Battletech Shattered Sphere: The Arcadian Free March

Q1 3036: The Winds of Change Part 2
    • Edit: Since I was in a hurry yesterday, I went back and wrote more to give it a better ending, IMHO.



    The Assembly of the Free March
    Laughlin Capital District, Roslyn, Eastern Islay
    Arcadia
    Arcadian Free March
    3 February 3036


    The Annual Address was one of the key annual moments for Sara-Marie, as it had been since her grandmother, Sara Proctor, addressed the first elected Assembly in February of 2958. This was the one time a year when the monarch spoke directly with the entire Assembly in session to inform them of policies chosen and steps taken, and the requested legislation to fund them. Usually a solemn occasion, sometimes it was less so, such as the 2997 Address when the Pacifist Action League representatives openly booed her father, or the 3031 Address when the expansionists cried foul at her invocation of neutrality in the First Skye War. Indeed, there were few restrictions on such interruptions unless order broke down completely, and she was still surprised the new representatives from conquered worlds had yet to stage something similar.

    Especially given how many there were. Even accounting for low populations on a few of them, and the until-recent lack of major worlds with significant population added, the number of new delegates was now firmly past the halfway point. The new citizens of the Free March outnumbered the old in this assembly. That they hadn't jammed up legislative government stemmed more from their own acceptance of the new status quo than any threatened measure to stop them, since constitutional law applied equally. Some were still surly, and they were forming blocs and parties to attend their own interests, but with the threat of Marian conquest and the war with the Mariks, they'd at least recognized that the Free March was a preferential choice.

    As for the Mariks, many of those conquered worlds were represented now as well. Campbelton, Corsicana, Midkiff, Autumn Wind, Kirkenlaard, Bainsville, Rasalas, and Washburn. All of the former Kashamarkan worlds were likewise represented, as those planets were quicker to get organized given the collapse of their kingdom. Indeed, all of the new representatives were already threatening the capacity limits of the new, improved, enlarged Assembly Chamber made to accommodate the wave of new worlds in '33.

    A fitting symbol for the times and occasion, Sara-Marie thought as she ascended the dais and stepped up to the speaker's podium. Silence filled the room.

    "To my people, new and old, and their duly elected representatives, I bid you greetings. Today, I have word of tremendous import to bear."

    "After two years of study and negotiation, members of the Privy Council and other figures, including those in this august body," and here she nodded to Speaker Campbell, "have debated the internal reform of the Arcadian Free March to accommodate the number of new worlds and peoples present here today. When Lord Laughlin and my grandmother brought together the first worlds of the Free March, they had little idea of how this future would come, and the instruments of government were for a smaller realm. This was no fault of their own, since neither was an oracle, and we can only judge matters by the light of our own times. But it is something we must attend to if we are to secure our future in the volatile times we face."

    "In keeping with law, I have asked the Speaker to introduce the legislation into this body to meet this need. The Constitutional Reorganization Act will reform the Free March into a new body, the Arcadian Federated Marches, with new internal marches drawn to permit a federalized structure more responsive to local worlds' needs. Each of these new marches will have its own Assembly and an executive to govern them, with devolved powers for certain matters of interplanetary commerce and law, while a smaller Federal Assembly continues to meet here. We expect that the marches will retain their own character as they deem fit." Saying that she placed her eyes on the representatives of Sterling, Rexburg, and Pingree, all of them republics and firmly so. "Our goal is unity but not homogenization. The Free March has always been a collection of peoples with different creeds, beliefs, and languages, united by devotion to the sanctity of liberty promised by the Almighty. We will remain so under Federation."

    Her eye cast to the representatives of the Bolanese exiles on Zvolen. "Likewise, for those of our number exiled from their rightful home, provision will be made for their own self-government under this manner, in the hope that in God's good time we will accomplish the liberation of their homeworld."

    "I know this is much for many of you, and you undoubtedly hoped to hear me speak of the dividends of peace once Atreus falls. But in this new age of war, peace will be fleeting, and we must not expect it to persist. All we can do is pray that the fighting ends for a time and we can see to our own affairs. This is the most paramount of them. The winds of change blow across the Inner Sphere, and we must steer our vessel so that they do not dash us against the rocks."

    "I ask that you do not let this give you fear or doubt as to our future. Our labors will be difficult, in peace and in war, but I have the strongest faith in our people, all of our nations and worlds, that we can come out of this fire together with a new, stronger realm worthy of standing amongst the greats. For we have an opportunity history rarely affords, to create something new. A realm, a House, that is neither Lyran nor Leaguer but its own, its own identity, its own values, its own tradition, and a new legacy to forge for our posterity."

    She settled her hands on the podium, leaning slightly forward. "With the blessing of Providence and your diligence, we can accomplish much in this coming year, and create something that unites all of our worlds into a new identity, whatever the past would have called us. I have faith in this. I have faith in you, and in our peoples, that we will see it through. Thank you, and God bless."

    With that, she ended the address.
     
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    • Q2 3036: Social Occasion
    • Royal Court, Port St. William
    Veracruz Continent
    Coventry
    New Commonwealth
    4 April 3036


    The first couple of weeks on Coventry were spent in the usual acclimation routine. Getting used to the local day cycle, the local gravity, peculiarities in local food supply, it was all something Prince Thomas was ready for given the army life, and particularly in lieu of the last three years and making more jumps in thirty-six months than he'd made in the entirety of his life beforehand.

    Those same days were spent getting acquainted with the rest of the military and civil mission, which operated out of the Arcadian Embassy on Kalgoorlie Street, not far from the Palace itself in Coventry's main capital. His Excellency Lord Matthias von Vietinghoff, the Baron of Hofberg on Mariefred and Sara-Marie's ambassador to the Archon's Royal Court, was an attentive host, but he had the usual Teutonic-Lyran notions of social propriety and the importance of social mingling, so he insisted on Thomas and Mark attending a reception the Archon ordered in their honor and in honor of the final victory over the Marik Commonwealth.

    As much as he'd have preferred not to, Thomas knew he couldn't say "No", and so steeled himself for the day.

    At least it was a worthy occasion. Two years ago the Marik Commonwealth was second only to the Marian Hegemony on the list of potential threats to Arcadia. Now it was gone, dissolved by the fall of their last bastions on Solaris and Atreus, and Arcadia and their allies stood triumphant.

