The raised voices echoed through the cavernous chamber, bouncing off marble columns that had witnessed centuries of Davion power transfers.
Duchess Fredrica Davion sat silently at the head of the ornate table, her slim fingers tracing the wood grain as the argument raged around her. Raised voices, barbed insults and name-calling—it was like she was back in academia. Though at least there, she reflected, the stakes had only been professional reputations, not interstellar politics. Usually. There were quite a few planetary aristocrats in academia, actually.
"The AFFS stands ready to mount a response," Field Marshal William Johnson reported, his voice tight with barely contained fury. "Three JumpShips, six DropShips, and elements of the Davion Heavy Guards can be prepared within seventy-two hours." A disappointing but unsurprising reaction considering the red insignia on his uniform.
"To what end?" Quintus Allard, Minister of Intelligence, asked wearily. "Another glorious charge into weapons we cannot counter? Perhaps this time we could lose four regiments instead of three. We don't even know where Hanse is being held."
Fredrica observed Allard's face—intellectually present, but creased and tired. The spymaster had aged a decade in the past week, she thought. Catastrophic intelligence failures probably tended to do that.
"Are you telling us to accept this?!" Field Marshal William Johnson slammed his fist on the polished surface. The medals on his chest clinked together, a discordant punctuation to his outburst. "The First Prince of the Federated Suns, captured—"
"During an unauthorised and unprovoked military operation," March Lord Michael Hasek-Davion interrupted. "Unless there's something I don't know about ComStar's quarantine oversight committee."
"The First Prince rules by decree and requires nobody's permission to conduct military operations," Johnson rumbled, even as his eyes avoided Hasek's snake-like gaze.
"He does if it violates an agreement that he ratified himself," Hasek said dryly. "Just back in November, even."
Allard pinched the bridge of his nose. "We've been going in circles. A second attempt will not go well, especially now that their alert is high. Let's first be precise about what happened. Three regiments of our finest BattleMechs were effectively annihilated by technology we barely understand. Twenty-four machines—most of them not even their heavy units—destroyed or disabled over a hundred FedSun 'Mechs on their own."
It was truly quite a disaster. Military history had been Fredrica's secondary field of study. She had published papers on force disparity in the Age of War. Nothing in recorded history matched the technological gap they now faced. Not since the days of pre-spaceflight colonisation.
"An exaggeration," Johnson muttered.
"Is it?" Allard slid a noteputer across the table. "These are the raw numbers, Field Marshal. Compiled from surviving command staff and battle recorder data. I'd be fascinated to hear your alternative interpretation."
"I've seen the reports," Johnson growled.
Finance Minister Eduardo Talbot cleared his throat. "The fiscal impact alone is staggering. One-and-a-half billion C-bills in lost BattleMech assets, not counting the DropShip losses."
"Spare us the accountant's perspective," Hasek interjected with affected drollness. Fredrica did not like the way he kept leaning left and right in his chair. It was distracting. "We're discussing the fate of the realm, not the effects on inflation in the next year."
"We're discussing both," Allard corrected, his voice flat. "Along with the uncomfortable fact that our vaunted military superiority has been rendered obsolete by machines that can apparently teleport laterally while firing."
"They only appear that way on the targeting systems. They simply need recalibration," Johnson insisted.
Allard gave him a look of tired incredulity. "Recalibration won't help when their Strikers can displace eighty metres in under a second."
Johnson was stern. "The same reports say that saturation fire showed promise. We'll whittle them down, and we can improve the predictive capability of our firing systems."
"You think—"
"ComStar reports that the Cygnia Union is amenable to negotiation," Foreign Minister Helena Rostov interjected, glancing briefly toward Fredrica. "Their primary demand is acknowledgment of the territorial violation and reparations for loss of life and damages."
"Unacceptable," growled Johnson. "They killed hundreds of ours! And the statement would be tantamount to admitting the First Prince committed an illegal operation!"
"Which he did," Hasek said, with some real irritation. Hasek was the new March Lord of the Capellan Marches, Fredrica remembered, and before that he had been constantly asking for more support against raids. "Unless you're suggesting Hanse Davion was kidnapped by his own RCT and forced to lead a costly assault on a neutral-aligned research facility."
The chamber fell momentarily silent. Even Johnson had no immediate retort.
"The facts are these," Allard began. "Hanse Davion ratified a non-intervention agreement seven months ago. The whole realm remembers this because it was one of his first acts in office. He has now personally led an operation that violated that, based on intelligence that proved catastrophically flawed."
"Thanks to a great job from our Minister of Intelligence," Rostov muttered softly.
"And now he's a prisoner of a power that could likely reduce New Avalon to ash if they chose to," Allard continued without missing a beat.
