Vehrec wrote:It's the 31st century. There are probably hundred of 'manuals' for young men in house and planetary militias that teach the 'skills' of being a good leader and showing concern for your troops. Anyone who doesn't walk among the men after a high-profile mission is either ignoring thousands of years of institutional memory, or just an arrogant sot.
We have leadership schools now, but that doesn't mean everyone follows their teachings. The truly good leaders do, of course, but there are a lot of others that see them as just another box to check, and follow their own ways of leadership for good or ill.
Although I do concede the point that a lot depends on whether the Protector was acting as he was because we was supposed to, or because he wanted to.
ComStar Class A HPG Station
Samantha City, Taurus
Taurian Concordat
October 28, 3025
“Jack,” Helena growled. “You said you could get this to work—what’s the hold up?”
The engineer crawled out of an access hatch on the side of the HPG, and he sighed. “Boss, I don’t know what half of this gear is supposed to do. Typical piece of Terran shit with a dozen components where any sensible engineer would use one! Everything is cross-connected the Nth degree—it’s like they deliberately designed a Rube Goldberg machine specifically to spite anyone who ever got their hands on it! I’ve got power flows all the place here, leading to circuits that don’t do anything! But if I cut out those circuits, the whole frigging thing goes dead!”
Helena glared down at the engineer—and the team of scientists assembled from those embarked on Saucy Sam, and the surviving ComStar Adepts and Acolytes who had agreed to cooperate.
“Damn it, Jack,” she snapped. “I’m not asking you to rebuild the blasted thing—just make it work!”
“Boss, I . . .,” and seeing the look on Helena’s face, he sighed and rubbed a greasy hand through his hair. “Fine. But if we are going to be using this-this . . . piece of sh- . . .,” he winced as Thomas walked over and quickly adjusted his word choice, “junk, then we need to understand what each of these components are supposed to do—and right now, I don’t. Know. What. Purpose. Half. Of. Them. Have.”
“Understand it later,” Thomas commanded. “Right now, I need this on-line—can you do it, Commander?”
Jack sighed again and he began to mutter. “Blood paranoid Terrans, none of these technicians know anything other the SINGLE system component they were assigned to run. The only ones with a complete knowledge were killed by ComStar security.”
“ROM,” corrected Henri Jouett as he smiled. “And Precentor Taurus probably knows—but he will take some . . . persuasion to reveal his knowledge.”
“Did you know they don’t have a single manual of operations? They memorize their tasks—rote memorization without understanding the basic theory of how it works!” Jack whined.
“JACK!”
“Okay, okay, okay,” he muttered. “We may burn out half of the circuits that I don’t know what they do, but okay.” He steeled himself and he stood up from the floor and turned to the senior Adept that had changed sides—Dennis Frasier. “Is the generator aligned?”
“On target, Pre-,” the man blushed. “Commander. HPG is on target and auto-stabilized.”
“Charge capacitors and prepare to establish communications wormhole.”
Dennis nodded and the team of former ComStar personnel began to sing out the litany as they worked the dials and pressed the keys.
“I fucking hate Gregorian chants,” he said as the machinery hummed to life. “Ready to record and transmit—if I am reading this board right,” and he crossed his fingers.
“Then let us begin,” said Thomas.
ComStar First Circuit
Hilton Head Island, North America
Terra
October 28, 3025
“. . . and the Pronouncement of Interdiction has been distributed across the HPG Network, Primus,” the Adept reported. “As of two hours ago, the Taurian Concordat has been officially Interdicted as per your command.” Then he paused, and he swallowed heavily. “I must report, however, that the Taurus ‘A’ Station has missed its past four transmission windows—and we have no confirmation from Taurus that the Interdiction has begun.”
Julian frowned, even as the members of the First Circuit started to whisper among themselves. It wasn’t unheard of for an ‘A’ Station to temporarily go off the air—but the timing was . . . worrisome. “Contact directly one of the Concordat ‘B’ Stations—have them confirm and see if we can determine what is wrong with the Taurus HPG.”
“Primus,” the sweating Adept said with a deep bow, “we did so six hours ago—none have replied to our transmissions.”
“It takes time to realign the HPG,” one of the Precentors of the First Circuit began, “and ‘B’ Stations are limited . . . perhaps their response is just delayed.”
“Even a ‘B’ Station should be able to respond to a priority transmission from the First Circuit in less than two hours,” snapped Myndo Waterly. “Unless the Precentor in command is incompetent—did we send all of our fools to Taurus?”
Before anyone could reply, the sound of pounding feet came from a corridor and an Acolyte ran into the First Circuit. Ignoring the Primus and the circle of Precentors both, he whispered to the Adept, even as Julian ground his teeth. The Adept jerked, and his head snapped around to stare with horror at the Primus—and his jaw dropped, leaving his mouth open.
“Pri-primus,” he stuttered. “We have received a transmission from Taurus—relayed here. I-I,” his voice trailed off.
“CONTROL YOURSELF!” Julian snapped. “Play the transmission.”
The Adept swayed. “Pri-primus . . .,”
“Did you not hear the instruction of the Primus?” Myndo asked smoothly. “PLAY IT,” she commanded.
The Adept bowed low and he walked over to a system control and adjusted the lights. A holo-projector in the center of the floor activated; the image was shaky, filled with static, and slightly out of focus. Julian frowned.
“Adept,” he said softly. “Are we experiencing technical difficulties?”
“N-no, Primus—the transmission from Taurus was not precisely attuned,” he answered with an audible swallow of the lump in his throat. “The computers are processing and cleaning the transmission as . . . we . . . speak,” and he grew quiet as the image solidified—the color base still slightly off and shaky, but it was not the image of Precentor Taurus. No, the image that stood in front of the First Circuit was that of Thomas Calderon.
Sharp intakes of air came as several of the Precentors gasped, and Julian grabbed the sides of his podium in grips so tight that his knuckles faded to white.
“Primus,” the image spoke as it wavered. “I have received your . . . ultimatum and carefully considered a reply. In the words of General Anthony McAuliffe during the Siege of Bastogne in Terra’s Second World War—NUTS! Or, if you aren’t a fan of history, then a simple PISS OFF is our answer to you. Part of our answer, anyways,” he said with a chuckle. “I believe you recognize the chamber I am in? Your own ‘A’ Station on Taurus? It is mine now; it belongs to the Concordat.”