    The spread was what the two princes expected given their own upbringing, if it was geared more toward the palates of the settlers of Coventry. The cuisine reminded them more of Ford, specifically Tasmanian, and Thomas found the accents fit the same with some German inflections having slipped in. They stood out among the relative few in AFFM red, their dress uniforms having the gold epaulettes and silver-braided double-looped aiguillettes of MechWarriors, and a blue sash from their left shoulder to their right side bearing the white Free March hawk.

    But they didn't stand out too much. The New Commonwealth used the same style for its officer dress uniforms, but unit colors were factored in, and the House mercenary outfits - the Gray Death Legion and the newly-formed Kell Hounds - had their own styles, as did other smaller mercenary commands. The GDL had the great Teutonic field coats, the Kell Hounds wore half-capes that Thomas thought were a tad bombastic. All of the Commonwealth merc units and regular forces were represented in some way, mostly senior commanders who were still on world or with units not yet sent off to other operations.

    While they'd been formally presented to Archon Katrina on the day of their arrival, the two princes introduced themselves to her yet again. The older blond woman and her husband, Speaker Arthur Luvon, welcomed the brothers with courtesy and some clear understanding of Thomas' discomfort at the social occasion, and they were introduced to the couple's heiress, the uniformed and striking Melissa Steiner. Despite the different appearances, Thomas couldn't help but think of his sister at meeting her Steiner namesake, and wondered how she was doing. Always with her head in the void…

    "Our congratulations to your forces," Katrina said in fine Star League English, only a trace hint of German accent to it. She smiled broadly. "The dream of every Steiner for half a millennium, the fall of Atreus to Lyran forces, accomplished by the Proctor dynasty in five months of fighting."

    "Our victory was impossible without your forces and those of Skye-Hesperus, Majesty," Thomas remarked diplomatically and, mostly, truthfully. All present couldn't avoid the knowledge that the swift collapse of Marik authority at the end of 3034 came from the massive Harsefeld-Oriente assault on their rear. But it wasn't always a pleasant truth given how powerful that combination of states were, and the threat they may yet pose. "Victory in the Skye War was a common effort."

    "So it was, Your Highness, so it was." She turned her eyes toward Mark. His gloves obscured that one of his hands was metal, but his gait was still something of a limp with his new prosthetic leg still needing some synchronization with his nervous system. "Bolan, however, is your glory, and yours alone. I'm happy to see you have recovered this far, Prince Mark."

    "Thank you, Highness, for your kindness."

    Their exchange led to a few other remarks and ended, allowing Thomas and Mark to move on to meet with other dignitaries present. High nobility and officers alike all wanted a chance to give their greetings to the heir of the Arcadian realm, which was now one of the linchpins to the Lyran Alliance.

    It was all so dizzying. Arcadia worked so hard to stay out of the First Skye War, to just wait and let things blow over, and was left scrambling to gain some relevance in the Inner Sphere's new environment. Now it was a leading power, if an unrealized one. We shall have a window of vulnerability that potential foes will want to exploit, Thomas thought. Getting through it will require keeping the Lyran Alliance intact.

    "So, have you gotten the lecture yet?" Mark asked.

    Thomas glanced his way. "Hrm?"

    "The lecture. About Mum wanting to be a Grandma." The younger man grinned. "She'd never say it of course, but WIlly and Dad let it slip to me a few times. And I think even Anne-Marie saw it."

    It was not something Thomas wanted to talk about, so he seized on a subject change. "Anne-Marie?"

    "My physical therapist," Mark elaborated. "Waiting back at our suites for my session once we're done here. She wasn't interested in attending and she's not a member of the delegation anyway, if you're wondering."

    "Right." Thomas recalled the dark-haired young woman from Bondurant's French-speaking communities. She was a nice lady, certainly, but Thomas knew nothing of her. "If this is your way of trying to hook me up, Mark…"

    "No, this is my way of reminding you that in a few short months, you will be a thirty year old bachelor, and that you are the heir to the throne. Grandfather barely endured that problem in his day, and only because his siblings had children. We're all childless right now, and nobody wants Rachel or Roger Smythe-Proctor on the throne, even if cousin Rachel would do well."

    Thomas scoffed at that. "You mean she'd cut the AFFM into half its size and try to run everything by Terran Union declarations, Star League pronouncements, and insistence on diplomacy before force."

    "She's not that naive, dear brother."

    "The day Aunt Gabrielle takes the throne is the day you know our realm is in for a terrible future."

    "Now you're just being… how would father put it?... an ogre, Tom, and you know it."

    Thomas was moments away from a retort when his eyes settled on a figure in the crowd, a woman taller than normal if not actually tall. She wore the navy blue of the Donegal Armed Forces with red highlights as a MechWarrior. She had blond hair, Steiner blond, pulled back into a firm military ponytail, and commentations that revealed a career of merit and capability, if not in an active combat command. As Thomas took in her appearance, her hazel eyes settled on him. She had a controlled expression and focus behind her eyes. At her approach her rank insignia revealed her a Hauptmann. Given the social rules of the setting, no salutes were exchanged. "Your Highness, a pleasure," she said in German-accented English.

    For a moment Thomas couldn't answer. There was something in her eyes, in her expression, that he felt a kinship to. Something about her that was special. It was only after a few moments of quiet, and a concerned look from Mark, that he spoke. "A pleasure," he replied, trying to place her. Something about her seemed familiar…

    "Lady Johanna Steiner," she said. "Formerly of the Defenders of Donegal. My brother wanted me to get, as he put it, more court experience."

    "Well, he has picked well," Thomas replied, realizing finally who she met and the likeness. Johanna, younger sister of Duke Ethan Steiner of Halfway, one of the disinherited Donegal Steiners but said to be a favore of Queen Raquel. It was a fact to put him on some guard, but they were still allies, and it wouldn't due to be rude.

    Besides, she was at least a fellow MechWarrior.

    "This is where I take you to meet my comrades," she said, smiling in a controlled fashion. "And then, if you've had enough - and knowing my comrades, you will - you are done with our delegation."

    "Right. Forgot this is one of those," he muttered, accepting her gestured offer to lead them. Hopefully our time here will not be entirely squandered...
     
    • Q2 3036: Domestic Dispute
    • Royal Palace
    Cuzco, Atahualpa Continent
    Cajamarca
    Arcadian Free March
    18 May 3036


    Duchess Amara Yupanqui-Flores hadn't wanted the job. The grand-niece of the late Inka, she was the only blood relative of her grand-uncle willing to give the oath of fealty to the March-Princess, so on Arcadian bayonets she was placed in the Royal Palace and told the govern the realm. The only reason she'd given the oath, in truth, was the promise of joining the Arcadian Ducal Council and getting to live on Arcadia, far from the broken dreams and poisonous lies she saw as her family's legacy.

