Chapter 4: New Beginnings
Undisclosed Location, Alphard
Marian Hegemony
August 16th, 3009
The place had no name, at least none that could be found on any official documents. Those that served here called it The Hole. Those that were here involuntarily had more colorful - or bleak, depending on how long you had already been here – names for it. It was a concrete labyrinth dug and blasted into a green-gray butte, far north in one of Alphard's colder deserts. Vegetation was sparse, water even more so, and not a soul lived within the next hundred miles. The only way in or out was through the guard levels on top, and the only connection to the rest of the world were bi-weekly supply flights by unmarked VTOLs. If you were brought here, you never left again.
Posca followed a guard in drab fatigues that once might have been deep blue down a winding concrete stair. Cold strip lights did their own to make the place look as inhospitable as possible. Here and there some flickered, throwing eerie shadows into hallways with mag-locked cells as Posca descended deeper into The Hole. His breath drew little clouds as he went on, and despite his thick tunic he shivered. It got colder the deeper they went, and more damp. Either the ventilation systems had not been built to deal with this sort of environment, or the guards simply did not care to make their prisoners' stay more tolerable.
The stairs ended and turned into a corridor that sloped further down and to the left. They had reached the bottom of The Hole. Only a few cells were here, with even fewer inmates, and half of them were bare rock, not concrete. Dull orange lightbulbs gave off just enough of a glow to turn the hallway into a dim twilight.
"Wait here," Posca told the guard. If the man was bothered by being commanded by a slave he did not let it show. He stopped with a grunt that could have signified anything, his hands resting on his nightstick and the holster of his large caliber sidearm.
Posca moved on, leaving the guard out of direct earshot, and came to a halt in front of the level's first cell. Unlike on the higher floors the cells here were closed off by metal bars that a thin wire mesh that allowed those outside a good look inside without the need to open them. The doors were triple-locked – mechanic, magnetic, electric – and solid enough to withstand direct mech-grade weapons fire, and he was certain the mesh could be electrified as well.
Three further steps led down into the cell, which was roughly three by three meters, with two sides of the room bare volcanic rock, as hard as steel, and the others polished ferroconcrete. There was a tiny wash basin and a basic toilet in the corner, and a thin cot covered a rectangular block of concrete to serve as a bed.
"Is it time for questioning? And here I was, fearing you'd forgotten about me."
The man sat with his back against the wall, his eyes closed, his legs pulled close to his chest. Greasy hair hung in thick strands into his face, and the custom-tailored suit he wore had seen better days. The guards had taken the laces from his shoes. Strangely enough, those very shoes were polished to a shine. Going by the smell wafting from between the bars, they were the only thing truly clean inside the cell.
"Why, are you bored?" Posca asked casually.
The man blinked, turning his head in an instant. Piercing blue eyes fixed on the Emperor's mentor, his face an unreadable mask. For just a moment he stared at him silently, then a smile crept on his face. No, not a smile, Posca corrected himself. A shark's grin.
"Hannibal Patrev Hargraves!" he exclaimed. "Strange, how an engaged PhD student from Stewart can end up all the way out here, right at the other side of this door in this godforsaken rock, isn't it? What can I do for you today, Mr. Hargraves?"
"Not many people know this," Posca regarded the prisoner, feeling just the tiniest sting at his words. "But I do prefer Posca nowadays, Mr. Blackwood."
"As you wish," the man named Blackwood shrugged. "Information is what I'm good at. Well, was," he motioned at nowhere particular in his cell.
"Getting on Hanzo Miller's bad side can have that effect, or so I'm told, but I reckon it's usually less illustrious people who fall victim to his wrath. Getting mixed up with a second-tier Camorra godfather; I must say, this was a surprise to me when I read your file," Posca looked down on the man. "I wonder what sin got you thrown in here? Was it greed?"