Horrified—and furious—voices began to echo around the chamber, but the transmission continued.
“As you might notice, your Precentor Taurus is not present—he is under arrest and the evidence is damning. I have been assured that he will be sentenced to death for his crimes against the Concordat. My forces have seized not only the ‘A’ Station on Taurus, but every ‘B’ Station within the Taurian Concordat—and we are operating this station now to send you this message.” Thomas paused and canted his head as he smiled. “Seriously, you did not think that the sons and daughters of Samantha Calderon could figure out how to operate this technology? If so, Primus, you are a fool.”
“We here in the Periphery have much experience with the perfidy of Terrans, Primus Tiepolo. Your demands were unacceptable to us—and your actions in causing the incident upon which you based those demands were unconscionable.”
Julian’s face went white, and the image sneered at him. “That’s right—we have access to your archives here on Taurus. And it was orders from Terra that instructed Precentor Taurus to alter Grover Shraplen’s message to Brigadier Tharn of the Pleiades Hussars. Those altered orders and communications which resulted in the attack on your facility on Jansen’s Hold; without them, it would have never occurred. I don’t know what is more contemptible, Tiepolo—your callous sacrifice of men and women who served you or your greed over what the Concordat possesses.”
“But that is now over. I hereby declare ComStar an outlawed organization within the territory of the Taurian Concordat—all who owe it allegiance will leave immediately under pain of death for defiance of this order. I hereby nationalize your HPG stations—we Taurians will operate them ourselves, for our own good.”
“Of course, we will consider handing them back to you—in exchange for the head of one Julian Tiepolo. Nothing attached—just the head,” Thomas said with a grim smile. “There is an old expression, Primus, which you should have considered before this gambit began—fuck with the Bull and you get the horns. Don’t push us into going further, or by the Horns, you will regret those actions forever.”
The transmission flickered again, and then it abruptly ended. And utter chaos descended on the Chamber of the First Circuit.
Julian swayed and he tried to speak, but he couldn’t draw breath—and then he staggered as the pain in his chest exploded. He collapsed onto the floor.
“PRIMUS!” someone shouted, but Julian couldn’t see his face—his voice seemed so very far away. “GET A DOCTOR IN HERE!” And everything faded to black.
Last edited by masterarminas on 2013-06-19 11:27pm, edited 1 time in total.
Oh dear. Comstar is not only facing the loss of all it's stations and personnel in the Concordat, and the risk of the knowledge of how to operate the HPGs being distributed to the other Houses, but now they're also facing an internal leadership change - and the one most likely to seize control is a certifiable loon.
MondoMage wrote:Oh dear. Comstar is not only facing the loss of all it's stations and personnel in the Concordat, and the risk of the knowledge of how to operate the HPGs being distributed to the other Houses, but now they're also facing an internal leadership change - and the one most likely to seize control is a certifiable loon.
Perfect. Absolutely perfect.
Unfortunately, provoking said certifiable loon when she is in control of the largest collection of Star League-era battlemechs and only remaining warship fleet in the Inner Sphere is hardly a good idea. Comstar may not ultimately survive these events, but as the Jihad proved, they can do a lot of damage before they go down.
"Only a fool expects rational behaviour from their fellow humans. Why do you expect it from a machine that humans have designed?"
You know that, and most of us reading this know that, but I don't think anyone in story knows this outside of Comstar, else they would have been wiped out of existence by now just for that.
I wonder, if the Taurians have full access to Comstar archives, does that mean they know of not only Comstars' denial of a warship to the Concordat previously, but of Comstars' screwing known space in general? Because if they do, all the Concordat has to do is hand this over to everyone in known space, and to paraphrase a well known quote "the Word of Blake will only be spoken in Hell."
Yeah, but Halsey was wrong about that, wasn't he? And I doubt that there is a complete record of all the misdeeds of Comstar in the Inner Sphere on that single station's databanks.
A new equilibrium might still be possible here-Comstar can refuse to take messages off the Taurian network and just...blockade them, but their image has taken a major hit. More likely, there will be an internal shakeup, a radical or a moderate will come to the fore, and things will proceed from there acordingly. More worrisome is the eventual leak of the news about Comstar's editing of messages. They can't do much to contain that. And who will trust them ever again?
Commander of the MFS Darwinian Selection Method (sexual)
Vehrec wrote:More worrisome is the eventual leak of the news about Comstar's editing of messages. They can't do much to contain that. And who will trust them ever again?
If I were Comstar, I'd be more worried about knowledge of how to operate the HPG stations getting out. As it stands, ComStar has a stranglehold on rapid interstellar communications - don't like it? Fine, you can send your mail by command circuit or pony express or whatever you want to call it. But if the powers that be learn that they don't need to deal with Comstar in order to have FTL comms, then ComStar suddenly finds itself having to defend against everyone who wants to wrest control away from them. Davion will jump at the chance - he already has an axe to grind against them. And the other Houses will be quick to follow as well for fear of falling behind the others.
Sure, Comstar has warships and technology that the Houses don't, but they can't be everywhere - ComStar's influence is going to be dramatically curtailed no matter what, if they even survive the feeding frenzy.
ComStar First Circuit
Hilton Head Island, North America
Terra
October 28, 3025
“So, to repeat,” the physician-Adept from Kappa Division reported, “the Primus remains unconscious in critical condition . . . but we anticipate a full physical recovery from the cardiac event that he suffered.”
“And mentally?” asked Myndo.
“Treatment was provided within minutes—there should be no permanent mental impairments,” the doctor answered.
“Very well,” Myndo snapped. “With the Primus incapacitated, it falls upon us of the First Circuit to respond to this travesty on Taurus. I believe that my fellow Precentors now see the need to act decisively to eliminate this threat to our very existence.”
“How?” snapped Precentor Sian. “He has at least one HPG under his control and he has made a broadcast! Once the Great Houses learn of this, they will . . .,” but she didn’t finish the sentence.
“One broadcast—possibly using traitors within ComStar forced to work the machinery at gun-point,” Myndo interrupted. “He doesn’t under the technology—and he cannot replace any of the parts. Only we, here on Terra, can do that. And we all saw that message—he cannot even work the HPG properly!” Myndo paused and she nodded. “The Concordat already lies under interdiction—if he broadcasts again, the message will be stopped at Stations loyal to us. Now is the time to respond to this affront—to make certain that Taurus regrets the day it lifted a hand against those who are faithful to the Word of Blake!”