    Now she had to deal with the repercussions of her family's stupidity and poor statesmanship. Cajamarca's fallen economy was stabilized, for the moment, but in the chaos of the fall of the so-called "Kashamarka Antisuyu" - Kingdom of Cajamarca! That's what it should have been from the beginning! - several of the corrupt nobles were carving out their own empires with mercenaries and house troops. Empires that were now shooting one another in the streets.

    Her aide, Juan Perez-Lupa, held a noteputer while she watched the holovid broadcast of the latest skirmish in Pucallpa between the house troops of Count Sandoval and Marquess Trujillo. She frowned at the sight of a Firestarter BattleMech setting alight a couple of buildings while burning out opposing troops. Moments later it was hit by an autocannon round and several missiles. The camera operator turned to reveal a Bulldog tank, several in fact, rumbling up the road.

    "Marquess Trujillo charged Count Sandoval with violating his territory," Juan explained. "He insists that a letter of patent from the era of the League gives him full title to Pucallpa."

    "Does it?"

    "Our legal scholars are divided. The paperwork appears properly genuine, but we have no record of the holding in the Royal archives. And Count Sandoval's father was granted his claim by your grandfather for service to the Yupanqui. That we do have valid data for."

    "Knowing grandfather Jorge, that Count Sandoval did something truly terrible to be given domain over a city of the royal demesne," Amara muttered. "Atreus is Arcadian now, and the war is over. See if we can get someone into the League's own archives. They might confirm Trujillo's story."

    "Would it matter?" asked Juan. "The Yupanqui declared all former titles null and void."

    "They only declared that for opponents, if the Marquess' family is still in power they bent the knee, and they deserve consideration." Remembering another fact, Amara added, "And check with the Protocol Office branch the Arcadian government opened, make sure this is all fitting Arcadian constitutional law regarding fiefdoms. The last thing I need is for one of them to sue me in the Arcadian courts. It'll just inspire another round of fighting."

    "Have you considered asking the military for help?"

    Amara scowled. One of the Arcadians' full-sized militia brigades was on-planet, including a full regiment of BattleMechs. But they were still older models, and she was concerned some of the nobles would be emboldened if she used them and they faltered in combat. "No, I don't need that complication with the AFFM right now. What I need are mercenaries…" An idea formed in her mind, and a knowing grin came to her. "Who was that one-armed fellow I was asked to receive last week? Colonel Hoyan?"

    "General Hoyal of the Gravediggers?"

    "Yes. His mercenaries will work."

    "They're under contract to the AFFM, ma'am."

    "And assigned to garrison duty here. Still… get me a copy of their contract with the AFFM, I'd like to see something." She watched Juan, still skeptical, get to work, while she considered what she might do with this. The carrot and the stick should work. I'll give them their fair hearing, and they rein in their troops. If they don't, I give them cause to regret it.

    And the sooner Cajamarca was stable, the sooner she could head to Arcadia, and away from this depressing world.
     
    • Q2 3036: Old Grudges
    • Ducal Palace
    Roslyn, Eastern Islay
    Arcadia
    Arcadian Free March
    4 April 3036


    When Dukes Allen of Togwotee and Rayhan of Dar-es-Salaam asked Sara-Marie to not just join a Ducal Council meeting but host one in the Palace, she wondered why they would take such a step. Nevertheless she ordered the opening and arranging of the old Ducal Chamber of Justice, re-done from the courtroom it once was under the Duncans to a session chamber for the seventy plus rulers or representatives thereof who would attend. She attended in civilian dress with her husband for company.

    As soon as the session was opened formally, the representative for Mariefred called for the floor. Landgraf Heinrich von Bohlen-Battenburg was a favored cousin of the Duke of Mariefred and a member of the Battenburg dynasty that ruled Mariefred. A former MechWarrior who still cut his hair to expose the temples in the old MechWarrior style, he cut a fine figure of Teutonic aristocracy, much to the obvious dislike of some of his peers.

    A glance from Simon Allen told Sara-Marie she was about to witness the matter at hand, so she nodded back while Duke Abdulla granted the Marquess the floor.

    "Your Serene Highness," he began, speaking formal court Star League English with a pronounced accent, "forty years ago, your illustrious and brave father led the Arcadian troops that drove the invaders of Dar-es-Salaam from our soil. In gratitude for Arcadia's actions, my grand-uncle swore fealty to March-Prince William, who promised us rule on our own world in accordance with our traditions save a few constitutional… trifles, which are of little consequence to the nobility of Mariefred."

    Sara-Marie said nothing. It was history all were aware of, but clearly he was making a rhetorical point in reciting it.

    Indeed, his voice grew harsh as he continued. "And now, you expect me to report to my cousin Duke Karl that the daughter of March-Prince William is rescinding that vow. That we are to be placed under the rule of the Rayhans! Can you imagine his reaction?"

    Presumably quiet calculation masked by similar hysterics, Sara-Marie mused. Thomas' hand gently squeezed hers, reminded her of her husband's quiet presence. "You speak of the reorganization of the March."

    "I have no objection to Federation, Highness. Nor would my illustrious cousin. No, what we object to are the internal borders you have drawn up, and the relegation of the people of Mariefred to the governance of their former oppressors! You would undo your father's bravery and the sacrifice of many of his soldiers with this!"

    So that is it. It was always clear there would be trouble, whatever the constitutional system established for the new marches. "The reorganization does not eliminate your constitutional rights, Your Lordship," she reminded him. "You will not be required to give up one iota of local power."

    "But we would have to answer to an assembly on Dar-es-Salaam," Heinrich protested. "His Grace would have to recognize the authority of the Rayhan!"

    "Their authority would be no stronger than my own is now." Sara-Marie raised a hand. "That said, I am aware of the history, and clearly it was not considered sufficiently in the new drawing of the internal border."

    She noted a searching look from Abdulla. He was a practical man, but he had the same sense of decorum and honor all his family had. Were she to strike a world from his intended march, it would be a grave insult. I will have to exchange one. She picked up her noteputer and called up a map of the projected marches. Dar-es-Salaam was to have Marefried, Eilenburg, Zwenkau, and Seftenberg. Duchess Jozefina is pledged Hollabrunn, so I cannot change that… She sighed at the incidence of astrography, which put the three worlds once invaded by Dar-es-Salaam into their new March. She checked their representatives among the assembled, but they seemed less passionate about this matter.

