Chapter 28
Weber’s Holdfast, Catachan, Catachan System
Trellshire, Tamar Pact, Lyran Commonwealth
April 7th, 3016
By the time I woke up the day after the jump, most of the consternation from Comet’s announcement had been processed. That left me in the
delightful position of feeling like I was the only one stressing out over it.
Still, there was only so much free time in even one of Catachan’s days and wasting it wondering whether it was the Combine, pirates, or ‘pirates’ that had finally tracked us down wasn’t productive.
Nor was hoping that they hadn’t noticed anything odd. My people on the station had spotted the incoming Jump signature and told everyone to go quiet just in case, but that didn’t do anything about signals already floating around in the ether. The thought that they
wouldn’t have noticed defied belief. I couldn’t even jump to Steelton to use the one-time pad I had been given, because that was to summon reinforcements in the event of an attack.
Really, the good news, such as it was and what there was of it, was that the regular shuttle running people and supplies out to the Ring Factories had been docked at the time, so they should still be secure.
Therefore, the best solution to the problem was to get busy. I certainly had enough things that needed doing.
I was still in a foul mood even before one took into account that I was out of shape for Catachan’s gravity. Morning PT had been done on the
Implacable, landed for once, and the extra gravity had made the process rather more strenuous than what I’d been doing on our little trip. I’d even ended up with some contusions on one shin where I had failed to entirely miss a coaming on one of the later jumps.
After a quick shower, I’d corralled a truck driver for a ride up to the old Government House. Positioned on the topmost terrace on the south side of the pass, the whole surface of the terrace was given over to an Executive Mansion and several smaller buildings for different governmental departments: police, power, water, sewage, and the like. There was also a single fancy courthouse that we’d already mostly restored. We didn’t have a lot of problems, but we’d needed the jail in the basement for a Drunk Tank, if nothing else.
I’d been living out of the CO’s quarters in the Warriors’ base for the last few years, and been far too busy to worry about the remainder of the disused buildings on the seventh terrace.
Now, however, I was going to have to move in for the same reasons that I would have had to give up my Commando when I inherited the Company: people had expectations, and the local Duke was supposed to live in a residence worthy of his august self. At least I had a domestic staff to handle the fiddly bits there. I had not the least idea of all the minutiae that went into the upkeep of a mansion, except that there was more of it than merely a house writ large.
Maybe I should have watched Downton Abbey back when my mom and sister were obsessed with that show? Either way, there was nothing to be done about it now. I’d just have to learn as I went.
As I walked in the front doors, I had to sidestep a pair of servants carrying the moldering remains of what had once probably been a fancy sofa. Despite looking to be in good shape, both were huffing and puffing under Catacahn’t heavy gravity. Taking mercy on them, I held the door open for them, and made sure they didn’t come to any harm negotiating the stairs. They set the ruined furniture down beside a pile of similarly damaged remnants of the previous owner and leaned over their former burden sucking for air.
“Are you two staying hydrated?” I asked, seeing how drenched they were.
The one glanced up, got a good look at me, and froze. The other actually answered the question.
“Yeah, they’ve got drinks set out in the kitchens, but good heavens! Glad we-hrrk!”
Well, he was answering the question until he turned around and saw who I was.
“I need to go have a conversation with your supervisor. There’s a reason we give new arrivals time to acclimate,” I decided.
“Ah, we, uh, that is,” the first man began. When I failed to bite his head off, he took a deep breath and tried again. “We’re only on half days, Your Grace.”
With Catachan’s week organized into six long days, the work week on-planet was four ten-hour days. I did some mental math and frowned.
“You started at, what? Nine?” I asked, guesstimating based on the size of the salt rings on their shirts.
“We were scheduled to begin at eight o’clock local time, Your Grace, but there were some delays getting started. We didn’t actually begin until about half past.”
Undoubtedly delays like, ‘you aren’t supposed to be here for another week.’ I concluded.
