Chapter 9: Maneuvers

June 7, 3025

Bellifant, 2nd moon of Lyreton

Leopard Dropship

Leftenant Elric Anea was not doing well as he sat confined in a tiny cell in a Leopard dropship, held captive by mercenaries. The Anea family had hung onto their nobility through sheer grit and determination over the previous decades staving off bankruptcy, and when their family Locust had been destroyed along with his grandfather fighting to establish the Aurigan Coalition they'd been rewarded for their service to House Madeira with a Phoenix Hawk, and things had finally started looking up.

Unfortunately, it was a Madeira who'd tried to help Lady Arano escape House Espinosa, and everyone in Anea family had felt their displeasure ever since. He'd been shunted off to a backwater assignment, only to get jumped by a bunch of mercenaries, and the Phoenix Hawk… oh, the Phoenix…

He buried his face in his hands, fighting back tears of shame, but also of fear. How would the Directorate respond? What would happen to his family? Would the Director have mercy and grant them a replacement 'Mech, or would it be on his watch, at his hands, that the Anea family finally descended back to the helpless peasants they'd been before?

The cell door clanged open and a man entered, the Commander of this sorry outfit if he had to guess. His dark hair was chopped short enough for the physical contact fields required on an old neurohelmet. He was about average height, though with the lean, muscled body of someone accustomed to being thrown around in a 'Mech.

The man watched him for a moment, and he felt a stab of shame and scrubbed his face with his hands, trying to hide his tears.

"So, you're the Directorate pilot, are you?"

"I'm a 'MechWarrior, not some mercenary pilot." Elric stared up at his captor in defiance.

The man's gray eyes hardened in anger, but his words remained flat and calm. "The Directorate shot me in the back and sabotaged me, so I see you as more of a pirate than a soldier, but let's lay that aside and focus on the reality here. You were a MechWarrior. Now you're dispossessed with no 'Mech and you're my prisoner, and I have to decide what to do with you. I'm supposed to return any survivors from your lance to the Directorate, but I want some questions answered first."

Elric's face burned as he realized he hadn't spared a thought for the rest of his lance, so focused was he on the impending ruin of his family. Stars, everything was falling apart. "How are the others? Did you kill them?"

The mercenary shrugged. "I'm afraid the fall killed the pilot of the Merlin, but both of the Locust pilots made it. One is in pretty bad shape, but the other is just a little banged up. If you want them to get medical attention at your base, however, you'll need to tell me about this base of yours. Where it is, for starters."

Elric bit his lip. The Directorate would not be pleased if he gave out any information, especially not to mercenaries with the gall to ambush Directorate forces. But they were going to be furious with him anyway, and he abruptly had a terrible, awful suspicion that his panicked jump jet maneuver had effectively abandoned his lancemates. No… no, he was done for, his family doomed, but he could maintain some shred of honor, even if only in his own mind, for saving his lancemates now.

"It's small, not much more than a few pre-fab buildings, a 'Mech hangar, and a DropShip landing pad. I'll give you the coordinates, but please, help my lancemates!"

"Done. My pilot will get the location details from you and we'll be on our way immediately, and you and your lancemates will be ransomed for the standard fee. We may have been trying to kill each other not long ago, but there's no reason we can't be civilized about this, even this far out on the Periphery."

Elric sagged against the cell wall, feeling as if he were deflating as the decision was made. "Thank you, and… who are you?"

The Commander, who'd turned to exit the hatch, paused and looked back. "I go by Wolf." And he was gone.

June 8, 3025

Coromodir VI

Cordia City

Director Espinosa forced himself not to pace in the war room, surrounded by his top advisors and with Victoria by his side, as a general spoke.

"That concludes our report, Director. In short, the Taurians have backed off their claims to our spinward systems, but tensions remain high internally. If we can keep things calm for another year, or possibly even six months, things will have cooled off enough to lower our internal controls, likely remove the curfew without sparking outright unrest, and possibly de-nationalize the House BattleMechs."