“And what do you suggest, Precentor Dieron? That we send the Fleet? If we do that—and the Great Houses learn of it—we are done,” Precentor Tharkad bluntly asked.
“Taurus is their economic, military, industrial, and spiritual heart, Precentor Tharkad,” Myndo said with a grim smile. “The Station which they took by force lies there, in Samantha City. Where the Protector and his family reside. Where their military and intelligence commands are headquartered. Where their most prestigious universities and service academies are located. Where their industrial strength is concentrated.”
She paused and smiled at the members of the First Circuit.
“I submit that this city which is home to Thomas Calderon is a cancer which must be removed—doing so will cripple the Concordat and show the Taurians that not even on Taurus behind their asteroid defenses and their nebula are they safe.”
“Destroying their capital city?” Nicholas asked into the silence. “Are you mad, Myndo? We are speaking of ten million civilians living an area the size of Greater London. Even with Backdoor allowing our Fleet to bypass the asteroids and enter the Taurus system without engaging their main defenses, what makes you think they will survive to enter orbit? We all know how the Taurians will respond to three WarShips entering THAT system—their fighters will be carrying nuclear weapons; the Concordat has a tremendous stockpile of tactical devices that they will not hesitate to use.”
“Precisely, Precentor ROM,” Myndo snarled. “I do believe that you have at least one agent in place in the facility which produces their tactical weapons—Fission Utilities, Consolidated and Unlimited? That is the name, yes?”
Nicholas sighed. “I do have an agent there. But those are small—TACTICAL—devices, of about 35 kilotons each, Precentor Dieron. Even if I sent my agent an order to detonate one, it wouldn’t destroy the entire city.”
“No, one device will not suffice. Nor will multiple devices concentrated in a single location,” Myndo mused. “But, if I am remembering your reports correctly, the Taurian Defense Force must regularly replace their existing warheads with new ones—half-life being such a bitch for these . . . primitive weapons.”
“Yes,” Nicholas whispered.
“And this Foo-Coo does so in bulk, yes?”
“Fuck you,” Nicholas said with a hint of a smile.
The Chamber went silent as the blood drained from Myndo’s face—she began to snarl, but Nicholas raised one hand. “It is pronounced ‘fuck-you’, not ‘foo-coo’, Precentor Dieron—although many in the TDF and those who work there refer to the facility as ‘Nukes ‘R Us’.”
The silence dragged on as Myndo struggled to compose herself, but then at last she nodded. “Thank you for that correction, Precentor ROM,” she snarled. “They produce replacement warheads in bulk, do they not?”
“Yes.”
“And they ship them in blocks of one hundred, yes?”
“That is a typical delivery—one hundred warheads, once every two months,” answered Nicholas.
“You agent will supply other ROM teams with the next scheduled delivery—and they will appropriate it. A single 35-kiloton detonation will not achieve our goals—but one hundred? Distributed throughout Samantha City? And I do believe that these Taurian weapons—being intended for use in space—leave massive amounts of lingering radiation behind, yes?”
Nicholas nodded, but he set his jaw. “Do you believe that the Taurians will not move heaven and earth once they realize that someone has stolen one hundred nuclear warheads?”
“Are you saying that ROM cannot accomplish this, Precentor ROM?” Myndo asked sweetly.
“We can accomplish this—if the Primus orders it. You are not Primus, Myndo Waterly.”
“The Primus is . . . unavailable, Precentor ROM,” she answered in a sharp voice. “And if the First Circuit commands it—you will act. Or you will be replaced.” She paused. “To the rest of humanity it will appear as if the Taurian obsession with these weapons of mass destruction resulted in a tragic accident that took the lives of so many millions of their own civilians. I dare say, we might be able to convince the Great Houses to begin reducing their own stockpiles—for if this can happen to the Taurians, it might happen to them.”
“Any analysis of the blast patterns will indicate . . .,” began Protector Atreus.
“They will analyze information that passes through our HPGs—we will give them the data that conforms to our story. It’s not like Hanse Davion or Takashi Kurita or Maximillian Liao will visit Taurus to confirm the story with their own eyes. We control the flow of information—and through it, we WILL control humanity,” Myndo snapped. And then she glared at the members of the First Circuit. “Which is why we must end this Taurian Crisis NOW. Before the situation grows out of control.”
One by one, the voting members of the First Circuit slowly nodded their agreement, and Nicholas sighed.
Myndo . . . glowed with delight, and she nodded as well. “And in the wake of this . . . tragedy . . . we must begin to look to our own defenses in the Outer Worlds. Perhaps it is time to address deploying the ComGuard and Militia to defend our compounds—slowly, of course.”
She turned her gaze back to Nicholas. “One final matter,” she said. “Have an intermediary pass along to Maximillian Liao and Michael Hasek ALL of our information on the latest deployments of the TDF—border defenses, what units are present. EVERYTHING. With an Interdiction already in place, I doubt very much that those two can resist the . . . opportunity to wrest a dozen or so worlds away from the Concordat.”
She paused again, and smiled. “When our Great Work is finished, we will have completed the job that the Star League began—and the Taurian Concordat will no longer be a thorn in our side.” She waited until the voting members nodded their agreement. “Then we are in recess—Blessed be Blake! May his Word bring Peace to all Humanity. United under our rule—of course.”
ROM Command Center
Hilton Head Island, North America
Terra
October 28, 3025
“This is madness, Charles,” Nicholas muttered quietly to his aide. “Killing individuals is one thing—we are going to be slaughtering millions here. Between the detonations and the radioactive fallout . . . I will personally be responsible for my very own Kentares Massacre.”
Charles Seneca grimaced and he sighed. “She doesn’t understand the meaning the words discretion or subtlety, does she?”
“No. But if I balk, the First Circuit will replace me with someone who will carry out their orders without question—probably with that asshole Harriman.”
Charles winched again. “It’s all so pointless—if they would LET us do our jobs, we could go in an eliminate the captured personnel and all of the Taurian scientists who MIGHT understand how to make it work. Hell, we could take out Thomas Calderon and his family, if that is what the First Circuit wants—if they don’t interfere or micro-manage.”
“HAH. They want absolutely control over everything—and heaven forbid if you tell them the sky is blue when they think it should be pink,” Nicholas fumed.