“Well, it’s hardly your fault that they weren’t ready for you to start until half an hour after your shift began,” I said as I checked my watch. It was coming up on noon, which seemed a good enough time to me, especially considering that I wasn’t actually anticipating getting any work out of these people for another five days.
“Four hours is the absolute most I can countenance under the circumstances. Find your supervisor and relay to them that I said no more than four hours work for anyone until they’ve had a chance to become accustomed to the heavier gravity, and if he or she disagrees they can take it up with me,” I pronounced. At least this part of the song-and-dance I knew the rules to. It was the 2IC’s job to be the bad guy so the CO could step in and be reasonable, thereby earning his soldiers’ affection. Presumably it worked the same for a nobleman’s staff.
The couple of workers -Footmen, maybe?- seemed grateful in any case. That probably meant I was going to need to have a conversation with my new Butler about working the staff too hard.
The Lyran Commonwealth was very traditional when it came to domestic staff: the rule was that the Butler was in charge of managing the rest, and a good one was seen as a requirement for a working household. The one I’d hired came highly recommended, but he might have been a little bit set in his ways.
A few words here and there to the other staff members as I encountered them served to both spread the word and narrow down where my new Butler was located.
To his credit, he certainly appeared to be working as hard as any of the rest when I caught up with him: his formal jacket was nowhere in evidence and revealed that old-fashioned suspenders still had a place in the Far Future of the Inner Sphere. He wasn’t as bad-off as some of the rest which was impressive given his age, but he was still showing signs of strain.
“Mister Owens, a word if I may?” I asked in a tone that stopped short of implying the answer had better be ‘yes’ but only by degrees.
“Of course, Your Grace,” the man replied, his English bearing only the faintest hint of a Tharkad German accent. “Miss Aston, please ensure that an order is placed for suitable linens. These were of poor quality even before the years wore on them. James, please ensure that the kitchens are ready with their report,” and just like that the man had cleared out anyone who might overhear, all without giving any hint of how tired he had to be. Given my earlier PT, just walking around at a normal pace had me feeling like I’d just finished a brisk jog; stubborn discipline had to be the only thing keeping him on his feet.
“I told everyone to knock off work for the day,” I began, trying not to feel annoyed. This man was supposed to be making my job easier, not harder. “I shouldn’t have had to give that order, because this wasn’t supposed to be a work day. Why did you feel the need to change that?”
“Two reasons, Your Grace,” Owens said. “First, I needed to know just how much of a problem the local conditions were going to be, and second I needed to know if any of the staff weren’t going to be able to cope. It’s also better for discipline and cohesion to keep the domestic staff quartered where they will be working. It avoids distractions and will allow them to get settled into a routine more quickly.”
I took a deep breath. The second part of that I could wrap my brain around: it wasn’t that different from keeping troops away from civilians when there might be friction. The first, however, was just dumb.
“In reverse order, I can understand wanting to get everyone settled and even wanting to get a grasp on who’s going to be trouble and who your good workers are going to be, but there’s a reason we give FNGs a week to acclimate; you’re lucky you didn’t have any serious injuries from people pushing themselves too hard to meet perceived expectations.
“When we first arrived back in 3010, we had several people overestimate how much they could lift or carry safely with the gravity being the way it is. A Tech who knew his job and knew his limits under Icar’s gravity tried to carry a part that was too much for one person when it’s weight was increased by almost a quarter. He didn’t stop to think, and he was too embarrassed to ask for help when he started to realize he’d bitten off a bit more than he could chew. He tried to make it ‘just a few more steps’ instead of setting the damn capacitor down and calling an Astech over to help lift it. End result,: not only did an expensive piece of military equipment get dropped and damaged, but the Tech in question ended up on light duty for months while his broken foot and strained back healed.”
I gave that a moment to sink in.
