to push back without concentrating the entire Ground Defense Arm there, which I can't do with the Dracs' nibbling along the flank."

"How are the downtimers doing?"

"I suppose you mean militarily, not politically?"

"With respect, Mr President, the latter is your problem."

"Agreed. The chairmen of the two Armoured Divisions that were posted to the remaining downtime worlds have confirmed that they accept my authority and they will abide by the orders of the OADF and the Military Review Board."

"Still not enough though?"

"Correct. You don't have any ground troops with you, I gather?"

"Nothing beyond the onboard marine complements, no," Cain admitted. "Still, we've got a lot of aerospace fighters on the Carriers."

Callum shrugged. "We've got a good sized force ourselves but what we don't have is the heavy warships necessary to take out the Star League fleet without taking unacceptable losses among our corvettes. For now, I mostly want to contain the situation."

"I take it there's some reason we can't nuke them?"

"Unfortunately, General Forlough's been smart enough to realise that we're abiding by the Ares Conventions. He's moved all his ships, including jumpships, to orbits within seventy-five thousand kilometers of Niles. It's playing havoc with his couriers, but we can't simply send in fighters loaded for anti-shipping strikes without discarding the Conventions in which case..."

"Yes, I agree." Forlough was infamous for ordering some of the most brutal reprisals against civilian populations of any officer during the Reunification Wars, both in the Outworlds Alliance and later the Taurian Concordat. "He has hostages against us then."

"Yes. But to move out and take additional worlds, he'll have to come out of his shell," Callum observed. "Your orders are to support us, Jack tells me. I'd like you to work together with the Second Defense Fleet and maintain a loose blockade while I move forces to bolster defences on Medron, Valentina and Weisau. However, the bulk of the Ground Arm and our inherited Armour Divisions will be moving up with the First Defense Fleet to Santiago. Sho-sho Igushi hasn't been quite as cautious and I want the DCMS off my people's worlds. We'll hit them there, and if all goes well, follow up to Tabayama."

"And if that doesn't stop them?"

Callum's lips curled into a smile. "Something we may forget is that in this day and age, the capital of the Draconis Combine isn't Luthien. It's on New Samarkand, only two jumps from Tabayama."

"Thinking of paying a visit to your neighbour?" asked Cain.

"It would only be polite, wouldn't it?"

RWA Field HQ, Illium

Rim Worlds Republic

24 April 2577

Jerric Grimm-Davion entered the tent as if he owned it, treating the four soldiers surrounding him as if they were an honour guard.

The men and women in front of him would be harder to sell as to the role. Colonel Angus Graham of the Tartan Brigade was obviously in charge, no surprise given that his regiment was one of those counted among Amaris' household regiments. Beside him were commanders of two warships and three other regiments that still cleaved to the authority of their lawful First Consul – albeit tenuously in the case of the First Amaris Dragoons.

"Alright, you're here. What do you have to say?" Colonel Cana of the First Dragoons opened aggressively, perhaps in compensation for the divided loyalties of his unit.

Graham glared at his colleague. "No need to forget our manners, Silvio." He looked back to their guest. "So, you're a Davion? That would put you a long way from home."

"You're not wrong," Jerric agreed. "However, I consider Oberon just as much my home these days."

"You're not here for a tea party so enough pleasantries. Why should we listen to the lapdog of the woman who murdered Gregory Amaris?"

Although Graham appeared irritated by Cana's interruption of the conversation, Jerric could see that two of the other representatives weren't unhappy with it so he got to the point.

"Firstly, Gregory Amaris is alive and well – if unhappy with his confinement. Secondly, you should listen to me because I'm the one who knows what is happening and what will happen next. At least, what will happen next unless the Rim Worlds get their act together."

"Do tell," said one of the naval officers sceptically.

"Wait." Ada Sidhu of the Third Dragoons was looking thoughtful. "The rumours said that your Queen claimed to be from the future. That's what you mean?"

Jerric nodded. "Essentially, yes. You can ask me how if you want but I don't have any answers for you there. So far as I know, it wasn't intentional on our part. But yes, I was born in 2997 and our last contact with the rest of the universe in that era was December 3032. So as far as we're concerned, this is all ancient history."

