Opalescent Reflections
Stacking the Deck
Chapter 5
The Triad, Tharkad
Donegal March, Federated Commonwealth
10 October 3053
"How are you liking Tharkad?" Melissa Steiner-Davion asked politely as she greeted Wei formally for the cameras.
Wei Rong gave her a wry look. "Out of every world in the Lyran Commonwealth, your ancestor chose this icebox as their capital? Why?" She'd actually been in Tharkad City for two days now, but the first day had been spent at the HPG station, meeting essentially everyone involved in keeping the HPGs of the Lyran capital running. In a couple of days she'd be flying halfway around the planet to do the same at the back-up site. The amount of message traffic needed to keep a Successor State going was staggering, and the union with the Federated Suns had only expanded the workload.
Melissa, who had probably been asked the same thing dozens of times, smiled graciously. "We have a long family history of winter sports."
"It does have a certain austere beauty," Wei allowed. "Albeit one I think best appreciated from a warm room." Possibly involving good company and a rug made from the fur of a large predator, although she was fairly sure the Archon was too adroit a politician to say whether or not she and her husband had tried that.
"Hilton Head is beautiful in its own way," Melissa replied and took Wei's arm so that the two of them could enter the reception hall together. "But I'm not sure I would want to live there."
It's not my first choice, Wei thought. "I don't plan to retire there, to be honest."
The reception room was high ceilinged, with tracery in gold accenting the cream ceiling and outlining the nine large oil paintings that recorded significant moments in the history of the Lyran Commonwealth and, of course, of House Steiner. Royal blue curtains framed windows down one wall, and on the other wall they framed mirrors done up in the same way as the windows.
Dozens of high nobles and officials were already present, this was a relatively select gathering and as Wei understood the matter the number of guests wouldn't break a hundred. Tomorrow, on the other hand, she'd be visiting the full Estates-General, which would be a much larger event.
"Her majesty, Archon Melissa Steiner-Davion," a loud-voiced herald called out. "And her excellency Primus Rong Wei of ComStar!" He'd got her name the right way around, which was a nice touch, thought Wei. She was entirely accustomed to the standard protocol of using personal names first, but it wasn't how she had been raised. Heads turned around the room, although it could hardly be a surprise that she was here.
A handsome, bearded man swept forwards. "Your majesty, your excellency," he offered with a roguish grin. "It's a fortunate day to meet such lovely ladies."
Melissa laughed at the flirtatious remark. "Your gallantry is as welcome as ever, Thomas. How are your children."
"Growing like weeds," he said brightly. "Gregor has even broken up with his first girlfriend."
"A true rite of passage," the Archon mused, then released Wei's arm so that Thomas could kiss her hand. "Gregor is five, by the way."
"Then you can only be Thomas Bradford," Wei concluded as the gentleman kissed her own hand graciously. "I'm glad to see that your family's traditions are intact." Harrison Bradford, the previous duke of Coventry, had been linked romantically to Melissa's mother after she became a widow - at least in the popular press. It was fairly unlikely that there had been anything but friendship between the two but it was minor legend in the Lyran court that Thomas Bradford had attempted to charm Katrina Steiner when he was seventeen, only a third the then-Archon's age, allegedly unaware of the identity of the woman wearing LCAF uniform at the event in question.
"In person," the duke admitted. "Alas, the duty of upholding the family tradition now rests with my son since I am old, respectable and my wife even trusts me unsupervised."
Knowing that the Duke of Coventry was only a decade or so her senior, Wei took that as being merely a conversation point. "That is only one tradition of your family," she answered. "I believe you are here today to uphold another, that being unswerving loyalty to House Steiner."
"I'll drink to that," the duke agreed and reached out to a passing servant, deftly managing three of the champagne glasses in one hand for a moment before handing one each to Melissa and to Wei. "To House Steiner!"
There were murmurs of agreement from others in earshot, some raising their glasses to join the impromptu toast.
Wei raised her own glass. "To the health, and wealth, of your people."