Blackwood leaned his head against the wall, his greasy hair obscuring half his face again. He chuckled wearily. "I was brought down by the second worst of all sins in my trade: impatience. You see," he straightened, "indirect is usually the better route in my kind of business. Say, you have some guy calling himself prime minister on some far-out world, and his opposition wants to spy on him? You don't go and recruit his personal secretary. Far too risky. No, you go indirect. Recruit the guy who maintains the copy machines. Machine breaks down, the guy repairs it, slips in a tiny relais – and whenever the prime minister copies something from that day on it throws out a copy on your machine as well."
"And you went for Hanzo Miller's secretary?" Posca raised an eyebrow.
Blackwood ran fingers through his face. "That would've been the smart move, actually. No, I went after his wife. I figured after my departure from Lyran space and my adventures in the League I didn't want to waste years and years to burrow myself into his organization to use it as a springboard."
"You had been running industrial espionage with your own network of informants on Defiance Industries, and later Corean Enterprises, too. Maybe others that are less prominent as well. You know, when the Hegemony figured who they had their hands on they made tacit inquiries to corroborate your story. Never got something definite back, but the buzz the questions created? Well, sometimes no answer is the most conclusive answer. Or so I was told," Posca smiled. "So, Hanzo's wife, Victor? Really?"
"It's Mr. Blackwood to you, Hannibal. Tried to seduce her," he waved dismissively. "Worked like a charm, actually. Apparently, I'm still quite the catch when I'm freshly groomed, wear a good suit and don't smell of eight weeks worth of sweat, grime and shit."
"And then… Mr. Blackwood?" Posca probed.
"And then, Posca, I found out first hand the fucked-up marriage dynamic some people have nowadays, because Hanzo's wife and his balding ass are in some kind of consensual open relationship, and all the stuff I whispered to her after I thought I had buttered her up ended up right on his plate. Lesson learned," he sighed dramatically. "Never mix pleasure and business. Not following my own rules, that's been my worst mistake. Hanzo's men found me in the hotel I had rented under a fake identity, knocked me out – and then I eventually woke up in your government's hospitable hands," he smiled, revealing a few missing and broken teeth.
"I'm glad we could provide the accommodation for you," Posca replied with a cold smile of his own. "Though I'm surprised you didn't run to Canopus in the first place."
"Yeah, right," Blackwood snorted. "Man with money on the run. Even the most incompetent SAFE operative would've known to look under each rock on Canopus IV for me first place. I made my bet that most people wouldn't be seriously looking for me in a place where crucifixion is actually on the menu." He shook his head, then abruptly rose from his cot and came face to face with Posca. "So, what's the deal? What does your master want?"
"Maybe he wants a measure of the man?" Despite standing on a higher step than Blackwood Posca could almost look into his eyes.
"As much as I enjoy the diversion from my tight schedule of sleep, eating sludge and getting roughed up by people undeniably too stupid to get the truth out of someone, I don't appreciate being taken for a fool, Posca. The warden could've sent you the protocols of my interrogations and a brief of what you people think to know about me. No, your master has sent you because this is something important enough to be handled within only an arm's length distance of the throne, but by someone who isn't followed around 24/7. Someone who'd be… overlooked by people who don't see slaves as people."
Posca eyed him coldly through the bars, his arms crossed. "The Emperor has sent me to evaluate you. He'd like to offer you a job."
"A job?" Blackwood did well in keeping his emotions in check but for the very first split second, where his eyes widened and his head almost jerked back. "Why me?"
"See, Victor, that is what I have asked myself as well. Surely, the people you have wronged would have been willing to pay us handsomely, were we to unveil your continued existence in our good care to them. But, his majesty has made it clear that we do not suffer a shortage of funds and complaisances. What we do lack is a reliable network of informants, domestic and abroad, and someone with the wits and experience to build and run it. Someone like you, Mr. Blackwood."
Blackwood took a step back, almost missing the lower step before he caught himself. He had expected to be sold out, or to be left to rot. This? Well, this had not ranked up high on hist list of plausible events.
"As for the why? Because you are an outsider – and an egoist. I know your type, Victor. People who just love to be right, who revel in their own sense of superiority. I've seen many of them come and go, burning up on their own hubris. Fortunately for you, your saving grace, it seems, is that you are actually competent. Well, most of the time," he motioned at the cell with a mirthless smile. "Which is something that could earn you your freedom."