“We have developed a system that works: we give people temporary quarters so they don’t have to worry about unpacking everything right away. Their first ‘work day’ is spent assembling cheap furniture so that they can get a visceral sense that shit is just plain heavier here than they’re used to, and so that when they inevitably break something it’s cheap-ass wood veneer furniture instead of something important.”
I bit off what I was tempted to say before I raised my voice or insulted the man and took a deep breath.
“I understand that you are accustomed to managing a staff and doing so with minimal oversight. I presume that, like a skilled NCO, you are accustomed to not needing instruction or supervision from interfering, busybody ‘Officers.’ I won’t try to micromanage you, but please be willing to take advantage of the institutional experience we’ve developed. Reinventing the wheel is just going to end with members of the staff on the sick list.”
“Apologies, Your Grace, it won’t happen again,” the man said stiffly.
Your Grace I could really get to dislike that title.
I didn’t think I’d mortally offended him, but Mr. Owens’ composure was good enough that I couldn’t really get a read on how he was feeling.
“Then I’ll say nothing more on the matter,” I concluded. Hopefully visibly getting out of his hair and not hovering would send the right message.
Now, I’d already spent more time here than I’d been expecting, and I had a meeting that I really didn’t want to be late to.
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Zoe Jasper normally looked good for a woman in her mid-40s, but today she’d clearly been crying. Moreover, Emma, Bruce, and Allison were clustered around her almost defensively, all looking grief-stricken and bewildered. Making it through a military operation and only sustaining one casualty sounds wonderful, until you’re confronted with his widow and his children.
Right at the moment, the fact that we had
only lost one person was even more heartbreaking. Everyone else was celebrating a great victory while this single family was in hell.
“Ho-” Zoe began and had to pause to clear her throat. “How did it happen?”
I didn’t think that knowing would help much, but the councilor I’d asked for advice from on Tharkad had recommended acceding to the family’s wishes.
“Spalling,” I answered simply, then, after a heartbeat’s consideration, elaborated. “The doctors tell me he probably never even realized what had happened. A handful of LRMs came in on a steeper angle than he expected, and hit his Banshee’s head armor just wrong.”
The information generated another round of tears, more or less as I’d expected, and this time the kids, ranging from twelve to sixteen were pulled in as well, faint hopes that the message was wrong, that something had been misunderstood, fading away as I answered. Their pastor stepped closer and laid his hands on Zoe and her youngest daughter, Allison’s backs.
I wanted to continue, to tell her that we’d made the Dracs pay more than tenfold, but really what would it change? Doug was still dead. At least his kids were all old enough to have firm memories of him. They wouldn’t be stuck with a picture on a wall or a desk, but that was hardly compensation for what they’d lost.
In the end, I just stepped forward and pulled the whole miserable cluster into a hug as best I could, wishing there was more that I could do. That I had a miracle for them.
But this wasn’t that kind of universe. All I could do was creatively interpret some traditions to make sure they were looked after and didn’t want for anything material.
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A couple days later, I borrowed the old RWR recording and transmission infrastructure to make my first ever public broadcast. Things had changed a lot for Catachan, and the people I was now responsible for deserved to hear about it from the horse’s mouth.
“As many of you have heard by now,” I began, fighting my instincts to keep my head still. I’d been told that managing that was the single most important part of looking good on television, whether that was in two or three dimensions. “Weber’s Warriors succeeded in the mission we were hired to accomplish. The world of Sevren is back in the hands of the Commonwealth and the Sword of Light cut and ran rather than face us head on.”
There was an audience, seated on rows of folding chairs in the half of the hangar we’d emptied out. They applauded.
I waited for silence before continuing.
“In spite of the importance of preventing Tamar from being encircled, that probably isn’t the important part of our recent deployment to most of you.”
Tamar was, after all, far away, and it had been under threat for decades. Politics were, ultimately, local.