    I will have to give him a world. Something to show respect and allow him to honorably accept the removal of Mariefred from the Dar-es-Salaam March. She considered the map of the drawn up lines and tapped a key to overlay a different set of data. An idea formed in her head. "Your Grace, Duke Abdulla, would you be accepting of having Giausar in your march instead?"

    Abdulla smiled thinly. "As I recall, sons of that world died alongside my warriors on Bolan, and while she does not live a Godly life, the Duchess of Giasaur is a reasonable woman. I believe we would be able to work together on domestic issues well enough. Although it will make for some ungainly interior borders."

    "So it will. As such, within the next few years I will promote a re-settlement of the system Pressby, which will be added to your march upon successful colonization."

    "That would be most welcome, Your Serene Highness. As always, Allah blesses the line of the Emancipator with wisdom."

    Your grand-uncle would have died of a heart attack hearing you say that, Sara-Marie contemplated. Abdullah and his father Faisal were friendly enough, but before that the Rayhans were bitterly opposed to the expansion of Proctor authority, and at the time of Sara's War of Liberation the Rayhans were allies of Carl Tabot, aiding him with troops and ultimately sheltering his son Matthew and surviving Tabot forces. A sign, at least, that we can move on from history… even if Marquess von Bohlen-Battenburg seems to prove otherwise.

    "Are there any other matters?" she asked the Ducal Council.

    A representative from Alula Borealis, appointed by the Chairman of the Planetary Communal Assembly of that world, asked for the floor. Tamara Kong had a dark bronze skin tone and graying dark hair, her slim form covered by one of the simpler business suits in the room. "Highness," she said, her accent with a touch of Regulan to it, "the Commune of Alula Borealis wishes to know about the state of affairs in Tamarind. There are reports that the new Marian Imperator has forbidden the taking of slaves?"

    "He has made a formal announcement to that effect, yes," said Sara-Marie. She'd spent hours in meetings and reading reports and psych profiles on Imperator Corvus. Reputed to be a weakling and fool, she had a feeling one did not become and stay ruler of that state without being something more, and clearly the invasion of Tamarind was related to that. Just as Claudius invaded Britain to secure his throne, I suppose Corvus must do the same. One of these days the Legions will have to learn they cannot expand indefinitely. I suppose we may be the ones teaching that harsh lesson, God help us.

    "Can you verify this? All reports we've read are that Marian expansion is to gain new slaves for their economy. Is he truly expanding without doing so?"

    "He's offered to accept observers from neutral states, including Arcadian observers," Sara-Marie remarked. "The Foreign Office and Defense Office are consulting now on the makeup of such teams."

    "I see. I look forward to their report, as does the Chairman." Kong sat down.

    Another representative rose, with more questions about the Reorganization Act, and Sara-Marie worked with Duke Allen to answer those and all to come.

    Step by step, we draw closer, she thought to herself.
     
    • Q2 3036: The Tamarind Situation
    • Ducal Palace
    Roslyn, Eastern Islay
    Arcadia
    Arcadian Free March
    3 June 3036


    Another day of negotiation with the planetary rulers concerning Federation and related legislation left Sara-Marie feeling particularly drained and looking forward to a quiet dinner with her husband and maybe a docudrama vid. There was a new series out covering the Star League's middle era that had her interest thanks to the acting talent involved, and she was looking forward to the next episode and the dawning ramifications of the "Ronin" in the Combine.

    Yet one more task remained, and so as weary as she was, Sara-Marie made her way to the Command Staff's briefing room. General Harding and her relatives, Lord Alexander and Lady Tabitha, waited with many of the other senior officers, as well as Sir James Bronson of the SIS. The spymaster was the only figure in the room, save her, not wearing a military uniform.

    "Our latest developments from Tamarind, Highness," Harding said. "And the outcome of the negotiations with Labouchere."

    "Duke Pelham accepted the terms?"

    "He did, and he has persuaded General Ambedkar to follow his course." Lord Alexander's lips twitched into a slight frown. "Pelham may be an utter degenerate seeking bribe money, but at least he's honest about being bought."

    Sara-Marie said nothing. The ruler of Labouchere was considered notorious for openly keeping no less than three male lovers and defying the standards of pretty much every court in the Inner Sphere in his public life. Reportedly the Grand Duke of Tamarind repeatedly considered forcing Pelham to abdicate for his nephew, but the threat of resistance and the need to keep every tax source the small Tamarindian realm had urged practical matters over moral disgust. I suppose we are no less innocent. Emissary Montberg's reports are convincing reading as to the casual corruption of the Blairs on Loric, and he's convinced the current President had his father murdered. And yet I'm due to make Frank Blair a March-Duke under the Federation.

    "Whatever General Ambedkar's acceptance, I would not rate the morale or reliability of the 3rd Tamarind Guards highly," Tabitha said. "They will obey orders for now, but they are not happy with the situation, and it will take us effort to change that."

    "A year of training and effort with AFFM officers might firm them up, if we're willing to delay bringing more of our militia formations up to line quality in training."

    "For the future, perhaps, for now I'd recommend leaving the 3rd on Labouchere when we send the troops on to Bella I."

    "A reasonable choice," Sara-Marie said. She turned her attentions to Sir James. "Has SIS determined anything about the communications issue?"

    "Theories and conjecture. We know thatt the Marian offensives have been delicately planned without any obvious uptick in their communication activity through ComStar. That suggests pre-planned timetables and the use of couriers, but I feel it is too… exact."

    "You imply they have their own interstellar communications? Outside of ComStar?" The idea was a concerning one, at the very least.

    "We've received intelligence of devices, 'black boxes', being recovered over the last several years, and that the Terran Union military makes use of the same," said Sir James. "And there are some indications that Cajamarca had a defector from the Union, although we've found no sign of them since the chaos of the collapse. If they had such a defector, who had the knowledge to manufacture such machines, well… that would fit these circumstances."

    "Or it could be very precise and planned timing," Alexander noted. "We don't know either way yet."

    "As for other matters, my representatives in the observer teams are confident in the accuracy of the public reports. While the usual blandishments are being offered to secure support from local nobles for Marian conquest, there have been no enslavements, public or hidden. Imperator Corvus' pledge seems to be true."

    "He may be looking to reduce the risk of intervention," noted Tabitha.

    "There are other factors at play, I suspect, and a report will be issued when my sources give my analysts the data they need for projections," Sir James promised. "Until then, we will continue to monitor, and make preparations should an intervention be authorized."