"And just for the record: you're looking at a twenty year war that everyone loses. The Rift Republicans lose because Gregory Amaris is restored to power, you lose because you get forced into the Star League as a conquered province and Amaris loses because he gets all of three years back in power before he's assassinated and the politics of the Republic collapse back into power struggles. You probably don't want to know how the Republic eventually gets dismembered and it won't be for a couple of hundred years anyway."

"That's completely ridiculous."

"Yes, but other than the idea of time travel it sounds pretty plausible," Sidhu noted. "The Star League have said outright that they'll invade if we don't accept their authority. Does anyone really think that the Lyrans would treat us as allies rather than exploiting their advantage if they have us occupied."

"That's why we should support the First Consul in joining the League on our terms," persisted Cana. "Why are we even listening to this?"

"Because whatever else might be true, we all swore oaths to the Republic and right now this man's Queen controls our First Consul."

"And that brings me to my next point." Jerric produced a folded piece of paper. "I'm sure you'll recognise the seal and the signature."

Graham accepted and unfolded the document. "Hmm. Interesting." He passed it on to Sidhu.

"'Interesting'?" Cana demanded, reaching for the paper.

Sidhu moved it just outside his reach. "This isn't a classroom, Silvio." She pointedly handed it to the sceptical naval officer. "Alright, I accept this."

"What?" the man exclaimed. "This... this going to destroy the Republic!"

"We're already fighting a civil war. This at least gives us the chance of coming up with an answer that doesn't leave us killing each other."

Cana finally received the paper. "This is outrageous! You can't expect me to believe that Amaris actually wrote this."

Jerric smiled slightly. "Actually, it was typed by my secretary. The former-First Consul merely signed it in return for certain assurances."

"This is a blatant power-play by that bitch!"

"Excuse me." Jerric leant over the table and grabbed the colonel by the collar with both hands, dragging him out of his chair. "You're referring. To. My. Wife." And then he slammed the Colonel's face down into the table.

There was a stunned silence and then the soldiers moved forward to restrain the emissary.

"That won't be necessary, boys," Graham said, waving them off. "Justified, Lord Davion but don't do it again."

"You... ow... he assaulted me!" Cana protested, testing his nose, which was bleeding but didn't appear to be broken.

Graham shook his head. "Think yourself lucky, Silvio, that you weren't referring to my wife." He picked up the document again. "So, now that you've let us know about Amaris' abdication and the appointment of Queen Grimm to form a new constitutional convention, what's the next step?"

"Well Colonel, since you represent the largest single faction of the Rim Worlds Army, I'm inviting you to either attend the convention or to send representatives."

"And if we don't?"

"Do you really want the Rift Republicans to be the sole voice controlling the future of your nation?"

Landing, Tellman's Mistake

Principality of Regulus, Free Worlds League

25 April 2577

The Ares Conventions prohibited commanders from taking battle into populated areas. Marcus Barton had seen the Conventions honoured more in the breach than not on occasion but he was relieved to see that this didn't appear to be one of them.

The Twentieth Division, spread out over a dozen bases, hadn't managed to regroup in the two weeks since those bases were obliterated from orbit. Not only were the transport links of the colony simply not up to moving hundreds of tanks, 'Mechs and supply trucks around, but also the tiny handful of aerospace fighters at their disposal were unable to prevent naval fighters from seeking the scattered regiments and battalions out.

On paper, Barton's Brigade was no match for the massed forces of nine SLDF 'Mech regiments along with their conventional support, but wars weren't fought just on paper. This fragment of the whole was made up of just two combined-arms regiments, perhaps half their number made up by BattleMechs and the rest a mess of Davion-built Tiger medium tanks and infantry carriers. They'd dug in on heights overlooking the planetary capital and even managed to set up some decent air defences.

That put them on Marcus' list and the previous evening dropships had descended just over two hundred kilometers away to deposit his own Second McCarron's Armored Cavalry, the Fourth Canopian Light Horse, First Magistracy Highlanders. In support of these 'BattleMech regiments were the Third Light and Fifth Heavy Magistracy Brigades: each providing aviation, infantry and armoured regiments to the force.

The odds were heavily in the Canopian's favour. That was fine with Marcus. War wasn't often fair.