Charles looked around the room and then he swallowed heavily. He leaned in close to his superior and began to whisper. “There is another option, Nicholas—one that doesn’t require you to become a mass-murderer.”
“Oh?” Precentor ROM answered just as quietly. “What are you suggesting, Adept?”
“With the Primus incapacitated, you control the security apparatus—except for the details assigned to each of the First Circuit. But they are lightly armed . . . we have two thousand loyal agents here on Hilton Head that answer only to you—and the Primus.”
“They answer to me as long as I am Precentor ROM, Charles. As soon as the First Circuit sees fit, they are going to replace me—I know that is what Myndo wants.”
Charles swallowed and he looked around the room again. “They can’t replace you if they are dead, Precentor ROM.”
Precentor ROM’s head jerked up and his eyes grew wide. He began to speak—and then he closed his mouth.
“Myndo is a threat to the Order, boss,” Charles continued. “That is the precisely the reason we were formed in the first place—to eliminate threats to ComStar. That she holds a seat on the First Circuit shouldn’t have any bearing on our duty.”
Nicholas licked his lips which had gone dry, but still he said nothing.
With a sigh, Charles made one final effort. “How long do you think the Primus will live if Myndo gets a taste of wielding his power—he’s helpless in the hospital right now, boss. She’ll smother him herself—if you don’t stop her.”
At last, Nicholas nodded. Reluctantly, but he nodded. “We have to take them all at once—the voting members. We cannot risk a schism because we missed one or two.”
“Just give the order, boss—give the order and you will be in charge until the Primus wakes up.”
Nicholas closed his eyes and then he nodded. “Do it. Today.”
MondoMage wrote:Well, at least someone in the upper echelons of Comstar has a bit of common sense...
Prediction: Spoiler
This Charles has his eyes on Nicholas' job, and has just enticed him into an order that spells Nicholas' own demise.
Or he might even plan to see said order carried out, and then get Nicholas' job somehow, if he's really ambitious.
Main rationale for this prediction: 1) He's a bit too quick to suggest such a plan, and 2) It wouldn't help the story to kill off the antagonists too early.
Once again, I am very happy to see that Myndo gets offed
Nitram, slightly high on cough syrup: Do you know you're beautiful?
Me: Nope, that's why I have you around to tell me.
Nitram: You -are- beautiful. Anyone tries to tell you otherwise kill them.
"A life is like a garden. Perfect moments can be had, but not preserved, except in memory. LLAP" -- Leonard Nimoy, last Tweet
She isn't dead yet Tev. Gosh, it's like over on SB how everyone was cheering the Primus' death from heart attack yesterday. I mean, we can treat those things today. It's not like cardiac surgery is a black box.
Commander of the MFS Darwinian Selection Method (sexual)
Vehrec wrote:She isn't dead yet Tev. Gosh, it's like over on SB how everyone was cheering the Primus' death from heart attack yesterday. I mean, we can treat those things today. It's not like cardiac surgery is a black box.
Questions that may never be answered: did Victor Steiner-Davion attempt CPR for Hanse Davion? Or was that technique lostech?
Vehrec wrote:She isn't dead yet Tev. Gosh, it's like over on SB how everyone was cheering the Primus' death from heart attack yesterday. I mean, we can treat those things today. It's not like cardiac surgery is a black box.
Questions that may never be answered: did Victor Steiner-Davion attempt CPR for Hanse Davion? Or was that technique lostech?
I'm sure he probably tried it, but its effectiveness is rather overstated in the visual media. The better question, given Hanse's age and status, is why he didn't have a med team on standby at all times. Some kind of implanted cardiac monitoring device is hardly out of the question for that time.
The truth is that throwing Hanse under a bus was necessary for the direction that FASA wanted to go. The Fox was too canny and experienced to have made the same mistakes that Victor made.
"Only a fool expects rational behaviour from their fellow humans. Why do you expect it from a machine that humans have designed?"
Evacuation Tunnel Alpha
Hilton Head Island, North America
Terra
October 28, 3025
Myndo cursed as her guards pressed her back against the wall; the Acolyte who led them into the passageway staggered as his body absorbed the hail-storm of bullets emerging from the side corridor that connected to the evacuation tunnel.
“DAMN HIM,” she snarled. Who would have thought that Nicholas Cassnew would have dared such an action? That he would have the audacity to attempt to overthrow the First Circuit itself! “When are our reinforcements arriving?” she asked her security chief.
The Adept shook his head. “Precentor Dieron,” he said slowly, “the ComGuard and Militia has declared itself neutral in this conflict—they refuse to support either side; we have no reinforcements coming.”
“Options?” she asked. Of all of the members of the First Circuit—the ones that mattered, the ones with a vote and a power base—she was the sole survivor. If—IF—she could get out of this trap which Nicholas had transformed Hilton Head into, then she was certain that ComStar would rally to her cause. But it all depended on getting free of Hilton Head Island and the massive facility built beneath the surface of the land and sea.
“ROM is coming for us, Precentor—we have no way out,” the security man paused. “It is time to consider a negotiated end to this be-. . .,”
“NEGOTIATE? Nicholas is the one that has spilt blood here on Holy Ground, Adept! HE is the one who has abandoned all that Blake commanded of us—there can be no negotiation! Do we still have communications with the outside world?”
“No, Precentor.” Comms had been among the first thing that Nicholas had severed with powerful jamming devices blocking almost all signals. Only the land-lines and optical cables had not been affected—but now, even those had been cut.
“Toyama foretold that this day would come,” Myndo snarled. “When those who deny the Word of Blake attempt to seize the power of Terra and plunge humanity back into chaos and confusion—only through Blake can we know Peace.” She sighed. “Can we get to the Device of Last Resort?”
Her security chief winced as his men exchanged fire with the ROM agents loyal to Nicholas—and then he nodded. “Perhaps, Precentor. If he has not anticipated us attempting to trigger the device.”
“Blake will grant us a way, Adept—lead us there; leave half of your men here to cover our passage. Their deaths will give us time to initiate the self-destruct of this compound.”
“You would kill every member of the Order here on this island, Precentor?” asked the shocked voice of Myndo’s aide-de-camp. “Destroy this facility completely and leave ComStar leaderless and adrift?”