    Sara-Marie shook her head. "Bolan was one matter. Tamarind rejected our overtures that might have forestalled this offensive, without the slavery matter I cannot justify an intervention to preserve those who refused us."

    "Given our offer amounted to annexation, I can see why the Grand Duke refused it, even if he will now regret that choice. Whatever you decide, Highness, we will be ready," Sir James answered.

    "As will we," added Harding.

    "Yes, I trust you all will. For now, let's move on and conclude this business. I'm feeling peckish and my dinner awaits. Are there any new developments about House Marik?"

    "None as of yet. They are in hiding, certainly, but whether they have fled entirely from the old Commonwealth or remain under assumed names, we have yet to determine."

    "They most likely fled to Terra," Tabitha suggested. "Or beyond, but Terra would be the safest place."

    "And the ducal throne of Atreus remains vacant. With the Marik Commonwealth effectively dissolved, we cannot govern by military force forever. A new Duke must be found."

    "Why not elevate an existing noble? Or grant the title to someone of the line?"

    "The legitimacy would be by bayonets only," Sara-Marie pointed out. "A willing Marik accepting the status, and the elevation to March-Duke, would be a more powerful symbol."

    "I doubt many Mariks will accept bending the knee to House Proctor. The founders of the first Great House of the Inner Sphere, in power for nearly eight centuries, becoming vassals to the rulers of a former Lyran border world?"

    "All we need is one."

    "Efforts will be redoubled then, but there are other Mariks who aren't in hiding. Distant relations, but the bloodline is there, and their legitimacy will be intact."

    "That will work, if it must, but a near relative of Duke-General Elias will be preferable. And now, if I may, onto other business? My dinner is imminent and I admit to being peckish."

    Taking the hint, the assembled made sure to finish business quickly.
     
    • Q2 3036: A Quick Run
    • BattleMech Training Grounds
    Port St. William, Veracruz Continent
    Coventry
    New Commonwealth
    17 June 3036


    One of the perks of rank for Thomas was Katrina Steiner's personal invitation to use her bodyguard unit's training grounds when he pleased. Given the weeks of mostly diplomatic and military analysis work, it felt good to take the Archon up on the offer and take Liberator out for a run. The Royal Black Knight bounded across the fields under his command, charging up and down hills and occasionally taking a shot at the various target machines left on the range. He was pleased to see his skills had not declined greatly and he could still put an ER PPC shot on an enemy 'Mech at max range with only the usual difficulty.

    He was half an hour into his run when his sensors picked up another machine coming up. The systems quickly identified it as a Royal Zeus with a Donegal IFF squawk. He keyed the open comm line for the range. "Hello there. Taking a run?"

    A voice he'd heard only a few times so far replied. "For the same reasons as you, probably," Johanna Steiner answered. "I need a 'Mech under my feet or I may go mad."

    He chuckled. "I know that feeling. Especially with the social engagements on top of work. If the invitations pile up any further I'll not have time to do my actual job."

    "It's far worse on Donegal," Johanna replied. "Although I imagine Arcadia has a social season too?"

    "It does, much to my regret. It seems a common bane of every world. I must always attend when asked, too, to avoid givnig offense, and that means hours of fending off would-be dowagers trying to get their daughters into my marriage bed."

    "It's the same for any heir. You should see my poor brother's engagement list once he got his dukedom." Johanna chortled. "Perhaps we should see about some sim time together. I've heard stories about what a machine Liberator is.."

    "I think I'd like that," Thomas replied. "I would like that very much."




    After their run the two MechWarriors took a lunch at the base officer's lounge. "They eat a lot of starch here on Coventry," noted Johanna while picking at a potato salad with pasta. The remnant bone of a nice steak was a solitary item on her main plate.

    Thomas, who preferred finishing salad as an appetizer, was still working on his own steak. "They do. Some of the cuisine reminds me of home, or of my father's homeworld of Ford."

    "We use more egg noodles on Halfway, and on Donegal." She drew in a short sigh. "Not that I see Donegal much."

    "Oh?"

    "To secure her throne, my cousin Queen Raquel has disinherited about every damned Steiner alive in all of the Protectorate," Johanna said. "My family included."

    "I'd heard something to that effect, I just didn't realize it was that widespread. Given her age and no heir…"

    "...it's a right-tricky problem. Odds are whatever Steiner's on the scene and has any remnant favor from her will become ruler. Or we'll have another civil war."

    Thomas shook his head at that. "That's not a good thing, especially for the rest of us. The Lyran Alliance needs every piece to remain strong."

    "Yes, well, you must realize most Steiners are utter bastards," Johanna replied. "Archon Katrina's one of the few who cares about the actual legacy beyond her death. Queen Raquel and my brother, Ethan, are like that too, thank God. But I shudder to think of what will happen if another of the Gibbs Steiners get their hands on the throne. They just want the prestige and power. The Lyran Alliance, the dream of cooperation, that's nothing to them. They'd rather rule."

    Thomas took another bite. "Well, hopefully your Queen will name a successor and it will all go smoothly."

    "I pray it will," she said, in the voice of a woman certain prayer would never be enough.
     
    • Q2 3036: Brothers and Relationships
    • Arcadian Embassy Residential Complex
    Port St. Williams, Veracruz Continent
    Coventry
    New Commonwealth
    25 June 3036


    The day's meeting were over for Prince Thomas, and with - thankfully - no social obligations for the evening, he returned to his suites that he was sharing with Mark to find his brother going over noteputers and printouts. "Busy day, Mark?"

    "None busier than your's, I imagine, just various economic and industrial reports that need sorting for the Planning Staff back home," Mark said, looking up. "I'm guessing your subject matter is as tedious as mine?"

    "Today it was the logistical problems of allied operations, and how viable it would be if we all started making standardized parts to fit one another's machines." Thomas sat down. "Plus some of the intelligence people brought up reports from the Lexington Concord having some new kind of technology for modular BattleMechs."

    "Modular?"

    "Yes, all the weapons contained in pods that can be installed and removed in a few hours at most, allowing multiple configurations on the same chassis."

    Mark whistled. "Well, that would allow for some stunning strategic flexibility. Change a machine from fire support to close range support, or to direct fire, or reconnaissance… entire companies could be altered to suit different tactical roles while on campaign."

    Thomas nodded at him. "I was thinking the same thing, and how much I'd appreciate us getting something similar."

    "Would be something."

    A look passed between the brothers. "Mark, I can see you want to bring sometthing up," Thomas noted wryly. "Is this going to be like that time you overheard Mom and Dad giving me the 'birds and the bees' talk?"