Espinosa nodded gravely. "That is good news, general. Our core objective preventing the disintegration of the Directorate has been mostly accomplished, but I'm concerned, greatly concerned, by the Magistracy. They always have a plot going somewhere, and we have not received any word of activity on their part against the Capellan Confederation despite how close it is to collapse. If the Magestrix isn't focused there, she must be focused elsewhere, and though they were friendly to us once, I find their current silence ominous. And now these 'minor incidents' along our anti-spinward flank are flaring up while our forces are deployed towards the Taurians. What's the latest there?"

Another general spoke up hesitantly. "Yes, Director, of course. Ah, several of our patrols beyond our borders have had… incidents. Usually it's nothing. By far the worst was on Lyreton, where a lance was destroyed outright in an ambush by mercenaries. They ransomed three of the pilots, who reported that they were destroyed by Wolf, or possibly Wolves, in a lance of Medium 'Mechs."

The Director frowned. "We cannot afford to escalate tensions to anti-spinward while we are deployed to spinward to face down the Taurians. Keep our forces on a tighter leash, closer to home, and come up with a justification to track down and destroy this Wolf. We must make it clear that provoking the Directorate is not cost effective."

He nodded and glanced out the reinforced, bullet-proof viewport up to the moons slowly rotating around his home planet. Just a little longer. We just need to hang on a little longer, and we can let go of the emergency powers and things can start to go back to the way they were.

June 8, 3025

Lyreton, High Orbit

Union-class DropShip Cormorant

High Lady Kamea Arano stared at her reflection in the mirror of her small estate room on the Cormorant. She expected to be called upon by Lady Ana Maria Centrella shortly to say farewell before she returned to the Magistracy. If she was fortunate, Lady Centrella would bring up the Wolves' raid—if she wasn't, she'd have to bring it up herself.

This moment had come a lot sooner than she'd hoped, but the time to make her move was now, and she ran through her own analysis once more, checking for any mistakes.

The Magistracy was at a delicate moment—the current Magestrix, Kyalla Centrella, was in her thirteenth year as head of state, and she was a woman of passion, both in her leadership and her personal life. She was on her third husband after her infidelity had destroyed the first marriage and driven the second husband to treason. No word yet on how the third was doing, but the legendary pleasure parlors of the Magistracy had an ongoing (if quiet) betting pool on how long the third would last. Given the rumors that Joran Han was her newest affair (which might explain his recent appointment as President of the Board of Directors of the Central Bank, despite being eminently unqualified), the optimistic bets were for a year.

Magestrix Kyalla's reputation for impetuousness had led to some concerns amongst her nobility. Nothing like a resistance—there didn't even exist a mechanism to remove a Magestrix—but a quiet hope that she would reign it in a little was there. And that's all it had been until very recently. Lady Kamea had had the great, if infuriating, honor of being hosted (very, very privately) by the Centrella family for a month prior to their agreeing to back her. It had been a calculated move to remind her of her own importance, and unimportance, all at once. But playing her part as the earnest-but-pliant tool had allowed Kamea to attend several sensitive meetings, and she'd been quietly listening when an advisor, momentarily forgetting her presence, had mentioned something about negotiations with Dame Catherine Humphreys before being casually silenced, and that was momentous; she'd barely kept a straight face.

Dame Catherine Humphreys, Duchess of Andurien and Lady of House Humphrey, controlled the Andurien worlds, a conglomerate of twenty-five inhabited systems tucked in the unenviable position right between the Free Worlds League and the Capellan Confederation. The area was highly contested. It had started off in the Confederation, then the Free Worlds League had taken it, and the Capellans' frequent attempts to reconquer them gradually transformed in the locals' minds from efforts to liberate them to efforts to conquer them. Eventually House Liao and the Capellans succeeded in getting them back before losing them to House Marik once again. By this point the House Humphrey and the locals were thoroughly sick of both sides.