“Precentor ROM has already done that!” Myndo barked. “If they follow Nicholas Cassnew and fail to abide by the Word of Blake, then those who fight us are heretics—apostates! A new First Circuit will arise from the ashes, one which will lead us into a Golden Age.” Myndo smiled. “Besides, Sharilar,” she said. “There is an evacuation pod accessed in the device’s chamber—we shall make our escape and rebuild the First Circuit—as Toyama and Blake intended.”
Myndo paused. “And then we will deal with the Taurians once and for all time.” She smiled. “They were the cause of the downfall of the League and they seek to do the same to ComStar—we will implement a final solution to the Taurian problem. Never again will they threaten humanity!”
Sharilar Mori just shook her head in disbelief at first, and then as the gunfire in the corridor increased, she drew a pistol from the folds of her robes. “As the Primus orders,” she whispered.
Myndo Waterly smiled broadly. “Yes. You see the Truth, Sharilar. I am the true Primus of Com . . . PUT DOWN THAT PIS- . . . !” she began to yell, her eyes growing wide as her aide raised the barrel aligned with the chest of Precentor Dieron—the guards moved fast, but not fast enough. None had expected such a betrayal here, among the inner circle of Myndo’s chosen—and that gave Sharilar time enough to steady the weapon and squeeze the trigger.
TCJS (Taurian Concordat JumpShip) Patrick Flannagan
The Gateway, Hyades Cluster
Taurian Concordat
November 1, 3025
Aramis Hall sighed as he considered the meager number of ships at his command—a mere dozen. He had been assigned just twelve JumpShips to search for the Lost Exiles of Taurus in the trackless wastes of deep space beyond the Taurian Rim. “You are certain that this is the intended route that they took?”
Helena shrugged on the monitor screen. “It was the planned course, Master Hall—whether or not the Flotilla followed that plan . . .,” she shrugged again, “c’est la vie. Still,” she continued, “unless circumstances forced a radical change, “they should have proceeded along this route—with the intended destination of this small cluster of stars here, one thousand, five hundred and fifty-four light-years beyond our borders. Analysis of those stars indicated there should be at least three—perhaps four—planetary bodies capable of supporting human life. And being so far distant, we doubted that even the Star League would pursue us so far.”
“Fifty-two jumps minimum,” Hall mused, “it will take a full year just to get there—another to return.”
“And you have supplies and fuel for three years,” Helena added. “Look on the bright side, Master Hall—you will go farther than any recorded expedition in the history of the Concordat. The data that you return with should establish jump coordinates for many systems rather closer for your Far Lookers to begin a colonization effort.”
“If we survive this Interdiction,” Aramis sighed again. “Still, you are correct. One way or another, we will make history on this expedition,” he straightened up and saluted the older woman—after all, like the majority of Far Lookers, Aramis maintained a Reserve commission in the Taurian Concordat Navy. “Request permission for the Task Force to depart, Marshal Vickers.”
“Permission granted, Master Hall—good hunting,” she replied as she returned the salute. “And vayo con dios.”
“Gracis, senora Vickers,” Aramis answered in the Third Language of the Concordat—after English and French. Helena nodded and the image faded from the screen.
“All vessels—prepare to make Jump One. Set and confirm coordinates and make certain everyone has been to the bathroom and has all their luggage,” Aramis ordered with a grin. “We aren’t coming back because someone forgot their teddy bear—or something more important.”
One by one, each of the eleven other ships reported in and the board slowly turned green. “Initiate Jump Number One in . . . thirty seconds . . . MARK!” Aramis commanded, and then he sat back in his leather-clad command chair. And so it begins, he thought.
General Headquarters, McCarron’s Armored Cavalry
Douala, Menke
Capellan Confederation
November 2, 3025
“Audacious, Duchess Liao,” Archibald McCarron said as he closed the manila folder atop of his desk and turned his gaze to the youngest child of Maximillian Liao. “I do not, however, see your father’s seal upon those orders—could there be a reason for that?”
“Father does not wish to be seen as overly aggressive, Colonel McCarron,” Romano answered in a bitter tone—she did not care for being questioned, Archibald thought. Not one whit. “That no longer matters; we have been given an opportunity here—the Concordat lies under Interdiction and we have the current Taurian Defense Force deployments.”
“And today, my Armored Cavalry is present on Menke in full strength—which gives you an opportunity to show that you are Candace’s equal, at least, in the realm of military operations . . . am I right, Your Grace?” Archibald drawled with a narrow smile on his face.
“Laconis and MacLeod’s Land lies defenseless before us, Colonel McCarron!” she snapped. “Only their Constabulary and a handful of Noble’s Regiments stand against restoring these worlds to their legitimate Liao rule.”
“Legitimate?” the mercenary laughed. “Your Grace, those worlds NEVER belonged to the Confederation.”
“History is written by the victors, Colonel,” Romano answered coldly. “They will become Liao worlds in truth—the Home Guard, the Maskirovka, and our police forces stand ready to aid you; they will garrison the worlds once you conquer them. And then we can turn our attention to the two largest prizes outside of the Hyades—Pinard and New Vandenberg.”
Archie inhaled deeply. “Those worlds are not undefended, Your Grace. Or even lightly defended. And I will guaren-fucking-tee-you that the Taurians will fight tooth and nail for both of them.”
“Which is why the 5th Reserve Cavalry will be supporting your operations on Pinard as will Warrior House Fujita on New Vandenberg.”
“And the rumors that the Bulls have managed to salvage an honest-to-god WarShip, Your Grace? What happens if that thing manages to crawl into orbit above a pair of my Regiments?”
Romano smiled. “This operation will give our operatives a better chance to either . . . secure that vessel for ourselves or see it destroyed. Of course,” she said with a sniff, “I can always let it be known that Archibald McCarron has become too cautious and unwilling to assume risks of war. Jaime Wolf might well favor a new contract with the Liao, after all.”
“Don’t push me,” Archie growled, and he nodded as Romano drew back in sudden fright at his expression. “You might well be the child of Maximillian Liao, but you are a LONG way from home, girl—and on this world, I make the rules. So stop trying to play me,” he barked, and then he looked at the map and the closed folder and he sighed. “Triple pay—no less, and we get 100% salvage. Plus command rights over the entire operation.”
“THAT IS OBSCENE!” Romano howled.