"Very diplomatic," Thomas approved. "Dare I hope that your presence here denotes a closer alliance against a certain foe of our nation. The presence of the ComGuards on the frontlines would be a delight to our soldiers and a dreadful blow to the damned Falcons."
"Were the ComGuards to directly participate in the current fighting, at best I believe the Jade Falcons and Nova Cats would see that as a chance to avenge their defeat on Camlann," she told him pleasantly. "At worst, the Clans might take it as a breach of the truce, freeing the Clans to move into the Isle of Skye, among other regions."
"You make a regrettable amount of sense," the duke conceded, before draining the contents of his glass. Coventry lay above the truceline, if not by very much.
"With that said," Melissa added gracefully, "The Primus and I will be discussing certain other measures that may be to the benefit of the realm and to the safety of our worlds."
Bradford smiled, a little thinly. "It would be ungracious to complain about aid that is being offered when we are in need of it, your excellency."
"And it is entirely understandable that you are concerned for the wellbeing of your world," Wei told him.
The duke stepped away to allow others to approach and Melissa nodded after him. "Coventry gives its name to one of the historic provinces of Donegal. There is a real risk that most of those worlds will be under Clan rule if they are not stopped, Primus."
"I am aware," Wei replied, toying with her glass. "The First Circuit believes that we should make the most possible use of the time won on Camlann. I know the ComGuard's losses are smaller in absolute terms compared to those you suffered even before the invasion resumed, but proportionately they were very high and it will take time to recover from them."
"And I suppose you would overrule them if you could?" the Archon asked. "Your cloak of neutrality is wearing thin."
"Yes, but people react so strangely if I undress in public," she answered with a smile.
Melissa shook her head. "Stationing the ComGuards along our periphery border to free up our forces isn't really very far from taking sides, Primus. Unless you're doing the same for the Clans?"
"To be fair, we do defend our enclaves along the periphery border and it can be hard to determine exactly where pirates intend to land if our aerospace fighters are attempting orbital interception," Wei pointed out. "But we aren't going to get involved if two Clans start shooting at each other." She paused, recalling some reports. "When they do so, that is. There is a degree of friction already."
"Good to hear," Melissa mused. "And I suppose that unlike ourselves, the Clans have no interest in joint ventures for upgraded technology."
"They don't really need our help," Wei pointed out. "And if we sent up factories in their occupation zones, they'd be vulnerable if -" (she meant when) "- the truce breaks down."
The Archon frowned. "Given how much we're buying from the Free Worlds League - and your own purchases from them - I can understand the cooperation there and in the Combine, but did you really need to arrange a Hippogriff factory in the Taurian Concordat? As I understand it, Protector Calderon doesn't even believe the Clans exist, much less that there is a slim possibility of them becoming a threat to his nation."
"My own understanding is that Protector Calderon's doubts were only with regard to the earliest reports, which you must admit seemed fantastical at the time. And I say that as the one who was offering warnings of the impending invasion."
That got a small laugh from the Archon. "Yes, that is fair. But still, the Concordat's continued build up of forces along our border is drawing forces away from facing the Clans."
"I hope that the ComGuards will be able to offset that to a degree. And let's be honest, at the current rate, the Taurians will be building Hippogriffs before the Combine's factory on Marduk becomes fully active," Wei added. "They keep raiding the component manufacture to support their own products rather than the one the factory is supposed to build."
"It's a cause for… well not amusement," Melissa noted. "I felt honestly sorry for Omi Kurita when James Sandoval suggested it might be to the benefit of the DCMS if he sent a regiment of infantry there, not to take the world back - much as I'm sure he'd like to - but to see that the factory was actually put to its intended use."
Wei understood the temptation and Anastaius Focht had been considering tasking one of the battalions of ComGuards currently keeping the peace along that often fractious border with exactly that, but that would not be very diplomatic. "If it weren't for the resumption of fighting, I don't think they would be under quite so much pressure," she said instead. "At least the Gunslinger project isn't seeing the same issues."