Dame Humphreys embodied that attitude, being vocally displeased with both House Marik leadership and Capellan designs to reclaim them yet again. Inserting the volatile Kyalla into that mixture was asking for trouble, and though Kamea hadn't heard another word about it, she was certain that those concerns were coalescing into something more.

That single fact changed the political calculus where she was concerned. The question was, which side was Ana Maria on? If she was with Kyalla then she would fully back Kamea's efforts and try to cause as much ruckus as possible to distract the Capellans from whatever negotiations Kyalla had with the Anduriens. But if she wanted the Magestrix's schemes to fail, then Ana Maria would probably do her best to keep Kamea as reigned in as possible, allowing all the military arguments against annoying not one, but two Inner Sphere powers as much weight as possible. If she didn't permit Kamea to accomplish anything meaningful, it would leave the Capellans' eyes squarely on the Andurians, and the Magestrix's plot was almost certain to be discovered.

Unfortunately for Kamea, she was betting the ultra-civilized Ana Maria was in the latter (though probably saner) category—she'd been a known friend of Emma Centrella, Kyalla's daughter by her (now-executed) second husband. That was an obstacle. Fortunately, while the Magestrix, as with most House leaders, was a trained BattleMech pilot, the Magistracy's general distaste for military matters meant most of the rest of House Centrella was not interested or well versed with the capabilities of BattleMechs, and underestimated what you could get done with a single lance of medium 'Mechs, especially out in the wilds. If she offered a sufficiently compelling reason, they might let her take over Donavan's debt thinking she couldn't do too much damage with just one mercenary lance.

And so she worked with Alexander, thought it through from every angle, and came up with a strategy—all she needed was an opening to use it. And then, while she was racking her brain, Donavan had handed it to her on a silver platter… assuming she could pull it off.

She gave her immaculate appearance in her red and gold uniform, with a golden circlet across her forehead reminiscent of the crown she hoped to reclaim, another appraisal, then nodded to herself. Relax, Kamea. Take a breath. Calm… it will come when—

The notification light on her desk pinged softly, requesting acknowledgment. She made herself walk slowly to the desk then count to ten, long enough to show she wasn't nervously waiting on the call, but quickly enough that she wasn't petulantly making the woman wait.

"Yes?"

"My Lady, Lady Ana Maria Centrella requests an audience."

"Of course, John. Please, see her in at once."

Moments later the chamber door was opened by a young Cornet who was, until very recently, an NCO in the Aurigan Coalition Forces in the infantry. Kamea had been tutoring him on the job as a House courtier and he was getting close to being comfortable speaking to her, but despite the earnest determination on his part, he would never match the cool professionalism of her former House staff. The rifles of the two similarly-converted House Guard parted to allow Lady Centrella to pass.

Unfortunately, the DropShip's galley, while perfectly adequate to feed the small crew contingent, was never intended to supply diplomatic luncheons, so rather than offer something cobbled together she elected not to try.

"Welcome Lady Centrella." She offered the traditional half-bow for fellow nobles of roughly even status and gestured her into the compact state room.

Ana Maria glided in with her usual effortless grace and settled into her accustomed chair, with Kamea sitting down across from her, feet sinking a millimeter into the soft carpet. For a moment they simply watched each other, sizing each other up. Lady Centrella, as ever, was stunning in her white and green trimmed blouse with loose, following white pants, while her face remained a mask of pleasant neutrality.

"Lady Centrella, as always it is a pleasure to see you."

"Likewise, High Lady. I am afraid my visit will be quite short, as I am required to return to the Magistracy, but I wished to pay my respects and inquire over a small matter."

Kamea fought to keep her heart rate steady. "Oh?"

Ana Maria watched her closely. "There was a small ambush of Directorate forces by a mercenary group that sounded remarkably similar to Donavan's Wolves, I believe they were called."

Yes! "While I am not yet certain," she responded evenly, "I suspect that it was the very same. As you know, we are still in the planning stages, so it seems the mercenaries are exercising their prerogatives in pursuing their own assignments. I would prefer if they would avoid interacting with the Directorate without proper direction, but without control of their debt, I'm afraid that they will look to you for confirmation of my directions."