“Then get your FATHER to affix his SEAL OF STATE to that order, girl! Triple pay, ALL OF THE FUCKING SALVAGE, and TOTAL COMMAND RIGHTS, or you can get your ass on that DropShip and run back home to DADDY!”
Romano’s eyes flashed, but then she nodded. “Fine,” she spat. “I will remember this, McCarron.”
“See that you do, girl—and bear in mind, so will I.”
The youngest child of Maximillian Liao turned on her heel and she strode—almost ran—from the office. Archie stood there for a moment and then he nodded. He lifted the phone. “Brett?” he asked as a voice on the far end answered. “Leadership meeting—all five regiments—thirty minutes, in the main briefing hall. And upload all of our maps on Laconis, MacLeod’s Land, Pinard, and New Vandenberg.” He winced as the voice on the far end came through much louder. “Yeah, the Taurian Concordat—load them!” Archie ordered and then he slammed down the phone.
The Obsidian Fortress
Sosa, New Syrtis
Federated Suns
November 2, 3025
“Hanse will blow a blood vessel!” sputtered Tamara Hasek, the commanding Marshal of the 5th Syrtis Fusiliers RCT. “Michael, he will demand your head if you go off half-cocked!”
Michael Hasek-Davion smiled. “Will he? New Ganymede is THE major source of Taurian germanium. Taking that system will ensure that our yards at Panpour and Galax will have ample reserves—our information shows that only Taurian militia are garrisoning that world,” Michael snorted. “Between your 5th, Tamara, and Robert’s 1st Capellan Dragoons, you should have no problem taking and holding New Ganymede.” Colonel Robert Johnstadt nodded his agreement.
“True enough, cousin,” muttered Iona Hasek, “but New Vallis is a Corps Headquarters for the TDF! They have almost two regiments of regulars and mercs there, PLUS all of those Constabulary and militia units. I know that with the 6th and 8th going in there together, we should have enough to take the system but . . .,” she winced, “Michael, what if the Bulls break out their nukes?”
“New Vallis and New Ganymede are valuable—but not that valuable. Now, if this was New Vandenberg or—God forbid—Taurus, yeah, I’d lay even odds that the nukes would fly. But not even Thomas is crazy enough to nuke his own people if WE don’t start atrocities,” Michael said with a grim smile.
Colonel Stephan Cooper shook his head. “And then you want ME to move the Assault Guards—on my own authority, no less—and hit Jansen’s Hold? Your Grace, I know that Marshal Ashley is on leave, but you can’t think that I would be willing to launch an attack without authorization from New Avalon!”
“Coop,” Michael said fondly, “of course you wouldn’t do any such thing. Just as, if I had in my possession . . . audio and video recordings of . . . certain behaviors made by prominent officers assigned to the Davion Brigade of Guards,” Michael smiled as the regimental commanders face drained of blood, “such as the dreadful things that the said officer enjoys doing to prostitutes of Capellan origin and the lengths he goes to make certain that their . . . tongues will never render testimony against him.” Michael tsk-tsked at the man. “If I had such, then I would turn them over to the High Command of the AFFS at once! Certainly, Hanse’s reaction to one of his own chosen few being such a . . . perverted and criminal soul,” and Michael bared his teeth as Cooper wilted, “would be rather . . . extreme?”
No one spoke for several moments, and then Michael nodded. “You do have the authority to order the Assault Guards RCT to move—if you deem it necessary for the Federated Suns, Colonel. I suggest you discover that this move to Jansen’s Hold is necessary. Otherwise, who knows what information will wind up in the hands of Quintus Allard.” Michael paused, and then when Cooper slowly nodded, he smiled. “The New Syrtis March Militia will hit Jansen’s Hold alongside your Guards, Cooper—this first wave should take and hold all three worlds from any possible counter-attack which the Taurians can organize while under Interdiction.”
“FIRST WAVE?” blurted Stephan Cooper.
“It all depends, Coop,” Michael said with a chuckle. “On how weak the Taurians actually are; if we CAN go farther—say to Sterope or Illiushin or Perdition—then I might just do that. But I might not. New Ganymede is the prize here—and a valuable one it is. New Vallis and Jansen’s Hold will protect the flanks of our new system, and if that is as far as we dare push, then I will be satisfied. Once the First Prince learns of it, he will have no choice but to support me—he won’t dare make me hand it back to the Taurians.”
“What about the Cappies?” asked Cooper. “We are out here to watch them, not to invade the Concordat.”
“I imagine they will be busy gobbling up systems of their own—but knowing Max and his spawn as I do,” Michael smiled again, “they will go directly for Pinard and New Vandenberg. No, the CCAF will be embroiled in a fight that I wouldn’t wish on Takashi Kurita for those two systems. We can safely count them out of this.”
“But it all depends on us attacking before the First Prince can shut this down,” Tamara pointed out. “Just one agent reporting to Quintus and this is over, Your Grace.”
“Oh, dear,” Michael said in a hurt voice, “did I forget to mention that Precentor New Syrtis has been kind enough to schedule the HPG here on planet for a major overhaul? We cannot receive or transmit orders for the next ten days—luckily, I have all of your regiments present here now. You lift tonight—you will avoid all systems with HPGs and you will take your objectives before any such order can arrive to stop you. Is that understood?” Michael asked.
One-by-one, each of the Marshals and Colonels nodded, and Michael smiled again. “Good. Then, ladies, gentlemen—a toast! Victory!”
General Headquarters, Taurus Defense Force
Mount Santiago Defense Complex, Taurus
Taurian Concordat
November 4, 3025
Thomas Calderon leaned over the table-sized map showing the systems of the Taurian Concordat and those which surrounded them; he leaned and he frowned. “You are leaving the entire eastern-half of the Concordat virtually undefended!” he bellowed. “Only Perdition and Sterope have been provided with any of our BattleMech forces!”
“Yet every single one of your worlds has at least one battalion of armor and more than a regiment of infantry—some of those worlds have divisions of tanks, Protector Calderon, and entire corps of infantry, supported by artillery and conventional aircraft. Plus the Constabulary units,” Helena said. “Right now, at this moment, the entire TDF BattleMech reserve—including mercenary units—consists of forty battalions. Forty. Sure, our battalions are larger—but we still have just forty of them.” She paused as Thomas glared at her, and then she sighed. “Protector,” she said, “just what does those systems out towards Badlands have that Davion wants? Other than Perdition and Sterope and their factories?”