“As you know, the Catachan Arms Corporation was shipping out the first new-production of our Phoenix BattleMech for testing. I am pleased to report that the Archon herself was present for the acceptance trials on Sudeten, and tha-”
There was another roar of approval from the audience. The Steiner dynasty was surprisingly popular, even among worlds out on the edge of the Periphery, and knowing that our little enterprise was important enough to draw her personal attention had definitely gotten people excited.
I waved the cheers down, but I smiled while I did it.
“Now, now. I haven’t even gotten to the good part,” I chided pleasantly. “As I was saying, the news of two new BattleMechs, both incorporating advanced technology, was enough that Archon Steiner diverted from her intended tour of the Tamar Front to inspect the proposed designs.”
I paused to take a sip of water. Even if part of the people watching knew what the answer
must have been, there was always the chance that something had gone wrong or that the budget couldn’t handle such a sudden expense. As a result, they still wanted to actually hear the words and I was milking the pause for all it was worth.
“She has committed to the purchase of every single Phoenix that walks off our assembly lines,” I announced, and again the crowd went wild. This didn’t just mean job security for them, but given the enduring nature of megacorps in the Inner Sphere, their children and their childrens’ children. It took a little longer for the crowd to calm down this time, but I didn’t have anywhere pressing to be for once.
“And when she heard that we already had another factory under construction, she said the LCAF would be happy to buy all of those too!”
It didn’t get quite the level of approval my last statement had; a paycheck in hand being worth much more than a nebulous promise about the future, but there was still cheering and whistling.
“Part of the deal was that Archon Steiner wanted to ensure that Catachan would formally join the Lyran Commonwealth. While on Tharkad, I was sworn in as the first Duke of Catachan.”
That got cheers too, which I’d been told to expect, but still sort of blew my mind. Back in the 21st Century, me going off to make a sale and coming back a nobleman would have been considered a gross betrayal, conflict of interest, and quite possibly treason. In the 31st it was cause for celebration.
People who wanted stability saw the nobility as a guarantee that traditions and institutions would be preserved from generation to generation. Ambitious people saw my elevation as proof that in the Lyran Commonwealth, there was no glass ceiling: that anyone with skill, drive, and a little luck could rise in station and prestige on their own merits.
For people who’d had the corruption and voter fraud that ended the Terran Alliance etched bone-deep, the nobility were the
guarantors of their freedoms, not a limit upon them.
Even having lived in this universe for more than half a decade now, that still made my brain hurt.
The applause once again wound down.
“As such, I shall be leading the effort, along with the existing City Council, to formalize a government in line with Lyran custom. Due to Catachan’s position as a critical military asset, it has been declared a Closed Military System. As such, our future government will draw heavily on Hesperus II’s for inspiration.”
And thank heavens for that brainstorm. Julia had saved me a hell of a lot of effort in trying to reinvent the wheel. It wasn’t perfect; Hesperus was unabashedly a Company Store with a government attached. But it was a proven place to start.
“With that example to build from, we can’t go too far wrong,” I concluded that part of my address to more applause.
“I’m glad I’ve got you all in a good mood, because this next bit might not be so popular,” I warned the viewers, only half-joking.
“With a Landhold: people and infrastructure to protect, the Mercenary lifestyle no longer seemed suitable. As such I petitioned the Archon to permit Weber’s Warriors to transition to a House unit. That petition was approved, and they are now listed as the First Catachan Harquebusiers, the first such advanced unit accepted on the LCAF’s rolls.” Applause was cautious at first, but as two copies of the new unit heraldry dropped from the rafters it began to pick up. The Catachan Antlion skull seemed to have been a good choice.
That left only the last part. It was the one thing I hadn’t intended to do tonight, but which Julia insisted absolutely
had to be done once she learned about it. My instincts said she was nuts, but I already knew I didn’t grok this Neo-Feudalism shit.
“I’d like to say that was the end,” I said, “that my first address as Duke of Catachan is over with nothing but good news for us as we step into the future.
“Unfortunately, the universe is rarely so kind. Mrs. Jasper, would you and your children join me?”