"You want me to spy for you?"
"Please, Victor," Posca dramatically rolled his eyes. "We do not want you personally to spy for us. We want you to be our master of spies. As a stepping stone we will provide you a list of known information peddlers within the Hegemony. Emperor Marius wants something more…solid put into place."
"Paid informants are about as reliable as the purse that pays them. And there's always a bigger purse somewhere willing to pay that little bit of extra cash," Blackwood scoffed. "If that's all there I I'll make the best of them until I have something better in place. Outside, I might be able to reactive some of his contacts, but those are mostly industrial espionage. This isn't a small task, Posca. It'll take years to put people into place, nurture them. The logistics are staggering. Internal ops, foreign espionage, counter-espionage, put the military into the mix, as I suppose your Emperor would want to? And all at the same time?"
"If this is beyond your capabilities I'm sure we can find someone more suitable for the task," Posca shrugged, trying to hide the satisfaction it gave him to see the man squirm.
"It's not!" Blackwood snapped, more annoyed than angry. "But it'll take a lot of time. Don't expect to see results early on, and don't expect what finds its way back into my hands in the first months, years maybe, to be more than a trickle. But I can do it. I can," he added, more to himself than for Posca's ears.
"Then I suppose we will find out if that's the case," Posca replied flatly. "The warden will be presented with a general pardon for you, and you will be transferred to a safe location that provides," he smirked, "more adequate accommodations. Money and manpower to set you up will not be an issue. Liaisons for the legions can be set up once that field is ready to be ploughed. We do not expect you to work miracles. Not yet," he allowed himself a thin smile. "But we do expect you to give it your best, if you choose to be our all-seeing eye." He paused, then added almost as an afterthought: "Also, should you at some point decide to double-cross us, we would feel obliged to provide your connections in the League and Commonwealth with all the information and support we can muster."
Victor Blackwood looked up at the concrete ceiling and the dim orange light in the cell's corner. "Seeing a sun again would be great. Very well, you have your man." He sighed heavily. "I'd shake your hand to seal the deal, but I'm afraid the current running through that wire mesh would make the ordeal rather unpleasant for the both of us." Blackwood sat back down and pulled his knees to his chest, and for a moment there was a sense of sincerity in his eyes that mocked his casual tone. "You know, what's to stop me from running away once I'm out of here again? All those resources… I could even take you with me. A new name, a new identity, a new home on some place out in the Periphery with a couple million C-bills in the bank…"
Posca could feel his heart beat in his chest. Calmly, he sat down opposite to the man, tilting his head sideways to look at him through the bars. A sad smile crept onto his face. "I don't believe you'll run, Victor. I've known men like you all my life, in all functions. You love the challenge too much. As for me?" He sucked his breath in, surprised at how unsteady his voice sounded. "I do appreciate the offer," he said in earnest, "but I think I'll decline."
Blackwood's eyebrows shot up in surprise.
"You know, fifteen years, hell, ten years ago I may have taken you up on that offer in a heartbeat. But look at me," he absentmindedly rubbed his hands on his knees. "I am fifty-seven. Too old to start anew, to start a family. Too old to live a life where every waking moment I would have to look over my shoulder. No," he clapped his thighs and stood up again, "it is what it is. Farewell, Mr. Blackwood. I am sure we will meet again."
Two days later, a lean man with slick dark hair and a fresh-cut beard, wearing mirrored sunglasses, walked out of one of Nova Roma's most exclusive tailor shops, wearing an exquisite three-part suit-and-toga combination in the latest patrician fashion. A plainsclothes security detail shadowed him as he stepped into a black limousine and droved off. CCTVs this day all seemed to have strange malfunctions as soon as that particular car entered their field of view.
Victor Blackwood liked seeing far more than to be seen.
Nova Roma, Alphard
Marian Hegemony
August 30th, 3009
Sylvana O'Reilly was on her way to meet her brother when she came across Lady Octavia Kiruma as she was escorted through the hallways of Mount Caelius' palace. Her cheeks were flushed, her usually so meticulously styled dark blonde hair worn open over her shoulders. She walked with the swing of a young woman, flashing a mischievous grin as she murmured 'Your Grace' as she passed by, her head briefly tilted in acknowledgment.