Thomas stood silently as he fumed and considered the map, and Helena nodded. “Exactly. They have nothing that Hanse Davion wants or desires—NOTHING. The prize that our enemies desire is HERE,” she said as she pounded the western-half of the table. “Pinard. New Vandenberg. The mines at New Ganymede. The Hyades. If we lose New Vandenberg alone, we will have lost more people and industry than Amber Grove, Sterope, Euschelus, Perdition, Grossbach, Logan's Land, Norman's World, Dicallus, Celentaro, Organo, Cyrton, and Althea's Choice combined.” She paused as the military officers at the table slowly began to nod their heads.
"Flaum, Burton, Illiushin, Renfield, and Camadeierre are too far distant from Davion or Liao to be of great concern, and they are lightly populated with little industry of any note," Helena continued. "That leaves us with Mithron, Atreus Prime, New Ganymede, New Vallis, Jansen's Hold, MacLeod's Land, Laconis, Brisbane, Pinard, New Vandenberg, and Landmark . . . plus the worlds here in the Hyades."
She took a deep breath. "Atreus Prime and Landmark are close enough for a deep-strike to hit . . . but they have little of value. And Brisbane, while home to rather stunning waters and beaches, has little industry to offer a conqueror. We have EIGHT systems, plus the Hyades to concentrate our forces on. That will allow us to put four battalions each on New Ganymede, New Vallis, Jansen's Hold, MacLeod's Land, Laconis, Pinard, and New Vandenberg, with three more on Mithron—an unlikely target, but one we can still cover—and that accounts for thirty-one battalions with two more in the eastern sectors . . . leaving seven battalions in reserve here on Taurus for rapid deployment anywhere we need them. And ALL of deployments are within one or two jumps of the capital. So if we HAVE to, we can shift troops quickly and in CONCENTRATED FORCE."
Helena sighed as Thomas still glared at her and shook his head defiantly. Cursing under her breath, she circled the table and grabbed his jaw, jerking his head up and around to stare directly in his one natural eye. “Listen to me, Protector Calderon! We cannot be strong everywhere! We made that mistake in the first decade of the Reunification War—and we fucking LOST because of it! Yes, the eastern systems are extremely vulnerable, but that is the price we have to pay to hold onto what we have!” She stepped back and released Thomas as astonished Marshals and Colonels just stared at her—and a shocked Thomas Calderon sputtered and gawked, unable to form words.
“If necessary to make the point, I will hand you my resignation, Protector Calderon, effective as of this moment,” she said, laying her baton upon the table and letting it roll. “This deployment scheme—arrived at by your officers and my staff—gives us absolutely the best damned chance of stopping any invasion of our CRUCIAL systems dead cold! If you insist on defending everything, everywhere, we WILL lose it all—and Sir, I won’t watch that happen again. I won’t.”
Henri licked dry lips and he began to open his mouth—at the same time as Brenda Calderon; but both were interrupted as Thomas Calderon began to laugh. He laughed and he slammed an open palm upon the table.
“THAT, ladies and gentlemen, is how you fucking tell me NO when I am wrong. All right, Marshal Vickers—issue the orders for redeployment.”
Helena smiled. “The couriers left three days ago, Sire,” she said, and Thomas began to chuckle again.
“You and I—we have got to play some poker together one afternoon, Marshal,” the Protector said.
“Poker? What’s that? A game? I love trying new games,” Helena asked innocently as she batted her eyelids, and the senior military officials of the Concordat began to laugh.
“Very well,” Thomas said after a moment, when he finished laughing and shaking a finger at Helena Vickers. “I don’t like it—but as Marshal Vickers points out, we don’t have all that many options,” he finished sourly. “Approved. And gentlemen? Ladies? Let your Brigadiers know that if an invasion comes I don’t want a single one of those son-of-a-bitches to get away. Not one.”
Oh my. Not only an inundation of chapters, but excellent chapters. Comstar has effectively been taken out of the fight (until Nicholas or whoever takes charge gets things sorted out), and the other players are all licking their lips thinking what easy pickings the Taurians are going to be due to the interdiction. And interdiction that, if I'm reading between the lines correctly, failed in a most spectacular fashion. I get the feeling that while they may not be experts at it (yet), the Taurians have figured out quite a bit of the mysteries of HPG operation.
I have to wonder... all these players making moves to improve their own positions, either directly against the wishes of their superiors (Davion), or at the very least subverting whatever plans may exist (Liao). And the Dragoons may yet have a card or two to play. There's going to be some major fallout from however this all shakes out.
This is excellent. Can't wait for the next chapters.
General Headquarters, Taurus Defense Force
Mount Santiago Defense Complex, Taurus
Taurian Concordat
November 4, 3025
“Marshal Vickers,” Henri said with a smile as the other officers followed the Protector from the room—leaving Helena alone with the Intelligence Minister of the Taurian Concordat and Marshal Brenda Calderon. “May I say again, how much I appreciate your blunt character?”
Helena’s nose flared and she shook her head. “Quit blowing smoke up my ass, Messer Jouett,” she hissed. “I would appreciate instead if the two of you—and those ‘officers’ who just left—would start doing your jobs.”
“Now wait just a damn minute, Helena,” Brenda snapped. “You don’t understa-. . .,”
“I don’t understand? Marshal Calderon, I was in this room on the day that Mitchell Calderon was told about Forlough’s attack on New Vandenberg—three hundred and seventy four million Taurian citizens died when that fiend rendered an entire continent lifeless! I stood right here when David Santos had to tell the Protector that we simply no longer had the strength to launch a counter-attack—when the Protector was so furious that he was ready to fire EVERY single officer in this room.”
“That’s not fair!” Brenda said hotly. “It was our damn plan!”
“Yes, yes it was,” agreed Helena. “But not a damn one of your officers was willing to tell Thomas Calderon—they were frightened of being fired. He isn’t almighty God, Marshal Calderon; he is just a mortal man—who happens to be our Protector. Protectors make mistakes, they make the wrong decisions, because they are only human. That man,” she said, pointing her finger in the direction of the door where Thomas had exited the room, “just as much as Mitchell Calderon. He needs officers who will tell him the truth—regardless of whether or not he wants to hear it. That is your job, Brenda Calderon. It is your job, Henri Jouett. It shouldn’t have to be mine.”