The crowd grew quiet. Many of them were part of the unit and knew the particulars, but many more were present because they’d been first in line to request tickets when the event was announced. Even they, however, knew that we hadn’t gotten off of Sevren scott free and sensed the change in tone.
The remaining members of the family were stoic. They’d agreed to appear so that Doug could be recognized. As they formed up around me, grief still raw, I spoke again.
“I would like to request a moment of silence for Doug Jasper,” I said, and lowered my head. The silence wasn’t absolute, but, with the thick walls of the Star League era construction, it was close.
After a handful of seconds, I lifted my head and spoke.
“Doug Jasper was part of my Command Lance, my last line of defense in case of ambush or disaster in the field. As a Duke I have many privileges. I also have obligations.”
Those statements were absolutely true, they just weren’t technically connected. By a literal reading of the rules, I hadn’t been Duke of Catachan until I swore my oath to Katrina in the Triad. On the other hand, I wasn’t the sort of person that split hairs like a lawyer or politician.
“As he fell in my defense, it is my obligation to see that his family is honored for their sacrifice. While nothing can compensate them for his loss, I have a duty to make the attempt.”
I pressed the button I’d had the techs install on the inside of the lectern I was using. Behind me, the curtain blocking off the rear of the hangar swung open, and spotlights illuminated the one piece of salvage I’d demanded from Sevren.
I could have taken the Awesome, but none of my Techs had any experience with that ‘Mech. We could also have sourced material for repairs to one of the Battlemasters from THI, but that would have taken time and I preferred the symbolism of the ‘Mech I’d chosen in any case.
A TDR-6S, painted in gunmetal grey loomed over the stage. My Triumph had stopped at Sudeten on the way back home and purchased four spare limbs, then the Techs had done the conversion from a -5S on the trip back. It was, in point of fact, the first such BattleMech to be privately owned by anyone whose last name wasn’t Steiner.
Zoe’s hands were cupped in front of her mouth, and tears streamed down her face. Emma, who’d actually inherit the BattleMech just looked poleaxed.
Owning a BattleMech was a Big Deal. The hard power of such an asset spoke for itself, but in many ways the soft power was even more impressive.
If Emma wanted to go to the Nagelring, ownership of a ‘Mech meant that her application would be placed ahead of an equally qualified student who didn’t own one. If she applied to any other academy in the Commonwealth, it was all but a guarantee that she’d be accepted.
Owning a ‘Mech meant more and better training opportunities: not having to wait for simulator time or permission to borrow a Trainer.
It meant social deference. Until I got around to assigning formal patents of nobility, the Jaspers were now effectively the second most highly ranked people on the planet as part of the Inner Sphere’s de facto warrior nobility.
What I’d just done was the equivalent of a medieval Duke elevating a long-serving retainer to knighthood. And it clearly meant the world to the Jaspers.
That it was an invaluable political statement shouldn’t have been a consideration, but it was. And as much as I hated the idea of using a tragedy for my own gain, I was doing it. Because Julia was right. This was going to set the tone not simply for my time as Duke, but for every Duke or Duchess of Catachan that followed me.
It was a statement: Yes, there are perks to being in charge. There are also prices to be paid for all of them.
Same as being an officer. Mission, men, me.
And in service of that …
As the crowd went insane, I stepped away from the microphone and leaned close to speak to Emma who was still gaping at her new ‘Mech in disbelief.
“I know your dad was working with you on how to be a Mechwarrior. Next Monday, meet me outside the main hangar, and I’ll do what I can to help.”
“T-thank you,” the teen, still choked up but obviously grateful, replied.
I suppose that settled the question once and for all. If his own family didn’t feel like I was cheapening his sacrifice, then I suppose my 21st century instincts really had been way off base. No way around it, I was going to owe Julia an apology.
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A/N: Thanks again to Seraviel, Lordsfire, and Yellowhammer for beta reading, idea bouncing, and canon compliance checking. This chapter is vastly improved by their efforts.