Developed jointly during the Terran conferences a few years ago, several factories across the Inner Sphere were getting close to putting the Gunslinger assault 'mech into production.
Melissa nodded. "I believe the HildCo factory on St Ives is currently looking as if they might be the first to put the design into production. It would have been ironic if their first deployment was against the Capellans."
"At least the new Chancellor is being more reasonable than his mother."
"We both know what a low bar that is," the Archon said drily. "As it is, I gather that the first two Gunslingers built will be going to my son and Candace's."
"Prince Victor or one of his brothers?" enquired Wei.
"Arthur," Melissa replied. "Victor has my mother's old Warhammer and Peter got a Hippogriff from Nanking before he joined the Third Davion Guards."
There was a certain weight to those words and Wei recalled that the Third Davion Guards Regimental Combat Team was currently facing the Clans.
"Ah," Melissa said before an uncomfortable silence could develop. "I should introduce you to Anatoly."
The name didn't jump out at Wei but when she saw the tall, slender man Melissa was leading her towards, she recognised him as the Duke of Alarion. Something Serfass… well, Anatoly Serfass, presumably.
"Anatoly," the Archon said brightly, "Would you mind introducing the Primus around for me. I need to touch up my make-up before I circulate."
"I would be honored," the man said gravely and bowed deeply, although he made no attempt to kiss Wei's hand. "Primus."
"Your grace," she agreed as Melissa stepped away, shielded by two aides from guests wishing to speak with her. "The peace of Blake be with you."
"Peace would indeed be a rare and precious gift," he said solemnly. "However, in its absence, I have been having productive discussions with Precentor Murphy and Precentor Weis with regard to sharing expertise on orbital construction."
"I recall authorizing some firms to contract work," Wei admitted. "You have quite extensive orbital colonies as I recall?"
"By current standards. Nothing compared to the Star League's," he said modestly. "However, those discussions were mostly regarding military construction… I understand that you have been pushing to restore the Venusian solar shade."
"That's right. Amaris famously wrecked it trying to use it as a weapon, and it's been a - well, I didn't iintend on a pun, but a shadow of its former self is all too accurate."
"While I very much doubt if the national budget would support such work," Duke Serfass advised, "Prior to the invasion, we were looking at the possibility of constructing one for the Albion system. It's a fairly common waypoint between Alarion and Tharkad, but the planet itself had to be abandoned due to environmental damage during the early Succession Wars."
Wei nodded. "A combination of rising temperatures and sea levels that was theorized to be the result of pollutants in the atmosphere?"
"Yes, that's it! You're familiar with the case?" he asked, sounding intrigued.
"Not in detail, I came across it while doing an overview of some of the damage done to worlds during the Second Succession War."
Serfass nodded. "The theory is that a solar shade would cool the world enough that it might be possible to establish at least small scale colonies to put the mines and possibly even some manufacturing back to work. We know it was far from mined out, and if it could be economically worked there are sources for some rare minerals that we currently import from further away…"
"How would this be funded if the Archon can't?" asked Wei curiously.
The duke smiled. "That would make it a matter for private enterprise, may I introduce you to a few people who would be interested in discussing the management of such a project…"
Star City, Polcenigo
Clan Smoke Jaguar Occupation Zone
19 November 3053
Stars flashed before Tyra's eyes as she didn't quite manage to duck her chin fast enough to keep her head from hitting the wall.
Years of training kicked in and she used the wall to brace her hips, kicking out before the man could grab hold of her. He was a brawler, not a trained fighter, and for all his size he didn't manage to keep her workboot from catching up and the juncture of his legs.
The man - he wore a laborer's heavy tunic - folded up with a scream. Tyra grabbed his head with both hands and drove his face into her knee.
One down, but a blur of motion reminded her that there was more than one assailant.
She ducked aside, raising one arm to deflect rather than block. The daughter of the Iron Jarl was always a target - in more than one way - and she had been taught how to handle men who didn't take no for an answer.
The two-by-four glanced off her arm and Tyra cried out in pain, but most of the force was diverted and the wood splintered against the bricks of the alleyway.