Lady Centrella looked back steadily. "An interesting notion. Yet I would be remiss in simply handing over that sizeable of an investment on behalf of the Magistracy."

You mean you don't trust me not to kick off an actual restoration movement the moment your back is turned. "Of course, Lady Centrella. And yet, there are costs associated with retaining control from so distant a place as Canopus."

Ana Maria's eyebrow twitched ever so slightly. "Go on."

Kamea drew a breath and made her move.

"Time, of course, is the largest constraint. As you know, all our attention is on our efforts to undermine the Directorate, but the majority, even the vast majority, of our efforts are not of the 'direct' variety, meaning that the mercenaries will be left to follow their own pursuits most of the time. It may be difficult to reach you and relay your instructions before they take, shall we say, overly precipitous action. I will be much closer at hand to stand them down lest they cause more disruption than we are prepared for." Yes, just like you, of course I will focus more on the diplomatic, rather than dirty, messy, military action. And I'll be right here to keep those gung-ho mercenaries from taking any steps that could actually cause problems.

Lady Centrella blinked twice, which coming from the high lady was the equivalent of a groan. "That… is indeed a concern, High Lady. We certainly want to keep the situation under control."

And now for the last piece."And that is to say nothing of what would happen if the Directorate were to look into the mercenaries now causing them such woes, and particularly into the recent acquisition of their debt. Imagine if that were traced back to, say, a small holding company set up as an affiliate of Magliss Spirits on New Dawn. Of course, the CEO who signed off on the purchase is Samantha Carter Wiley, who happens to be a childhood friend, and some whisper lover, of a distant cousin of Magestrix Kyalla herself, who happened to come into money recently, though no one is quite sure from where. And while such a distant connection should be easy for the Magistracy to disavow, why take the risk of the Magistracy being pulled into a direct conflict with the Directorate?"

Lady Centrella went pale.

That's right Ana Maria. It took a while, but we traced the money back to you, and if we can, you can be sure the Directorate can, too. And Kyalla has been as free with her punishments as she's been with her favor, especially when it comes to her own family. So, what are you going to do? Shut me down and go home a failure, but knowing Kyalla will probably fail in her misguided efforts? Or keep up appearances by turning over control of the mercenaries, trusting that you can keep me under control even if I have a few down-at-the-heels mercenaries?

Ana Maria spent several long seconds watching Kamea very closely, then made her decision. "High Lady, your points are well taken. You can be assured that I will raise them with the Magistracy, and I expect we will see the debt transferred. I trust you will keep them well in hand."

Lady Arano nodded gravely, masking inner satisfaction. After a few more pleasantries, Lady Centrella took her leave, and Kamea watched the hatch shut behind her with something like relief.

Well, there are no guarantees, but it seems like the chances are good they'll transfer control of Donavan's Wolves to me, and with that we can do a lot more damage than the Magistracy might dream one overly cautious, untrusting, self-important, lady-in-exile could possibly manage.

Lady Centrella quietly fumed as she considered the way that upstart girl had outmaneuvered her. She'd known using Samantha as the conduit was foolish, but Samantha was also a staunch ally of Kyalla (perhaps to deflect criticism from her own personal life), and Kyalla had wanted to see her rewarded.

She made herself take a slow, deep breath. Kamea may have caught her off-guard, but that was what contingency plans were for. She had options, she could still control this. She prepared a very short, highly encrypted message to be sent that evening. Kamea had better enjoy her precious mercenaries, because they wouldn't be around for long.

June 9, 3025

Lyreton System, Deep Space

Leopard DropShip

Spirits were high on the Leopard, home to Donavan's Wolves. Whispers of the mercenaries who'd smashed a lance of Directorate 'Mechs were spreading, which did great things for their reputation. It also made them rather large targets, as there was little chance the Directorate wouldn't take the chance to step on them if they could do it in front of the locals, so it was time they moved on… after salvaging everything they possibly could from the destroyed 'Mechs.