Fredrica fought to keep her expression neutral. She had sympathy for Allard, she really did. A planet appearing out of nowhere was the stuff of Holovids. She wouldn't even know where to begin assembling a profile on such a thing.
"That's alarmist nonsense . They're barbarians that don't even have FTL!" Johnson roared. "Even if they muster a fleet, the best they can do is attack Terra, and that's ComStar's problem, not ours!"
"They didn't have FTL last week," Allard countered. "Did we or did we not leave three K-F Drives on their damned planet?"
"They're only one of four indigenous powers, confined to one dying planet. They can't afford to attack us."
"Field Marshal Johnson." Hasek leaned forward, his expression one of practiced concern. "Much as it pains me to agree with Minister Allard, we must face reality. Prince Hanse has been captured during a failed operation that violated an agreement he personally signed. Our military options are limited at best."
"So you suggest we abandon the First Prince?" Johnson demanded.
"Never. We have diplomatic channels. We simply have to give them some apology money and announce—what was it again, Helena?"
"That we violated their territorial sovereignty."
"That our First Prince launched a highly illegal attack that violated their territorial sovereignty," Hasek continued smoothly.
Allard nodded tiredly. "I suggest that we acknowledge our extremely limited options. The Cygnia Union clearly wants acknowledgment of the violation. That one is a reasonable demand that costs us nothing except pride."
"Pride and the appearance of weakness," Johnson countered.
"Which is preferable to actual weakness demonstrated through another failed military operation," Allard replied.
Talbot adjusted his glasses. "From a fiscal perspective, we cannot afford another loss of military assets of that magnitude."
It had affected inflation on Argyle as well, she recalled.
"The markets are already reacting poorly to the uncertainty. Don't think this is somebody else's concern—no rebuilding of the mauled RCTs will happen without tax money," Talbot warned, preempting another outburst from Johnson.
Fredrica's head was beginning to hurt.
Johnson was pushing for military action, Allard advocating pragmatic diplomacy, Hasek seemed to back Allard if only to ruin Hanse's reputation, and Talbot was counting coins while Rome… No, that wasn't fair. The markets truly had taken quite a beating over the last two years.
She tried not to sigh. First there was poor Ian, and now was Hanse.
Fredrica rarely spoke to the brothers in her adult life, but they had been close as children. You would never know it, given that she was technically from a minor cadet house on Argyle, but her maternal grandmother had been their paternal grandfather's younger sister. It was why she was sitting on this blasted chair at all—she'd been third in line ever since Terry was hit by that blimp back in 3001.
"If I may," Hasek interjected smoothly, "perhaps we should consider a transitional governance structure while these negotiations proceed. An advisory council, perhaps, with representatives from each March to support our Acting First Prince. We must prepare for the possibility that his return may not be imminent."
Johnson turned to Fredrica, desperation evident in his eyes. "Highness, surely you cannot countenance abandoning your cousin to these… these aliens !"
Fredrica shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "We should do everything we can to ensure Hanse's immediate return," she said.
"The constitutional position is clear," Rostov noted. "Duchess Fredrica serves as Acting First Prince with full powers until Prince Hanse's return."
"Of course," Hasek agreed easily. "I merely suggest additional support during this difficult period. The Duchess has proved an admirable planetary administrator, but we're in an unprecedented crisis for the realm. I simply think that something similar to the old High Council would alleviate fears, address concerns."
She remained silent, knowing her role in this performance. She was the legitimacy, not the power. That would remain firmly the case, to her comfort, unless… something worse happened to Hanse.
"Let's focus on immediate action," Allard suggested. "Minister Rostov, draft a formal acknowledgment of the territorial violation and see if you can't find out how much they'll accept at a minimum for reparations. We'll transmit through ComStar channels."
"That's premature," Johnson objected.
"It's inevitable," Allard countered. "We lose nothing by doing now what we'll be forced to do eventually."
"And what of Prince Hanse in the meantime?" Hasek asked, his voice carefully modulated to suggest concern. What a blatant, obvious man.
"We request his return first as a gesture of goodwill," Rostov said. "We emphasise that the operation was not authorised by the Federated Suns government as a whole."
"The First Prince rules by decree," Hasek said ironically.
"We can claim that Hanse was operating under faulty information," Talbot suggested. "Perhaps somebody told him that there were weapons of mass destruction on Terra Nova."
"Throwing His Highness under the bus," Johnson muttered.
"It was illegal," Allard reiterated. "Unless you'd prefer to claim that the head of state was not responsible for his actions?"
Of course, even in a branch family, Fredrica was well aware of how many illegal things the Federated Suns got up to, spymasters especially, but it remained shameful to be caught doing it. Failing at it, really.