This didn't seem an impulsive act of lust though, it had been too calculated an ambush. No bluster or lewd looks, just purposeful violence.
The club-wielder drew his broken weapon back while the other two tried to get around her back. Tyra ignored the pain from her arm and closed with the armed man before he could swing again. Her good arm straightened and she drove her fist below his ribs.
He vomited the acidic remains of his last meal across her and Tyra snatched the wooden weapon from him as his grip loosened for a moment.
Whirling, the young woman caught another of the men across the side of the head with it. He reeled against the wall, hurt but not out.
She brandished the club, preparing to deal with the last of them but then a heavy weight crashed against the back of her knees and Tyra went sprawling on the floor.
The man she'd just disarmed had recovered too fast for her. Tyra's face struck the wet pavement and then she screamed as a heavy boot came down on her forearm, forcing her to release her grip on her weapon.
"Stravag," one of the men spat and another boot came down on her back, hammering Tyra down and forcing the air from her lungs.
God, not a spinal injury, she prayed. She knew what a struggle her father had faced with that, and the Smoke Jaguars wouldn't provide a tenth the medical care that had been lavished on a hero of Rasalhague's war for freedom. Hah, they might euthanize her rather than treat her!
Someone grabbed her by the back of her head and Tyra had just enough time to anticipate what was coming before her face crashed down into the paving. Her nose snapped and everything went white for a moment!
When her vision cleared, she was lying on the floor but no one was kicking her at least.
For a moment, Tyra wondered if all this had just been just for that beating but then she heard the crash of a metal garbage can falling over as someone crashed into it, sending the can and contents flying.
Two hands caught the bondswoman by her shoulders, and she realized even though the shoulder of her coveralls that one of the hands was metal and plastic. Whoever it was, they hauled her upright without significant effort.
"If I see any of you again," a man warned in the clipped English of the Clans, "I will kill you. Now get out of my sight." He didn't raise his voice in anger, but was a note of confidence to it.
With her head ringing from the impact on the paving, Tyra didn't recognise the voice of her savior. It wasn't until they were out of the alleyway, the bondswoman leaning heavily against him, that she saw in the streetlights that it was Trent - the Star Captain she had been sent to fetch and carry for on Camlann.
What was he even doing here? She, like most of the bondsmen, had been sent to work on worlds well away from the truceline - places which they had little chance to escape from. Trent, she had assumed, had returned to his unit and this far from the Draconis Combine there were few frontline units. Garrison posts, with older warriors nearing the end of their careers and youngsters frantic to make a name for themselves to get a better assignment.
Tyra had been avoiding both, as most of the workers - clanborn and locals alike - did, whenever they could. She supposed she could easily have missed Trent being assigned here. His right arm was as much metal as flesh, his face still a horror of scars and reconstruction around the cybernetic eye. The Smoke Jaguars wasted no resources on the appearance of their warriors.
But it was undeniably him, after more than a year.
Tyra was glad to see him for a moment, then strangled the impulse. He was still a Smoke Jaguar, still her enemy. Even if he was kinder than most.
And he had just saved her, so she bit back an angry 'What are you doing here?' and tried to thank him. A jab of pain from her nose and a metallic taste on her lips reminded her to be more cautious.
Trent shook his head. "Is there somewhere we can get some medical supplies?"
Looking around, trying to remember the neighborhood, Tyra winced as her neck and ribs protested. "Senleven over there." She pointed.
The Smoke Jaguar looked in the indicated direction, evidently finding the neon signs entirely indecipherable. "You will have to guide me," he admitted.
With a groan, Tyra started limping down the street and Trent matched her pace, keeping his shoulder available for when she needed it.
The clerk inside the shop marked by the traditional three numbers seemed more at a loss by the sudden arrival of a scarred Smoke Jaguar warrior and a battered technician than Trent was with the interior of a shop. Before Tyra had even stopped blinking at the much brighter lights inside, he had spotted the shelves with household medicines.