“We tell Thomas the truth, Helena,” Henri said quietly, “we just don’t pull him up as short as you did in public.”
“That wasn’t public, Messer Jouett,” Helena answered. “It was supposed to the senior officers of this realm giving that man—who is under more pressure than any ONE of us—the best possible advice we can. Instead, you people just stood there—and depended on me to hammer home to Thomas that he needs to let go of the illusion that he can protect EVERYONE. He can’t. And he needs to realize that before it drives him mad.”
“Helena,” began Henri Jouett, but Brenda Calderon held up her hand. Henri closed his mouth and sighed.
“Different times,” Brenda whispered, “and we haven’t been through the twenty years of hell that you have. Alright, I’ll light a fire under my people—and make damn sure that they start acting like Taurian officers of old. But you have to understand this isn’t the Reunification Wars we are fighting again, Helena. Today—in this day and age—we have rules that are followed very strictly. And if you don’t, I’ll fire your ass. Comprende?”
Helena chuckled. “Si. And that’s how I expect a Taurian officer to act, Brenda. Take no shit from anyone—and do your damn job, regardless of the consequences.”
And with that, the old woman turned and she walked out of the room.
Quartermaine Hotel
Sosa, New Syrtis
Federated Suns
November 2, 3025
The agent of MI4 sighed as he gazed out of the glass doors which had a spectacular view of the distant space-port. He would have been on the balcony—had it not been thirty degrees below zero outside, and he snorted. One by one, dozens—scores—of DropShips began to lift into the sky and the agent sipped a cup of hot cocoa. Then he turned his back on the glass panels and sat down at his desk.
Opening a case, he removed a key-board and a cable and then set the case aside. Grunting with effort, he lifted another piece of luggage and set it upon the desk; he slid his thumb across a concealed panel and it opened—he plugged the cable into the outlet and unlocked the four latches before lifting the lid.
Except for a monitor screen, the interior of the case was consumed by a single metal object—ebon in hue and constructed from thick armor plating. It was marred only two buttons, one red and one green; he depressed the red button and the machine began to hum . . . the monitor flashed to life, showing an empty screen and a flashing cursor.
Opening a file, he drug down a priority message form and began to type.
QUINTUS.
MHD HAS LAUNCHED INVASION OF TAURIAN CONCORDAT.
NEW SYRTIS CMM, 5TH, 6TH, 8TH SYRTIS FUSILIERS, DAVION ASSAULT GUARDS, 1ST CAPELLAN DRAGOONS EN ROUTE TO TARGETS.
MHD ACCOMPANING 6TH FUSILIERS, DESTINATION NEW VALLIS. OTHER TARGETS INCLUDE NEW GANYMEDE & JANSEN’S HOLD.
ARE WE AT WAR AND DID YOU FORGET TO TELL THOSE OF US IN THE FIELD?
REQUEST INSTRUCTIONS. ASAP.
JOHN
And with that, John pressed the green button and the humming increased in volume—then the screen blanked and the words MESSAGE ENCODED AND TRANSMITTED appeared. John pressed the red button again and the humming died; he disconnected the cables and keyboard and closed the case before he picked up his cocoa . . . and then with a shrug, poured whiskey into the cup as he stood at the glass doors and continued to watch. And sip.
The Palace of the First Prince
Avalon City, New Avalon
Federated Suns
November 4, 3025
“I . . . I . . . I . . .,” Hanse sputtered after reading the dispatch. Quintus just nodded his agreement.
“Our agent on Kaitangata received the encrypted message and used a one-time pad to retransmit via HPG Priority Dispatch straight to us,” he said as Hanse collected himself slowly. “We have two days before those DropShips arrive at the New Syrtis jump point—after that, if Michael has any brains at all, they won’t go NEAR a system with an HPG . . . at least not until they fall upon three Taurian border worlds.”
“Does he,” and Quintus needed no explanation of whom the word he referred to, “believe that I will hail him as a conquering hero in the event that he captures New Ganymede?” Hanse growled through clenched jaws—and Quintus winced as he could hear the molars in Hanse’s jaw grating against each other.
“The mineral output from New Ganymede is quite impressive—especially the Germanium recovery. And if he can take away three Taurian worlds there will be a LOT of the nobility asking why the First Prince isn’t taking advantage of the Interdiction to add to THEIR domains. All for the glory of the Federated Suns, of course.”
“Of course,” Hanse answered sourly. Then he cocked his head at Quintus. “Can you get a message there before they can depart New Syrtis? And have you an agent on Michael’s staff?”
“It will be close—and yes, my Prince.”
“Good. The 2nd Ceti Hussars are still on Frazer, correct?”
“They are, my Prince,” Quintus said with a nod. The Assault Guards were en route to Frazer to replace the 2nd Ceti on the frontier as that unit rotated back to the Crucis March for a long overdue period of repairs to their machines and integrating replacements.
“Transmit this to Marshal Cline as well as to your people on New Syrtis—tell Alan that I want the 2nd to take up station along Michael’s invasion route. He is to MAKE those idiots hear my words if we miss them at New Syrtis,” Hanse paused, but it wasn’t to reconsider—it was to make certain that Quintus Allard understood his next orders fully. “And if Michael doesn’t back down—if he attempts to continue on, I authorize Marshal Cline to have his aerospace wing employ Alamos against Michael and any JumpShip and docked DropShips that follow him. That includes my Assault Guards, Quintus—if they decline to follow my orders to the letter.”
Quintus blinked as he stood there. The Alamo missiles carried a 5 kiloton warhead—more than ample enough to kill any JumpShip ever constructed. And Hanse nodded grimly. “I’ll give my brother-in-law one chance to back off, Quintus—but if getting our hands on a copy of that Core means nuking the hell out of Michael Hasek-Davion and five or six RCTs . . . yeah, I’ll do that.”
“Sire,” Quintus said with a bow. “And if Michael doesn’t take one of the routes that Marshal Cline will be picketing?”
“Get that message out, Quintus,” Hanse whispered. “We’ll burn that bridge when we come to it.”
NOTE: The previous section (as stated in the DATE) was on November 2nd. And it SHOULD have come before the Taurian meeting of the War Council on November 4th. Sorry about that, but functionally nothing in the story changes; I just got those three sections out of sequence.--MA
Commander of the MFS Darwinian Selection Method (sexual)