Flustered, Sylvana looked after her as she turned a corner, a guard following her at a respectful distance. With a start she shook herself and made her way to her brother's chambers. Another guard let her in.
Despite the open shutters the room carried a musky scent. The light was slightly dimmed, and the large bed was in disorder. Water was running in the nearby bathroom's shower. Untouched breakfast – fruits and bread and a large mix of tapas – stood on the bedroom's small dining table. It was almost noon by now, but she shuddered at the thought of having garlic prawns or roasted bacon-wrapped plums for an early breakfast. Her brother's taste had always been a bit more special in that regard. He had once told her he had no issue with eating a nice steak for breakfast. Sylvana herself was more of a peanut butter and jam sandwich breakfast person.
She took in the room with a feeling of profound discomfort. This was so very unlike the brother she had experienced for the last few years. Marius had always strived to be 'proper' in the eyes of family and peers. Was that what being Emperor did to you?
The sound of water from nearby stopped, and her brother stepped into the room, wearing nothing but a towel around his hips, running a smaller one through his soaking wet hair.
"Oh hi, Syv! Glad you could make it. Busy day." He smiled, cocking his head at everything and nothing in particular.
"I met Lady Kiruma on my way here," she said in greeting. "Seems early for a personal audience."
"Had lots of ground to cover," he shrugged. "My militia proposal's been met with some stiff resistance that I'm fighting. Octavia's been instrumental in that."
"Seems like it was quite a battle," Sylvana shot a glance at the bed, scowling.
"You're not hiding your disapproval well, little sis," Marius observed, equally not hiding his sly grin.
"I'm not trying to!" she shot back annoyedly, blushing despite her best efforts. "I…" she grasped for words, raising her hands, then letting them drop back down in frustration. "What the hell are you thinking, Marius?! This isn't like you!"
Her brother regarded her with a cryptic look on his face for a moment before answering her, choosing his words carefully, or so it seemed.
"I've seen how quick life can end, Sylvana, how precious every given second is. For years I've been doing what others have been expecting me to do, sis. I've got a fourteen hour workday, sis, when I'm lucky. Sixteen hours, when I'm not. And I'm spending most of it trying to drag the upstart descendants of pirates, farmers and mech jockeys into the 31st century while they wiggle and squeal like pigs. Strangely enough, screwing the opposition leader's wife in every position imaginable has proven to be an extremely productive means to an end there. Certainly helps with my stress relieve, too." He took a seat at the table. "For everything else there's exhausting myself in martial arts, or blowing stuff up in my mech. Trust me, I need my training rounds and time on the mech parcours, lest I take to the Senate with a gun."
Her brother flashed her a short grin that held exactly zero mirth, making her shudder involuntarily. Pouring himself a cup of coffee that at best had to be lukewarm by now he looked up at her over the cup's rim. "So, no. I don't give a damn about what people think. As long as I'm not married I'll try to enjoy my life as best as I can," he faced her disapproving glare defiantly.
"Aren't you afraid this little… arrangement of yours will blow up in your face?" Doubt was palpable in her voice.
To her surprise her usually so meticulous brother simply shrugged.
He flipped an olive into his mouth, answering her between bites. "Catastrophically so, eventually," he nodded. "But I'm willing to take the trade-off for now if it means I get my policies enacted. Kiruma thinks if he can use his wife to slow me down and steer me into waters more favorable to him he gains influence behind the scenes. But he fails to understand one important turn of the dance he's chosen to take part in, Syv."
"And that'd be what exactly, big bro?"
"If one side wants to move, say, a meter. And the other doesn't want to move, at all. Who's the winner if they end up moving half a meter?" his eyes sparkled as he grinned. "Is only losing half your authority really a victory? What if it happens again, and again, and again? Like the ocean slowly eroding the shoreline. I wonder when Lord Kiruma will realize as much? Given Octavia's appetite, I hope the realization will take him a few more years, though by then it'll be too late."