Tyra crossed the counter, prepared to try to mediate but, to her surprise, Trent stacked the items he'd picked up by the till and slapped down a five C-bill note. "Do you have a washroom we can use?"
No doubt alarmed by the narrative of a Clan Warrior and a bloodied civilian, the clerk was edging her hand towards what was probably some sort of panic button, so Tyra added "I got mugged - he got rid of them."
"Oh!" The woman relaxed slightly. "Yes, I'll let you in." She produced a keychain with one hand, trying to ring up the items with the other.
"Do that after you let us in," Trent ordered.
"But your change!"
"Keep it!" he snapped, showing anger for the first time so far.
The small woman squeaked nervously and rushed to unlock a door partly hidden behind racks of snacks. The space inside wasn't really large enough for two, once the toilet and sink were considered but they squeezed in anyway, Tyra sitting on the toilet while Trent turned on the sink. The warrior tore open a packet of bandages and soaked them in cold water before carefully beginning to wipe down Tyra's face.
"You did not need to yell at her," Tyra managed to get out past his ministrations. "It is just a broken nose."
"And possibly ribs," he said and then peeled back one of her eyelids. "And maybe a concussion. I am not sure." He released her head for a moment and discarded the bloody bandages. "If those surats had friends, they will be less likely to see us in here."
"Do you think they would?"
Trent opened some wet wipes and started giving her nose another wipe down, causing her to wince. "I do not know. You have enemies here, quineg?"
Tyra almost shook her head and then thought better of it. "Neg."
He grunted unhappily. "This will hurt," he warned and then straightened her nose.
She yelled in pain and lashed out reflexively with one hand, smacking him ineffectively in the chest.
Trent ignored the blow, holding her nose with two fingers while he took some tape out of a package. It was a two hand job so he was fumbling.
"Sorry," Tyra apologized, eyes watering, and took the package of medical tape, extracting the contents for him to use to secure her nose, along with a little gauze to absorb the blood still escaping the abused soft tissue. She could see in the mirror (visible in glimpses as Trent moved) that he'd done an amateurish job, but it was better than nothing.
"I am lucky you came along," she admitted.
Trent shook his head. "I was looking for you. Not because I expected this, so there was some luck involved."
A thousand unpleasant reasons that he could be seeking her out came to mind, but most of them didn't fit with receiving medical treatment in the washroom of a senleven. "That makes two of us that didn't expect it."
He wedged himself into the corner between the sink and the wall, and looked her over. "If it is not your enemies behind this, then it may be mine."
"Yours?"
Trent scratched his head, along the line between his hair and the cybernetics. He avoided her eyes. "Jez Howell may have remembered that you overheard us speaking on Camlann. Possibly one of her patrons reminded her."
"Why would they care at this point? Are you important now?" She didn't see the telltale markings on his uniform that would advertise he had won a bloodname.
His lips curled. "No. But she is aligned with Leo Showers and rumor has it that the Khan's control is not as firm as it was. If Jez were disgraced it could cost him a vote, or even tar him by association." He lowered his hand and then met her eyes. "During the trials of bloodright for Brandon Howell's legacy, my Mad Dog suffered a mysterious actuator failure when I was facing Jez's nomination. I was fortunate to eject before the 'mech was destroyed."
Tyra remembered tales of Tyr operations against the DCMS. "You suspect sabotage?"
"The MasterTech of the Cluster I served with is… close to Jez Howell," Trent said judiciously. "He can supervise the work on any 'mech he wishes. I did not expect her to go that far…"
"Or to have some thugs corner me in an alleyway." Tyra twisted slightly and winced. "You may be right about the ribs. Did you pick up any painkillers?"
Trent wordlessly handed over a packet, and she checked that they were rated as safe for concussions before popping two pills and swallowing them dry. "Thanks." She grimaced. The next few days were going to be miserable, it wasn't as if she'd have time off work to recover. "So why were you looking for me?"
"I need a new tech," he told her. "One who I am sure is not in Jez Howell's pocket."
Tyra blinked. "Wait, me?"
"You are a tech."