And so they were boosting out of the system at an easy pace, as the next JumpShip wasn't scheduled to arrive in over a week, while Yang excitedly got to work. Between the two wrecked Locusts and spares they already had on hand for Medusa's Locust, Yang was convinced he could put together a second functional Locust.

For his part, as leader of the lance (and Commander of the outfit), Donavan claimed dibs on what was more valuable than the Locust—the Directorate must really have wanted to impress the locals into not causing problems, because the Phoenix Hawk was still packing the original Star League Tek Tru Trak combination target-tracking and advanced fire control system. He was extremely excited to see what that would do to his accuracy if they could strip it and install it on the Blackjack.

And that didn't say anything of the mother load—a beautiful old neurohelmet. Not an original, of course, as one of those would have been worth as much as the Leopard, but made before the Inner Sphere had blown the technology out of each other. Instead of his monster helmet that looked like an ancient diving suit, covering him down to the shoulders and making him have to rotate his entire torso just to turn his head, this was more like a heavy infantry helmet, covering his chin but leaving his neck free. It still had physical contact receptors, but they were significantly more sensitive, allowing for better balance and agility, and finer motor control. That had him positively salivating at the prospect.

All in all, for the first time in a while, things were definitely looking up.

June 28, 3025

Herotitus System, Deep Space

Leopard Dropship

Donanvan's euphoric mood after their victory in Lyreton had worn off by the time they finally arrived in the Herotitus system. Despite being next door neighbors to Lyreton, they'd spent almost three weeks getting there. The commercial JumpShip, whose schedules were tenuous even in the Inner Sphere, had been more than a week late to arrive, and then they'd had mechanical issues. They'd grumbled, but not too loudly, at the extra delay—the stories of what happened when a JumpShip misjumped were enough to turn any man's stomach.

Well, at least we're here… in a manner of speaking. Only eight more days of sublight travel to reach Herotitus II, which was the definition of a mixed bag.

Herotitus was a living contradiction. In a rare display of cooperation, the planet had been jointly settled by both the Taurians and the Canopians as an agrarian project. According to the planetary info download, a previous Taurian Leader, Protector Semyon Calderon, had somehow convinced himself that conquering the place was a good idea. He must've thought it would be easy, as the Magistracy had only light infantry there. Unfortunately for them, they managed to let the Magistracy know they were coming and promptly got their butts kicked.

Then about twenty-five years ago the Taurians had tried a different sort of invasion when a group calling themselves the New Hedons showed up, taking a page out of the Magistracy's book and trying to set themselves up as the pleasure and vice center for the neighboring systems. Gambling, hunting, sports, and anything else you could think of, including the traditional red light district offerings, could be had there. It made for some odd bedfellows, the conservative, even puritanical farmers and the unabashedly hedonistic business folks, but it seemed to be holding up, at least for the moment, but there was undoubtedly tension there.

And where there was tension, there was usually work. All they had to do was find it.

July 6, 3025

Herotitus II

New Hedron, Capital City

Donavan leaned back against the Leopard's hull gazing out over wide fields of golden grain. It was beautiful, really, and quite peaceful.

And that was the problem. After roughly a month of transit to get here, they'd come up empty. There were a number of job postings when they'd left, but while they'd been stuck twiddling their thumbs the local issues had been resolved.

Darius had gone into town to see if he could rustle up something, and Miranda had led an expedition with Mohammed and some of the 'MechTechs to the pleasure domes to work out their frustrations. Donavan had stayed behind. He needed to think clearly, and those places were designed to do the opposite.

No answers had come, and his thoughts turned philosophical.

Soft footsteps echoed down the gangway and Donavan glanced up to see Sumire descending. She paused next to him, taking in the view. They stood in silence for a minute, just taking it all in. A breeze blew gently over the farmland, rustling the fields like waves on the sea, while the sun slowly set in the background.

"Would you look at that," he said quietly, not realizing he'd spoken aloud.

"It's really something, I'll give you that. I like the quiet, too… not swarms of squawking birds everywhere."