    Laughter answered him. "Oh dear. And I'd almost forgotten that. Mom was utterly speechless, until she…"

    "...called out 'You are far too young to know!', yes," Thomas finished for him, chuckling as he did. "Either way, brother, you do seem to have something on your mind."

    "Well, yes, I suppose. We got some letters from home. A message from Willy, from Mom and Dad. Poor Mom's is mostly the basic stuff, all this 'Federation' reform has her working like mad after all. Willy's mostly looking for advice on his courses at AMSA, and a specialty beyond MechWarrior courses."

    "So I'm guessing the problem is dear old Dad?"

    "More like Mom, but Dad's the one bringing it up. I don't know what'll be in yours, but Dad's making it clear Mom would not like to end up like Grandpa William. She wants to see grandchildren grow up."

    Thomas let out a sigh. It was going to come up eventually. Heirs themselves need to father or bear heirs after all. "I hope he doesn't expect me to pick the first girl to throw herself at me."

    "No, I think he just wants one of us to consider the matter," Mark replied. He smiled. "Or it's a quiet nudge for one of us to woo Melissa Steiner I suppose."

    "With her parents right there? You saw how Speaker Luvon reacted when he just thought that noble from Alarion was suggesting betrothing Melissa to Ethan Steiner. I'd sooner fight an entire Marian legion in a Stinger."

    Mark chuckled at that. "Oh, come now, big brother. The Steiner-Luvons aren't that scary."

    "You didn't see their simulator scores, Mark," Thomas retorted playfully. "Or those of Arthur's cousins, the Kells. Morgan is probably better than grandfather, hell, better than Sara herself ever was."

    "Point made, brother, point made. Either way, I believe it has more to do with our ages, and the fact that none of us, not a one, seems to have even considered an acceptable spouse."

    Thomas noted the use of that term. "Acceptable." He chuckled softly. "Your therapist, Anne-Marie. Don't tell me you two…"

    He knew he'd struck a nerve at the pain on his brother's face, but Mark quickly hid it before laughing bitterly. "The scandalvids will not get to report the romantic story of the sweet young Danais Frenchwomen who mended the prince's broken body and stole his heart. As much as they'd love to. No, Anne-Marie has her own ideas for the future, being my mistress, much less my morganatic wife, is not among them. As much as I prayed otherwise." He drew in a breath. "Beautiful and kind, and yet, because of the damned aristocracy, it was not to be. Although maybe she would have refused anyway. There were ethical considerations as my caregiver, after all."

    "I'm sorry, Mark. I can't imagine how it felt."

    "Being besotted? It's like having the most desirable thing in your life held half a meter over your head, and every time you reach for it, something yanks it away. But I can't complain too sharply. Anne-Marie deserves her life as she wishes it, and not a constant pin cushion for pushy scandalvid producers and presenters."

    Hopefully you might find someone else, then, thought Thomas, even as he wondered about the matter himself. Aside from Angelina, very much a cousin and rather too close a relative even for the most inbred-minded nobility (not to mention not interested period) he'd not had any kind of close relationship with a woman. Beyond professional interaction, anyway.

    Not that he wasn't interested in women. He felt attraction. But most of his social interactions outside of fellow officers were those forced on him by social events and his rank (and all the dowagers desperately trying to marry daughters into a ruling family). It was hard for him to imagine anything above the most base attraction for thse girls that were often trotted before him.

    "I suppose there's another element there," Mark began. "You're going to be thirty in a few weeks. And I'm hitting twenty-seven. We're getting older, brother, and plenty of nobles are married by this age, especially princes. There's only been a few exceptions. Continuing the line is just too important."

    Being reminded that his adult "youth" was ending prompted a small laugh ffrom Thomas. "Yes, I am getting to be the old man, aren't I?"

    "Well, your third decade hasn't been entirely wasted, brother. Your Lance Lieutenant may have stolen your thunder on Bolan, but you still won commendations and honors for fighting the Marians. You made Major before thirty. I likely won't… no, don't say otherwise. I was promoted to Captain as a sympathy gesture, and the regs will likely keep me from ever getting another field assignment. I'll certainly never pilot a 'Mech again. But I'll make due, and I know you will too. As for Dad's missive, we should probably just consider it food for thought when we make the social rounds here and back home. Keep an open mind. There may be a young lady here you'll actually find you enjoy spending time with."

    A habitual denial nearly formed on Thomas' lips before his mind snapped to the fact that there was, indeed, one such young lady he had enjoyed meeting and spending time with. Hauptmann Johanna Steiner.

    "Also, we may get a chance to practice such, because an invitation came today." Mark held up an envelope in the colors of Katrina's royal court. He gave it to Thomas before indicating his own, already opened with fancy Gothic lettering spelling out a formal invitation in Court German.

    Thomas opened his own, sighing and wondering about the occasion.

    "Oh… she didn't…" he groaned at reading the formal German.

    "She did," Mark confirmed. "Congratulations, brother. Her Majesty the Archon is personally hosting your thirtieth birthday party."
     
    • Q3 3036: Birthday Party
    • Royal Court
    Port St. William, Veracruz Continent
    Coventry
    New Commonwealth
    6 July 3036


    The thirtieth anniversary of Prince Thomas' birth began like many days did on Coventry, with morning ablutions, cleaning, and a breakfast with his brother. They donned their red duty uniforms and departed for their respective work for the day.

    The difference came after Coventry's noon-time hour was passed. Thomas, by personal arrangement, took Liberator out for a stroll at the proving grounds before returning the BattleMech to its bay and heading back to the Embassy and his living quarters. There he grudingly changed into a civilian dress suit, as being the guest of honor he was barred by etiquette from simply showing up in uniform. It was a fine assortment at least, arranged by Archon Katrina's court tailor and using fashions right from Savile Row in London, from Terra itself. The blue silk fit him well and the subdued red of the dress jacket managed to emulate the colors of the Free March, and the Arcadian Guards, without being garish. A pair of enameled pins with jewels marked his lapels, one a likeness of the Arcadian Free March flag and the other the seal of House Proctor.

    Once ready, he and Mark - dressed in a similar suit - were taken by hover VTOL to the Palace. They were swiftly escorted straight to the throne room, which was set up with banquet tables and chairs and liveried servants at the ready for carving up roasted servings or providing fine wines and drinks. Two towering Griffin BattleMechs flanked the throne, marked in Lyran Guard colors, while Katrina sat in that throne at the head of one of the tables. Her family was to one side, leaving the seat of honor to Thomas himself.