"I am a pilot. I can work as a tech, but I know aircraft, not 'mechs."
He spread his hands. "I know 'mechs. I can teach you, and there would be months for you to study the differences."
"Why would there be months?" Tyra asked.
Trent sighed. "I have been transferred to the homeworlds, to join a new unit. It will be at least two years before I come back to the Inner Sphere, allowing for travel time. Jez Howell may be able to pull strings in the occupation zone, but not a thousand light years away. Sarah Weaver is forming the unit and while she is not my patron, she would not tolerate interference in her command. Not even with a tech."
Tyra leant back against the toilet's cistern. "You think they will try again?"
He nodded. "You survived because - luck - I happened to catch up at the right moment. In two days, I will be gone and then…"
The Clan Homeworlds. Even further from home. "Why do you think you can trust me? I'm not going to work for Jez Howell, but you're still a Smoke Jaguar…"
The Star Captain examined her for a moment. "And you do not consider yourself one of us, quineg?"
Tyra didn't answer, she didn't need to.
"That is our failure," he told her. "Let me show you where our Clan comes from. Show you our strengths, not our weaknesses."
"You haven't answered me, Trent." She knew it was a risk to address him like an equal, but right now he was acting like the supplicant. "Why me?"
"Because, since Camlann… you are the only person who looked at me and saw me, not this." He used his right arm to indicate his disfigured face. "The only one."
Tyra thought of her father. Thought of the people who saw her father's wheelchair. Saw the scar on his face. The people who missed the man behind all that. "You said we leave in the next two days?"
There was something disturbingly heartwarming about the asymmetrical smile forced on Trent by his face.
Nadir Jump Point, Porthos
Clan Smoke Jaguar Occupation Zone
3 December 3053
The dropship taking Sarah Weaver and dozens of officers back to the homeworlds was a passenger transport captured during the invasion, not a military vessel. There was little point in ferrying equipment back to Huntress when factory fresh equipment would be available, the only omnimech in the hold was her own - just in case she faced any personal challenges on the route.
Truthfully, she had no real expectation of that, but the chance to eliminate a Khan through 'fortuitous timing' was not beyond some Clans. And the possibility of her itinerary being leaked was probably not beyond some of Sarah's own Clan. After all, if she could think of it then no doubt less scrupulous warriors had also done so.
When she entered the cargo bay to check its condition, she did not expect to find it opened up for inspection already, two unfamiliar techs examining the hip actuators.
"Who are you?" she demanded, clinging to a handle near the entrance, already gathering her feet to kick off and leap across the bay at her.
Both looked up at the sudden interrogative - a young blonde woman and a man whose scars seemed worse even than Sarah's own.
The latter saluted with a hand that was clearly cybernetic. "Star Captain Trent, my Khan."
Trent… yes, he was one of those supposed to be aboard, Sarah thought. But: "And who is this with you?"
"Technician Tyra," the woman reported in a wary tone.
"Tyra is newly assigned to me," Trent added.
Sarah kicked off from the door and sailed across the cargo hold to catch hold of the Ebon Jaguar's cockpit, standing inverted above the pair of them. She was not that possessive of the 'mech, it was simply an available replacement when her Timber Wolf was too badly damaged on Camlann for economical repair, but the pair seemed suspicious. "And what has that to do with my 'mech?"
"I am testing her skills," the man reported. "As well as refreshing my own. I have recently learned that it is wise to be able to check the status of a 'mech rather than trusting others."
Was that why this Tyra was newly assigned? Sarah scowled at the thought. Still, it was a more productive use of the time than drinking, gambling and coupling which would probably be what most of the warriors would do during the journey. That had been her experience on the long journey to the Inner Sphere. "And in the absence of a 'mech of your own, you decided to use my own, quiaff?"
"Aff," Trent confirmed, straightening.
The saKhan was tempted to punch him in the head, but he had so much metal there that she would do more damage to her head. "Who gave you those scars?" she demanded instead.
"A Kungsarme mechwarrior," the warrior told her matter-of-factly. "I do not know which regiment and no BattleROMs survived so I cannot check his markings."