Another silence fell over the table. Fredrica studied the faces arrayed before her—Johnson's military stubbornness, Allard's cold pragmatism, Hasek's veiled ambition, Rostov's diplomatic calculation, Talbot's financial anxiety. None of them were thinking about Hanse as a person, she realised. Just their First Prince.
She remembered Hanse as being a cheery, sunny boy, always making others laugh. Fredrica wondered what kind of man would launch such a foolhardy operation. Perhaps one that had lost his older brother and fianceé to war, back to back.
"What if we secure our own agreement with one of the Terra Nova powers?" Johnson asked gruffly. "They've surely got intelligence assets. They tell us where the First Lord is being held, and we'll go in hot with twelve DropShips."
"And alienate the closest thing we have to a cultural peer on Terra Nova?" Rostov demanded.
"Bah, you've seen the names! They're basically Lyran!"
"We should stick with diplomacy. We'll acknowledge the First Prince's criminal actions, first," Hasek argued firmly. "The Capellan March is also one of the closest to Sol. We could offer the Terra Novans asylum in the case that their planet truly becomes uninhabitable. We should make allies ."
To Fredrica's surprise, Hasek's voice hardened. "I've been fighting off the capacious Capellans for a decade. Countless good men and women lost because we were refused reinforcements, and now we've thrown away three regiments of our most elite on a fool's errand! And while the rest of you dither or beg to open up another war front, because of Hanse Davion's failure, my men and women face more incursions than ever!"
Johnson's face reddened. "The defense of all Marches is the AFFS—"
"Save it, Field Marshal," Hasek snapped, a bitter heat rearing its head. "The Capellan March has been treated as an afterthought since before Ian took power. We've requested additional forces for years while House Liao probes our defenses daily. Perhaps if we hadn't wasted our resources on Hanse's personal vendetta against the Combine, we'd have the military capacity to address all our borders properly."
"That's enough," Allard said quietly.
Hasek wasn't finished. "And now we're supposed to mount yet another operation to save him from his own incompetence? Losing even more forces and emboldening the Liaos even further? I think not," he spat.
"Your loyalty is touching, Lord Hasek," Rostov remarked coldly.
"My loyalty is to the Office of First Prince, and to the Federated Suns, Minister Rostov, not to the sad man who seems determined to destroy it chasing fairy magic to avenge his dead girlfriend."
Johnson half-rose from his seat. "You tread dangerously close to treason."
"Stating facts is not treason, Field Marshal," Hasek replied, suddenly greasy once more. "I merely point out that our priorities seem misaligned with reality."
He paused.
"And of course, we all deeply mourn the loss of Prince Ian. However, the Capellan March has endured constant pressure while our military focused elsewhere. Now we face a technological adversary that makes our best BattleMechs look primitive, our leader has been captured through his own reckless actions, and yet some at this table wish to antagonise them further."
He glanced at Fredrica, his expression carefully neutral. "We need a reasonable, unified approach to this crisis, not another military misadventure. To maintain stability and deter more incursions Her Highness requires proper support, and the Marches require greater coordination."
No doubt Hasek would attempt to position himself as the de facto leader of this advisory council. It was transparent, but not unreasonable. Both the Capellans and the Combine had been mobilising due to the perceived weakness of the Federated Suns. They couldn't be seen as something that could be taken down piecemeal.
"Let us return to the immediate issue," Allard said firmly. "Minister Rostov will draft an acknowledgment of the territorial violation and inquire about reparations. We request Prince Hanse's immediate return before the discussion of any agreements."
"And if they refuse?" Johnson demanded.
"Then we reassess, see what they'll require to hand His Highness back first, and whether other options will cost us less," Allard replied. "But diplomacy must be our first approach."
"I second Minister Allard's proposal," Hasek said. "Our first action must be admitting the First Prince's crimes."
Fredrica rubbed her brows. He was practically drooling to undermine the trust in Hanse.
"Are we all in accord?" Rostov suggested, looking around the table. "Highness?"
Fredrica knew her assent was merely a formality. These people ran the Federated Suns regardless of who sat in the First Prince's chair. Her role was to provide continuity, not leadership.
She nodded slowly. "I believe Minister Allard's approach is prudent. We should pursue diplomatic channels immediately."
The decision was made, though the tension in the room remained palpable. Field Marshal Johnson looked like he might shatter his teeth from clenching his jaw so tightly. It was concerning how red he was turning. Fredrica hoped he would see a doctor. Losing an experienced field marshal would not help the borders at all.
As the meeting adjourned, Fredrica remained seated, watching them file out. The weight of the First Prince's badge of office weighed more heavily than its materials suggested, even despite its illusory power.
She wondered, not for the first time, how Hanse was doing. Were they treating him well? And when would he return? She was unsure the realm could survive another succession crisis so soon after Ian, and if it came to it she would have to seize power.
Even going through her doctorate again was better than that.