    A male voice called out in Steiner Court German. "Presenting His Highness the Prince Thomas, Heir to the Arcadian Throne, Count of Roslyn, Landgrave von Schneiderburg, Baron of Martleford and Newton-on-Avon, Major of the Arcadian Guards. Presenting his brother His Highness the Prince Mark, Landgrave von Ritterwald…" The presenter went into Mark's remaining subordinate titles as well.

    "I forgot we were all Marquesses," Mark whispered to him. "Are we?"

    "By courtesy only," Thomas whispered back in reminder. "Courtesy titles from the Duke of Mariefred to all children of the ruler."

    "Even Willy then? Huh."

    The introductions were already done and the two were free to enter. They accepted bows and smiles from the assorted nobility and guests before arriving at their place with the Archon's family as guests of honor. There, for the next hour, they waited patiently as more guests were announced in the Court German. The usual assortment were attending: dukes or ducal heirs serving in the Estates General, other high nobility, plenty of socially-prominent lower ranked nobility on Coventry itself, military commanders and officers, celebrity commoner socialites and academics. Thomas recognized, with some surprise, the patrician visage of Dr. Henrietta Markenson, "Doc Henrietta", who hosted an award-winning science series he'd watched as a child along with, he suspected, half of the worlds between Sudeten and Canopus.

    Once the guest list was confirmed present and the many tables were occupied to their fullest, the meals were carted out by a company's worth of liveried palace servants, all while stern-faced men and women in quiet, subdued business suits watched. Enough food to feed a community for a year, Thomas thought, or at least a month once he had time to reflect on the actual numbers.

    Movement caught his eye. He looked down to see that just a couple seats down, past Melissa Steiner, sat Johanna. She was dressed in civilian fashion too, a shoulderless, spaghetti strapped dress that hugged her form tightly. Given they'd only ever met while wearing cooling suits or uniforms, it was the first time he'd seen the lean muscle of her arms and shoulders. She had curves as well, perhaps not as pronounced (or exhibited) as those of other women present but clearly displayed by a dress meant to display them. Her flowing blonde hair was pulled back into an immaculate bun held in place by ornamental hair-styling rods. Her hazel eyes turned and looked directly toward him. A subdued grin briefly formed on her otherwise serious face.

    Thomas felt something strange at that moment, eye to eye with a beautiful woman who, somehow, he just knew had dressed herself up for his benefit. It made him self-conscious of his own suit, not to mention other thoughts and sensations.

    His concentration was broken by a short, sharp jab that brought pain to his ribs. He glanced toward his younger brother, who motioned with his eyes towards the head of the table. Katrina Steiner was standing, a goblet of champagne in her hand. As her husband stood, it signaled everyone to do so, save for Thomas as guest of honor. He noted that he and everyone else now had a plate of food in front of them as well as glasses of champagne.

    Unlike the presenter, Katrina's German had a softer tone to it. "We are gathered here to honor the thirtieth birthday of a brave and true son of the Lyran worlds. A toast to the long life and health of Prince Thomas, in the name of the Lyran Alliance!"

    Polite, but often enthusiastic, voices echoed the Archon's toast, and everyone took the requisite drink.

    Thomas stood as everyone else sat down. He bowed his head graciously toward Katrina. "My thanks to you, Archon, for your kind words on this day. I hope to spend the rest of my life strengthening the ties of this Alliance and the realms within, so that we might protect ourselves from whatever threat presents itself. A toast, my friends, to the long life and health of Her Majesty the Archon, and to the happiness of our people!"

    This toast was likewise received well. Thomas returned to his seat and began to eat.




    Following the meal was a wider reception, with Thomas meeting the assorted guests and thanking them while receiving gifts of some sort or another. Given this was the core of Lyran space, the majority of gifts were financial instruments: ownership stock and financial bonds of some value, particularly from those businessmen hoping to curry his favor and support for expanded commerce. Bottles or entire cases of Glengarry Reserve and old Timbiqui Dark - pre-Marian conquest - joined other more local tastes, representing more alcohol than Thomas had ever imbibed in his life. A few timepieces or finely-crafted works topped it off, which made it lucky that one shipping magnate signed an entire DropShip over to him, as he could now arrange for it all to be returned home without having to charter transport himself.

    One would understandably think that he would enjoy being showered with these gifts, as they were effectively making him a small fortune even beyond his share of the House Proctor Trust. These were pieces any aspiring ruler, planetary or interstellar, would wish for. So it would be understandably perverse to many who would never earn this amount of money in their lifetimes that Thomas was not pleased but quietly exasperated.

    Yet he was. This was Lyran High Society at its worst. The gift-givers were in many cases not being generous to him out of social obligation or genuine appreciation of him, it was a faux generosity. A chance to showcase their own wealth - that they could afford this gift-giving without undermining their position - and their estimation of the rising power of his family. After all, House Proctor ruled Atreus. Whatever Marik heir might eventually assume the formal rulership of the planet, assuming one was found, they would be vassals to the Proctors of Arcadia, a momentous thing given the Mariks' long age as a governing family compared to the Proctors' infancy as a dynasty. These people wanted his favor as the future leader of House Proctor and ruler of their much-enlarged realm.

    It was dark by the time the dinner and gifts were given, and the celebration turned to the usual social affair, the tables carted out by the palace servants and a hired band playing various waltzes and dancing tunes. At request the first dance of the evening was given to the Archon, a fairly standard affair. Thomas didn't fancy himself a dancer, but it existed on Arcadia as well, and he consoled himself with the thought it was just a fancy form of drilling.

    After the obligatory dance concluded they stepped away for the moment. "I have a confession to you, Prince Thomas," Katrina said. The older woman showed him a bemused smile. "I was not happy to hear of your assignment here at first."

    "Oh? And how did I potentially offend you, Archon?"

    "You did not, at least, not anything you did. But sending the heir to the Arcadian throne to my court when there is a growing question among the Estates-General as to the future of my daughter? Her matrimonial future? I wondered if this was a ploy to secure a political marriage. To give my daughter to you."

    "I see." He shook his head. "Then I hope my conduct toward your household has eased those concerns."

    "They have, yes. I would not object to you as a son-in-law, mind you, but I will not have Melissa pushed into a relationship for political gain only."

    "I sympathize, Archon, that I assure you," he said. "And you needn't worry, I have no desire to sway your daughter."

    "No, I imagine not." On that note she slipped away, her knowing smile somewhat puzzling to Thomas.