At least he made no excuses for his weakness. "Did the warrior survive?"
"Reports vary." Trent seemed amused by the question. "My second claimed to have killed him but the details do not match my recollection. Possibly she defeated another 'mech of the same type."
The technician had turned away, clearly aware that this was a conversation between warriors and none of her business. "Where was this?" Sarah barked.
"Camlann, outside of Huntsvil."
Sarah frowned in recollection. "You were with the 267th Battle Cluster? I remember there was a warrior who was so badly wounded that the medtechs did not believe he would survive."
"I believe that I was the most severely injured warrior to survive within the Cluster, so that may have been myself."
Kicking off lightly, Sarah flipped herself over to land facing him. "And what did you learn from that?" she challenged him, staring him in the eye.
"To recognise my enemies," he replied immediately, "And not to make their mistake of leaving a foe alive."
He meant it, she decided. However severe his injuries were, they had not broken his spirit. Perhaps they had burned some weakness out of him. "Good answer, be sure to pass those lessons onto our newest warriors."
Trent's lips twisted. "From what I have heard, most of them were from sibkos taken from other Clans. Will they be suited to be Smoke Jaguars?"
"If not, they will not pass their trial of position," Sarah told him matter-of-factly. Truthfully, fewer of the cadets were outsiders than Showers claimed. More and larger sibkos had been formed ever since he became Khan, in the 3030s, preparing for invasion if the chance came - or if it did not, to have the numbers to force the Wardens to heel. As it was, the cadets were younger than usual to graduate. Records had been adjusted to obscure this, and most would be the normal age by the time they reached the Inner Sphere in a few years.
"We chose sibkos being trained by warriors with beliefs in accord with the Jaguars," she continued. Telling Trent the truth would be pointless - sharing a secret was the best way to ensure it was no longer a secret. "In some cases, those warriors were taken as isorla alongside their cadets and will add their experience to Tau Galaxy. Beyond that, it will be up to you to make Jaguars of them."
"I look forward to the challenge, my khan."
Sarah nodded and then looked at the Ebon Jaguar. "What do you think of it?"
"Your 'mech?"
"What else?"
Trent half-turned to look at the omnimech. "A formidable design. An improvement upon the Timber Wolf?"
"Indeed. The Wolves are very proud of their designs, even the Dire Wolf that we took from them." Sarah smirked. "This provides more pod-space and the lower slung design makes for a harder target, offsetting the reduction in armor. A new generation of battlemechs for a new generation of Smoke Jaguars, quiaff?"
"Aff," Trent said slowly. "Though not all of Tau Galaxy will be new, we must have some experience to show them how to wage war, quiaff?"
She threw her head back and laughed. "Yes, so long as we remain fit to lead them. And with the war against the Inner Sphere expanding there will be too much need for warriors to send us off to the solahma. We may still be fighting the Successor Lords ten years from now."
There was a startled noise from the technician, one that she tried to hide.
Sarah gave the woman a sharp look. "You have something to say, quiaff?"
"Tyra," Trent said in a warning tone.
"No, let her speak." Sarah closed her hands into a fist.
"I must have misunderstood," the woman said in a nervous voice. "I thought that the truce with the… spheroids had more than twelve years left."
Sarah seized her by the front of her coveralls and yanked her up to face her. "The truce ends when we say it ends, technician. We are Smoke Jaguars, quiaff?"
"A-aff?"
She released the woman. Civilians, there was a reason they were not allowed to make important decisions in any sane Clan! "I hope she is better at 'mech repairs than she is at understanding politics."
"Too much politics brought down Clan Mongoose" Trent observed drily. "Though blindness to it can be a problem as well. As for Tyra, she is a quick learner."
"Good." Sarah did not believe a word of it. "I will be receiving a new 'mech when we reach Huntress, so when we arrive I will reassign this one to you. That will regularize your taking care of it until now." And the 'generosity' would bolster her reputation, perhaps even encourage the other warriors to find useful work on the voyage.