"It's still a massive scandal in the making," she stepped over a heap of clothes Marius had discarded on the floor.
Her brother shook his head, his face serious now. "I don't think so. Kiruma is all about maintaining face. All his wife's done so far has allowed him to appear as the gracious and victorious mediator in senatorial affairs, blocking my initiatives first, making it look as if I'm the one offering him concessions compared to my initial proposals. For a time, at least, he keeps winning because it cements his leadership position of the Traditionalists," he explained. "He can't expose what's going on as it'll ruin his reputation more so than mine. I'm an unmarried man. Technically, I can share my bed with whomever I want. Even though I'm sure Octavia loves the thrill, how'd it look to his peers and public, him whoring her out? Nope, he can't throw his wife under the next best dropship, not without getting dragged into the flames himself. Also, I'm pretty sure Octavia's smart enough to have her own little insurance policy in place. Even so, the only thing anyone can actually prove is that we spend time together and talk about matters of policy – which we generally do."
"Well, what did you 'talk' about?" Sylvie put the word in air quotes, rolling her eyes.
"As hard as you'll find to believe it, we've talked about the militia," he tried to flush some remaining moisture out of his ears with his small finger. "In his usual fashion the good Lord Kiruma has seen fit to, well, throw a fit about my initiative to reform the ad hoc mess dad and grandfather left us into something more useful. Patricians' privileges and all that. Jupiter's balls, Syv! Come, take a seat and help yourself to some food! Anyway. I believe we've got some form of compromise he can live with, thanks to his wife's art of persuasion." He broke out into laughter at Sylvana's flabbergasted look. "I'm not kidding, she's genuinely a good negotiator! The gist is, local patricians will still be in command, but we set the standards by which the units will work. Anyway Syv, as much as I like to brag about my sexual exploits there's actually something I wanted to talk about."
"Definitely not the kind of topic you expect to talk with your brother about," she muttered and helped herself to a plate of various tapas. "Well, I suppose I can count myself lucky you didn't do the windmill in plain sight."
"Now come on, little sis. I do possess a modicum of modesty."
"Eh, unverified claims and all that. But go ahead." She started eating a small baked feta cheese.
"You're the only one I can expect to be fully honest with me on everything, Syv. That's why you're privy to my little escapades. Well, you and Posca, but Posca's too much of a nagging mother hen every other day. That being said, how long have you been with the company by now?"
She frowned. "I've been following the board around for the past seventeen months. Sat in meetings, got insights into each major department, know the who is who. Currently I'm acting Vice-CFO for the planetary branch here on Alphard."
"Sounds stressful," Marius commented, emptying the cup in one go with a grimace.
"Well, big bro, to put it into perspective: Alphard Trading Ltd. is the largest civilian employer in the Hegemony. So, if I get only one tenth of the crap on my plate that you get, I think I can squint real hard and not see you banging the opposition leader's wife."
"Gee, thanks for your absolution. Makes me feel better already," he deadpanned. "So, you do have executive experience, right?"
"A bit. Why do you ask?" she wanted to know.
"The company's family, business. Syv. I've got some foreign policy plans ready to launch and I'd like to set you up as the person to represent the family, the Hegemony, and our business interests in that matter. Put on your best dress and practice your brightest smiles. You're going to be an ambassador!"
Dalmatia, Illyria
Illyrian Palatinate
October 4th, 3009
Illyria's sun shone bright from a cloudless sky as two ASF soared across the small star nation's capital town of Dalmatia. One could have put all the people living there into one of Nova Roma's districts and still had place to spare. Illyria itself was a sparsely populated as its capital, which, Sylvana thought to herself, was quite the shame, given the planet's natural allure. As a member of the Hegemony's royal family she had rarely travelled off world, even within her own realm's borders. Visiting another nation's capital system, even one as small as the Palatinate, was both a joy and a privilege.
The seat of the Palatinate's administrator, a position traditionally negotiated among the ruling oligarchic families before it was put to the – predetermined – vote, was built in the fashion of an ancient Scandinavian chieftain's hall, with a wide-arched timber frame holding a high-peaked roof over a stone foundation. Government business that day took a backseat to the overall festive atmosphere, aside from a small square table at the center where Sylvana and her Illyrian counterpart sat next to one another, facing the crowd. Around them, the whole place smelled of herbs, roasting meat, food, people, and smoke from open fireplaces.