Pausing his Awesome on the military crest of the next line of hills he watched the rest of his regiment form up. It didn't take long: most of them were in 'Mechs that could outpace the lumbering eighty-ton warmachine, but even powerful machines like Bill Styles' Dragon or Elaine Parks' Archer respected the firepower and durability of their commander's BattleMech.

Once he was sure only a handful of sensors were above the ridge, Marcus punched open a command channel. "Base, what's the situation with the Highlanders and the Light Horse."

"Both regiments report that they're deployed and ready for action," replied the comm-tech back aboard the battered Command Overlord that Marcus had managed to have assigned to the transport flotilla for the mission. A slightly repressive tone sneaked into the woman's voice. "So are the Light and Heavy Brigades."

He grinned in the privacy of his cockpit. "Naturally they are, those boys and girls aren't as flighty as we Mechwarriors." Word of that little quip would get around, he knew, and the typical soldier would have a bit more of a swagger in their step for a few days. What old soldier was it that had claimed the moral was ten times as important as the physical? "Okay, see if you can get in touch with whoever is in command of the Slobs outside Landing, would you?"

The patience to wait didn't come easily to Marcus and he half wished he was making the contact himself but that would be stupid: anyone with half a brain would be able to pick out his 'Mech as the command unit and then where would he be?

"I have a Lieutenant-General Mae. Putting you through now."

"General Mae, this is Colonel Marcus Barton of the Magistracy Army. Your forces are surrounded by superior numbers and unless I miss my guess you aren't all that well off for supplies. I am offering you the chance to surrender."

The voice that replied was in accented English – somewhat similar to that he'd heard ComStar staff use back when they were still operating. "Thank you for the courtesy, Colonel. However I don't consider my position untenable."

Marcus nodded. He hadn't expected anything else. "It's your funeral, General."

"Not just mine, but we'll fight anyway."

For a moment he was tempted to wish the woman luck, which would have been idiotic under the circumstances. Instead he simply cut off the channel and opened another, signalling to the command centre to relay his message to all officers in the force.

"This is Colonel Barton. The Slobs have declined the opportunity to surrender so we're going ahead with the attack. You all know the plan and this one is by the numbers and on the bounce. First number is on the mark..." The clock on his controls ticked up to the minute. "Mark."

Nothing happened, which was precisely according to plan. The first four minutes of the plotted out attack plan was set aside for any officers whose troops weren't one hundred percent ready for their role to rectify that fact.

As scores of other men and women were doing, Marcus checked the rest of his lance. The Archer of Elaine Parks was crouched slightly to keep its large missile racks below the ridgeline, which gave it the appearance of restrained eagerness. On the other side of Elaine, he could see Bill's Dragon simply standing at rest – squatter than the rest of the lance, not even the domed cockpit would be visible from the heights.

It had taken Marcus a while to pick out a replacement for Ning-Ti Liao, the former Capellan having accepted an offer to take on a battalion command in the Third Andermax Volunteers. Marcus rather suspected it was time he looked at finding a promotion for Elaine as well before the Magestrix badgered Archie into posting her outside the Armored Cavalry. Perhaps nominate her for command of the Seventh regiment, if rumour was right about it being raised in a year or so?

In any case, Marcus Baxter was shaping up well as the fourth man, despite the unfortunate coincidence in first names. Baxter's Striker was a command model, fresh off the production lines only three years before, but unlike the rest of the Command Lance it hadn't been refitted with advanced technologies. Still, it was solid. Like the man inside.

Marcus watched the clock tick over and then stabbed the button for the battalion open channel. "Move out."

More than thirty BattleMechs followed him as he walked his Awesome over the ridgeline. There was no rush, just a two staggered lines of heavy and assault machines, covering a frontage of a kilometre and a half. Off to the left, two more battalions were doing the same and ten kilometres past them, the Magistracy Highlanders and the tank regiment of the Heavy Brigade were moving up, pincering the Star League Defense Force's position from north and east.

There was movement on the hill now and Marcus saw what could only be 'Mechs and armoured fighting vehicles moving up into pre-dug fighting positions that would cover legs or tracks while they fired into the advancing Armoured Cavalry.