"Sumire, if you don't mind, I'd like to get your take on something that's been bothering me." Donavan gestured to the plastic folding chairs laid out, and they sat down to look out over the ocean.

"You know, probably better than I do, just how messed up a place the galaxy is. Ever since my family and House was destroyed because we didn't understand the political landscape I've done a lot of reading, and it sure seems like we've regressed all the way back to the dark ages on old Terra. Communication and education are limited, leaving the local authorities more or less on their own to do whatever they want so long as the taxes go out and the right number of 'Mechs show up when the Lord or Lady calls. Just… how did we get here? What happened? And is it any different in the Inner Sphere?'

Sumire stared off into the sunset for a while, considering her words. "You know my family came from the Draconis Combine, about as far on the other side of the galaxy as you can get from here, and the stories they told me… No. no, it's not any better in the Inner Sphere, or anywhere else. I think what's really done us in was that we overreached. We built up all across the galaxy, but look at our transportation system. I don't know if anyone has any clear idea of how many JumpShips are out there. And take it from me as a former JumpShip pilot, we barely understand how they work, so that's not going to be changing any time soon. And the real killer…"

She paused, glanced around quickly for any listening ears, before continuing more quietly. "The real killer is communication. How can any sort of major development project, or even normal research and development or economic development, happen when we can barely talk to each other? And whenever we do talk, we're looking over our shoulders and worrying about who ComStar might tell?"

Donavan frowned. "But doesn't ComStar keep the Houses from getting too out of control?"

"Do they, though?" she continued, her voice growing progressively more heated, but no louder. "The Third Succession War may be winding down, but it's been pretty much non-stop since 2866—how many generations have come and gone never knowing what peace is like? Did ComStar stop the Mariks from their incredibly stupid invasion of the Lyran Commonwealth in 2949? Did they stop the Steiner's deep raid into the Free Worlds League in 2987? Have they supported the Steiner peace proposal in the last five years? No… the war is grinding to a halt not because ComStar has done anything, but because we've blown the shit out of ourselves for so long that there's almost nothing left to destroy."

She closed her eyes for a moment and took a slow breath.

"That's fair, but without ComStar, there wouldn't be any communications or trade at all," pointed out Donavan.

She shrugged. "For a while, maybe, and I'll grant you that it would be ugly, especially for the common folk who usually don't get involved in these sorts of power struggles as one noble family replaces another. But we've been through it before. The Aurigan Reach was all Capellan and Taurian colonies once, remember? But if we leave things the way they are, the underlying communication problem will never go away. Unless you think ComStar will let someone open up a HyperPulse Generator to figure out how it works?"

Donavan shuddered at the thought. Nobody messed with ComStar. That was rule number one, from mercenaries all the way up to Inner Sphere powers. "No, I don't see that happening any time soon. So I guess nothing's going to change."

Sumire shook her head, her black hair wisping in the breeze. "No, the galaxy won't be changing for the better any time soon. But that means more work for us, and we can have a little bit of freedom, a little bit of control of our own fates."

Donavan watched Sumire, her impenetrable demeanor for a moment pulled back to reveal the steely determination beneath. "I'm with you, Sumire. Still…" he gestured out to the stunning landscape. "The ones that set down roots do get a nice view, don't they?"

Her distinct facial features, a combination of her Dutch and Japanese heritage, settled back into her usual neutral expression. "For a while, yes. But give it a week, a month, a year, and some lord or mercenary or pirate will come through and burn this town and trample these crops, and when that day comes, they would trade all of it for the chance to fight back."

"Well, I guess we're just ahead of the game, because we've already got the guns."

July 9, 3025

Herotitus II

New Hedron, Capital City

The crew had been gathered up and been dragged (in one case literally) out of the mini pleasure circus. They were getting ready to head out to the jump point to hitch a ride on the next JumpShip to anywhere when the word arrived on the planet's Class B HPG—a message from their new benefactors. It seemed Lady Arano was going to be calling on their services already.