Conscious of the looks of the Palatinate's gathered nobility, Sylvana dipped her archaic fountain pen into the small ink pot and placed her signature onto the document spread out before here on the long oaken table. Servants darted between her and the man sitting to her left, dripping red wax onto the paper. Finalizing the ceremony, Sylvana dipped her signet ring into it, gave it a hard press, and rose to shake the other man's hand.
The long hall erupted into thundering applause, some voices yelling 'Palatinate! Palatinate!' at the top of their lungs. Tankards of mead and beer clanged amidst loud cheers. Her handful of bodyguards looked decidedly unhappy even as her own mechwarriors in their purple dress tunics joined the festivities, but she looked into the administrator's deep brown eyes and squeezed his bear-paw like hands as tight as she could.
"I must say I was reluctant at first when I read your brother's message," Alfric Jorgenson was the picture-perfect model of an ancient Terran Viking, bearded and towering over Sylvana, his sun-tanned face creased by weathered lines and a small, pink scar. His voice carried well enough through the noise for her to understand him. "An embassy, official relations, trade… not exactly the kind of words we've come to expect from the Hegemony. To be blunt, your Grace, we've only ever experienced your people staring down the sights of our guns."
"And yet here we are today, shaking hands."
"And yet, here we are," Jorgenson nodded, echoing her sentiment.
"Sometimes new people are needed for new directions. You said you only know us from fighting us. It's my hope that today marks the day where you'll start to get to know us by the goods and currency we exchange in good faith. Your worlds offer promising markets, and great mineral wealth we can exploit, together," Sylvana explained, her auburn locks falling wide over her shoulders. "We've both got much to gain from this partnership!"
- - - C* Weekly News Bulletin, 40/3009
… Periphery: Marian Hegemony & Illyrian Palatinate establish official relation at festive ceremony in Dalmatia. Ambassadors to be exchanged, estates for embassies granted on Alphard & Illyria. Alphard Trading Co. sets up Illyrian Prospect & Mining Ltd. as 100% subsidiary for operations in Illyrian Palatinate. Claims for prospecting & exploitation acquired on 3 Palatinate worlds. … - - -
…Illyria was a smoke show, and everybody in the Legion knew it, or at least suspected it. What we didn't know at the time to which end the smoke was being blown. It wasn't the money, that much was certain. Look, the Illyrians export iron and steel. Now I may have skipped a chemistry class or three in school, a'right, but even I know that iron's as common as hot air coming from a politician's mouth. The Patties were probably earning pennies on the ton shipping that stuff. Not exactly an economy brimming with disposable income, but they deluded themselves into thinking they had a great deal, and Alphard was just too happy to let them think that. Then the company set up shop, doing prospecting missions on three of their worlds with proper modern gear, GPR* and all that fancy tech included. Raiding by the Thirteen dropped off for maybe a month or two, then it went back to old levels. We had explicit orders to continue operations in the Palatinate, despite the agreement the Emperor's sister had signed. Sometimes our freelancers pretended to be Circinians – though there were certainly enough of those bastards to go around – sometimes we took up the mantle of whatever pirate band we fancied at the moment. After all, there's no better plausible deniability than what we got. Nobody believed the Hegemony would continue to sponsor raids against the very nation they just signed a treaty with, least of all the Patties, full of hope as they were. They thought they had grasped a feather from the golden goose, the poor fools. That was where everyone was wrong, and the first hint that the new Emperor liked to play both sides. So, with 'pirates' still being a threat Alphard petitioned – and was granted – the right to protect the company's sites with mercenaries. That's where me and the boys entered the scene. We stashed our uniforms away on Alphard, and next thing you know it the boys of the 1st Centuria were on Illyria as the 'Brotherhood of Ares'… from: Broken Trust. The Marian Hegemony's and Illyrian Palatinate's Relationship Before 3045.