Normally Marcus would want to move as fast as he could, to get in amongst them. Most of the 'Mechs was seeing were long-range fighters – Griffins and Shadow Hawks similar to those built in the Magistracy, along with a smattering of Dervishs. The irony that these ancient designs would still be in production and service four hundred years later would probably bemuse their Mechwarriors up on the slopes but Marcus had grown up with the idea. It was only in the last decade or so that engineers had started to innovate beyond patching together designs based on technologies developed by the Star League.

Still advancing at a steady thirty kilometres an hours, Marcus knew that his forces would be tempting targets for the SLDF gunners as soon as they entered range.

Sure enough, as the range dropped below seven hundred metres, a volley of long range missiles rocketed out of the hillside and fell short of a Marauder halfway along the battalion front. Since it wasn't part of a concerted volley and had been fired a hair too soon, Marcus could only assume that the gunner had been over-eager. Amateur, he thought scornfully.

Intentional or not, the attempt spurred others to join in and soon a barrage was erupting from the hill towards Marcus and his battalion. "Mongol!" he barked and the battalion obediently followed the plan, turning from their advance to march in a long, shallow loop along a notional line almost six hundred metres from the nearest SLDF position. They also kicked up their speed, Marcus' Awesome pounding along at its top speed of fifty kilometres per hour, significantly impeding the accuracy of the SLDF, and returned fire.

In the heat of action, it would have taken a detached observer, or a genuine veteran, to recognise that the only weapons being fired by Barton's Regiment were lasers and PPC – Marcus in particular blazing away with no real expecation that the four PPCs on his Awesome would hit anything but cover, though reveling in the chance to cut loose without overstressing his heatsinks as would have been the case before the upgrades had been made.

He didn't need to give an order for what came next. The SLDF were making themselves entirely obvious both to infra-red sensors and even to the Mark One eyeball. Now the aviation regiments of both brigades took full advantage, their Dragonfly helicopters hurtling across the low ground in front of the heights at high speed, practically flying sideways as their nose-mounted PPCs spat lightning at the startled 'Mechs and vehicles.

A few of the helicopters were unfortunate enough to cross paths with weapons fire, intentional or otherwise, and Marcus saw two of them crash to the, damaged rotors still whirling in desperate attempts to soften the landings. The others cruised onwards, protected by speed and distance.

"Sarmatia," Marcus roared and dug the heel of the Awesome into the ground, turning sharply. There was a ragged cheer from the rest of the battalion as they joined and then in some cases overtook his charge, all weapons firing now.

The defenders, caught off-guard by the sudden aerial attack, and in many cases sporting damaged armour and depleted ammunition from their earlier volleys, were unprepared by the sudden ferocity of the fire they were under, much less for the suddenly closing ranges.

Marcus picked out a Shadow Hawk that made the mistake of freezing as its Mechwarrior hesitated over who he should target. All four shots crashed into the medium 'Mech, two of them nailing the centre of the chest while his left arm PPC smashed into the protection over the Shadow Hawk's right shoulder. The PPC in the Awesome's right arm smashed its charge directly into the SLDF 'Mech's faceplate however, peeling away layer after layer of armour and frying the sensitive electronics there.

Since the Shadow Hawk didn't immediately go limp, Marcus guessed that the mechwarrior's cockpit mustn't have been breached, quite, but that wasn't going to save the unlucky Slob. Elaine had also seen the easy target and let it have a full salvo in punishment for the carelessness of the Mechwarrior. Forty long-range missiles roared out of the huge launchers that made up the torso of her Archer and every last one of them crashed against the luckless Shadow Hawk. That would have been superb shooting, even for an elite Mechwarrior like Marcus' second, but the Streak technology she'd had retrofitted onto the ancient Archer made it almost routine. Unsurprisingly the SLDF machine went down like a ninepin.

Under other circumstances, Marcus might have joked with Elaine about the advantages of leaving something to salvage but he saw a Missile Carrier appear in a previously vacant firing position. It was clearly unmarked and must have held back earlier, which could only mean it wasn't carrying missiles that would have reached so far. "Bill! Left!"

Near the head of the charge and having missed seeing the Carrier that was in perfect position to catch him in the flank, Bill Styles nonetheless jerked his Dragon to the left upon that command and the massive volley of short range missiles sailed past him, only a handful exploding against the heavy 'Mechs' armour.

Marcus didn't give the tank a second chance to fire: turning slightly he brought all four PPCs to bear and closed his fingers on all four triggers. Blazing particle beams ripped through the armour of the carrier's missile racks. For a moment there was no evidence of the hits except for four blackened holes in the structure and then the entire contents of the firing position were consumed by a fireball as the missile carrier disintegrated into a million pieces.

Without wasting the movement of his evasion, Bill dropped the muzzle of his autocannon and with a staccato rattle the weapon slammed a chain of submuntions along the side of a Tiger tank. The armoured vehicle ground to a halt as one of the tracks snapped but its turret began to swing to bear. Then Baxter's Striker crested the side of an embankment, planted its next stride on top of the turret and stepped over it, apparently not even noticing the Tiger as he walked on (not that Marcus believed it, but it was stylishly done). Given that the turret was not only flattened but that the tank barrel was actually bent, none of them wasted more firepower on it.

As Marcus started up the slope he saw SLDF 'Mechs begin to retreat up the hill. Many had jump-jets and were using them to bound upwards and backwards, exposing themselves in the air, but making better speed than the heavier machines chasing them could match.

It wasn't necessary for him to order the battalion onwards. They knew their job and each lance advanced as a coherent force, not falling into disorder as they systematically tore through any remaining resistance and maintained pressure on those who fled. A pair of Canopian-built Griffins fired their own jumpjets to close up the range. The multi-missile launchers on their shoulders spat salvos of short-range missiles into one of their SLDF counterparts, who lacked the ability to switch from LRMs and found his return fire failing to detonate against their armour. The 'Mech jumped back again, its hunters in close pursuit.

It was worse for the SLDF tanks – they couldn't hope to get away and so they twisted and turned, trying to buy time for their comrades to escape. A Marauder fell as a Tiger rammed directly into one leg and Marcus saw infantrymen scrambling up onto the fallen 'Mech with suicidal bravery.

A second Marauder paused and aimed the pulse lasers mounted in each claw-like 'hand' at the infantry, cutting them down without regard for the damage done to its fellow Canopian 'Mech. That done it turned the fury of its PPCs on the tank, which practically melted under the barrage.

Marcus moved on, although he kept an eye on the scene until he was sure that the first Marauder was standing. He would lose 'Mechs and probably Mechwarriors during this attack – it was the price of doing business – but he wasn't going to lose any to inattention.

There was a roar of autocannon fire and Marcus jerked his attention forwards a lance of heavies – two Banshees, a Warhammer and a Striker – charging the wrong direction: downhill and towards him. A second later and he realised they were all painted in the same camouflage pattern as the lighter SLDF 'Mechs.

Baxter was nearest, too close to avoid the charge, he instead braced his Striker and met his counterpart with a full salvo of laser, autocannon and PPC. It wasn't enough to slow the eighty-ton 'Mech's downhill momentum but it did put it off-balance for the collision that followed. Baxter's 'Mech spun to one side under the impact and crashed face first onto the hill before half-rolling and coming to rest face up, entire sheets of armour plating torn away from its centre chest.

The SLDF Striker literally left the ground, tumbling head over heels down the slope, one leg coming away entirely, and landed skewered on the up-raised barrel of a wrecked tank's cannon, the brutalised muzzle actually jutting up out of the front torso, having ripped through rear armour and gyro like a stake through the heart.

Not that Marcus had much time to worry about that. The most dangerous of the three remaining 'Mechs was the Warhammer, which was conveniently also the least heavily armoured. He, Bill and Elaine all focused their weapons directly upon the heavy 'Mech. At this range, the LRMs should be having trouble arming but Canopian finance had bought an advanced Marian design a few years previously and the Warhammer staggered out of the explosions, two thirds of its armour torn away and one arm hanging by a few ragged myomers, the internal skeleton having sheared away.

Despite this, the Slob in the cockpit kept coming. Marcus had to give him credit for balls, even if by doing so he was blocking the fire of the Banshees towards Elaine, whose Archer they were trying to target.

In response, Elaine pumped off a volley of missiles up and over the Warhammer to start wearing down the left-most Banshee, while Marcus sidestepped to rake the other's legs with his PPCs. They kept coming and he realised that they were trying to break out rather than hold them back. Which would rather make a waste out of having the Canopian Light Horse and the tanks of the Light Brigade covering the routes west.

Marcus would accept letting the Slobs retreat south into Landing because he could think of almost nothing more likely to win the local populace over to the Canopian side than having the SLDF use them as human shields, but north? Not happening. He fired again, now feeling even the advanced cooling system beginning to strain but also seeing armour peel away from the vulnerable myomers of the Banshee's legs. Missiles and autocannon fire from Bill ripped into the bundles of artificial muscle, bringing the towering assault 'Mech down.

Elaine stepped up to handle the Warhammer, using the powerful fists of her Archer to tear away the still operational arm and then bring it crashing down upon the other heavy BattleMech's chest, smashing three of the structural 'ribs' around the reactor.

Now alone, the remaining Banshee slowed to a halt, seeing all three McCarron 'Mechs drawing a bead on him. Slowly the two great arms rose until they were pointed directly upwards and a voice came from the speakers: "I surrender! I surrender!"

Marcus reached for his own external speakers but Elaine beat him to it. "Then punch out, right now."

There was a second's hesitation and then the canopy popped off and the mechwarrior within was propelled skywards by his ejection seat.

Left standing, on the hillside, the Banshee wobbled and then fell backwards with slow dignity, like a great tree, until it crashed onto the hillside and moved no more.

Saso, New Syrtis

Capellan March, Federated Suns

29 April 2577

"I don't understand this," Charles Wexworth muttered from the office he'd been provided in the ducal palace. "I thought Prince Davion was all in favour of the attack but now he's urging caution."

The palace, all but abandoned following Cassandra Varnay's exile to the Capellan Confederation forty years before, had taken weeks to clean up to act as Wexworth's command post but whatever was suggested about his ego, it was the many large rooms, communications centre and proximity to the spaceport that had convinced him to use the structure.

"Perhaps he has new information," suggested General Daniel Luqman, his chief of staff. "A large swathe of the Federated Suns was caught up in what happened last Christmas. No doubt he's been making investigations of his own."

"Hmm. Warning that the Taurian Concordat may have larger and more advanced forces than anticipated. We know that the bulk of their fleet was at Malagrotta three months ago. There's certainly been time for them to depart – perhaps a spy ship has shown that they have left. No, surely the message would come from Admiral Vincent rather than from New Avalon."

Luqmann sighed. "I can't argue with your logic sir. We have attacks scheduled for Ridgebrook, Keuterville and Estuan but there's still time to call them off."

"That would be a little too cautious, I think. No, I want you to cut orders for General Vriss, General Neville and Admiral Vincent. Our original plan was for the AFFS Corps and their fleet to act as a reserve but instead they're to join the main invasion force. The extra BattleMech regiments and warships should be more than enough to ensure that they can deal with anything that the Taurians are likely to have."

"And the other two attacks?"

Wexworth stood and looked out the window. "Put those on hold for now. Instead, detach a pair of corvettes to jump well outside both systems and see what radio signals they can pick up. I'll only approve further action once I hear back from them and the initial reports from Estuan. By that point we should know what we're dealing with and can press ahead with the full campaign."

"Or not, of course."

"That is possible," the general admitted. "But seriously, I don't expect much to happen. This event, whatever it is, has bought the Taurians some more time, but that's all."

"I don't mean to sound defeatist," Luqmann said cautiously, "But the Taurians did manage to overwhelm the ships sent to Malagrotta fairly easily."

"Oh yes, but in fairness they had numbers on their side. A squadron of less than a dozen warships against eight or even ten times their number. There will be fully eighty warships in the Estuan system. I suppose that the Taurians could exceed that, but even then it wouldn't be possible for them triumph without taking heavy losses and casualties. While a defeat for us there would be a terrible tragedy, the losses to the Taurian Navy would guarantee that they couldn't resist further attacks by us."

Luqmann schooled his features to mask anything that could be taken for disrespect. "With respect sir, that's..."

"Yes, poorly put. I don't desire that we should lose, even under those terms. Make sure that the orders are clear: if they are seriously out-numbered, they to preserve their forces even if it means breaking off the attack. But if they have any reasonable chance of engaging the Taurians on equal terms or better then they are to do so. I'm confident that ship for ship, the SLDF is more than a match for them."