    The musicians were playing another quiet dance tune, but the pick up in the beat heralded a waltz, or perhaps a tango. Thomas, despite himself, was seized by a thought on the opportunity. He searched the room throoughly, making sure he knew whom was on the dance, and then the rest of the crowd.

    Mark came up, giving him a pat on the shoulder. "Looking for someone, brother?" he asked. Without waiting for Thomas to reply, he pointed to a far wall. "Over there."

    Thomas followed his brother's gesture and noted Johanna, standing by herself and looking more than a little withdrawn. "Thank you," he murmured to Mark before stepping away.

    "Happy birthday, Tom," Mark replied, smiling.

    He gave his brother a knowing smile in reply before finishing his approach of Johanna. She saw him coming the final few steps and her posture changed. The confidence he normally saw in her seemed to fade, and she rubbed her hand against one finely muscled arm. "Highness," she said quietly "Happy birthday."

    "Thank you, Ladyship."

    The tune of the music changed, picking up in tempo. They were definitely going for a tango.

    What am I doing? he asked, all while a sensation more like bees than butterflies filled his stomach. I'm not a socialite. This isn't me. This isn't how it's supposed to go.

    Then how is it supposed to go?     a part of his mind asked the rest of them.

    If you don't, you'll always wonder. You'll always regret.

    He extended a hand toward her. "Ladyship, may I have the honor?"

    She eyed his hand intently, then him. Her eyes narrowed. "I'm not a dancer."

    "I'm not much of one myself. But I've found it works easier if you think of it as drilling. Remember the steps, left and right, and the rest comes together."

    She drew in a breath and Thomas could see the uncertainty burning in her eyes too. She was as nervous as him. As out of place as he was.

    And saw he saw the look in her hazel eyes focus, he saw that, just as he did, she knew refusing would lead to regrets, and that was one thing she didn't want to have.

    She accepted his hand and together they headed to the center of the room. The music picked up appreciably and they moved with it. Their movements were not the picture perfect poise of the best social dancers on Coventry, nor the bumbling moves of children. They were inelegant but functional in their duet. Legs and arms went where they had to. Hands held what had to be held, feet did not tread on toes. They turned one another, dipped where they had to dip, and felt the warmth between them grow with their continued long proximity.

    Nor did they go unnoticed, and while their attention was strictly on each other, more and more of the partygoers witnessed the birthday celebrant dancing with one of the lesser-known members of the ruling family. Style and flair might be missing, but there was an energy to it the rest of the crowd felt, and they liked it.

    Thomas and Johanna felt it as well. They didn't speak to one another about it. Only the look in their eyes made clear it was felt mutually, and slowly, they felt themselves bend toward it.

    Which was why, as the musicians slowed down to another pause, their heads closed and their lips locked into a long kiss.

    It excited everything. Thomas felt something in himself come alive, a want and desire, a need. Physical and yet more. Like he was aware there was a hole, or void, in his being, and he wanted to fill it.

    When the kiss ended the two kept staring into one another's eyes for several moments. He felt, in that moment, as if she felt the same. Johanna had that void too.

    Awareness of the larger world returned. They became acutely aware of the silence around them, accompanied by knowing smiles, surprised looks, and more than a few jealous glares from ambitious socialites and hopeful dowagers alike. They blushed deeply before parting, abandoning the dance floor and the room.

    The departure of the actual celebrant might have killed any other party, but not in Lyran high society. At a gesture the band began a gentle waltz and, one by one, others started to dance as well.




    A quiet balcony gave Thomas time to gather his thoughts and deal with his embarrassment. What came over me in there? I… I just kissed her! It was foolish! What will Mum and Dad think?! I barely know the woman and I kissed her and…

    ...and I want to do it again.

    He leaned against the rail and looked out at the skyline of Port St. William. It lacked some of the refinement of Roslyn, but it was a far older city too, and had a grandeur Roslyn still lacked. Coventry was a major manufacturing and resource world for the Lyran Commonwealth while Arcadia was still just a minor border planet. It's taken us a century to become the center of wealth and industry we are today… I am distracting myself. That thought immediately led his mind back to the dance floor, to Johanna and her body pressed against his, then her lips.

    Lust wasn't new. He'd felt the stirrings in his adolescence and teenage years, like any other young man subjected to the instincts and biochemical onslaught of puberty and adulthood. The desire for pleasure with a beautiful woman. He'd repressed it with discipline and channeled it into the military arts. Unlike Mark he'd controlled his desires enough to avoid dalliances, at least, and then found as he progressed through his twenties that the urge died down to a background desire.

    And now it was like he was seventeen again, and all he could think of was Johanna.

    "Clearing your head?"

    He swallowed before turning to face her. Johanna was still in that dress, that damned dress, and as lovely as before. "Trying," he confessed. "I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me."

    "Lust. Loneliness. A little of both." She walked up beside him, although keeping a fair distance of about 2 meters. Her hands gripped the rail as well. "I'm a terrible Lyran, you know. Not very Steiner at all. I hate these gatherings. Right now all I want to do is go in my 'Mech and run across the country. I think combat would be preferable to… to this."

    "I know the feeling, believe me I do." He chuckled. "Three years ago, when the Guards were part of the expansion campaigns, I was ecstatic. I treasured every moment away from social occasions. Just being a company commander, not the Count of Roslyn. Even after Bolan, and all that fighting and dying, and I think I'd pick that again over a life of social affairs."

    "But you won't have a choice in the end," Johanna noted. "Your mother's throne will force you to be a social man to steer your country."

    "It will. I suppose I could be more like my grandfather. He spent his time leading from the front and delegating to his wife and the Privy Council. But it's all too big for that now. It would be irresponsible for me to take the field outside of the most dire situation." He sighed. "Call me selfish, but it's one reason I pray for Mum's health. After she's too infirm to do her duties, or if she… passes on, this will be my life. Sycophants, feuding politicians and nobles, balls and parties…"

    "I suppose I could end up the same," said Johanna. "If Raquel decides to name Ethan an heir, or if he claims power at her death and it sticks, I'll have to move to Donegal to support him. Maybe even marry as part of an alliance."

    Thomas marveled at how he recoiled at that thought, especially since that was the usual fate of nobility. Marriage for political or dynastic purposes, not anything like affection. Just like his predecessor, Sara the Liberator herself, marrying the Baron Kalios to secure her new throne. Mother and Father love one another at least, but she was fortunate, and they grew into it.

    "I suppose there's always abdication," Johanna ventured, folding her arms. "You hear about it. Nobles deciding to go off and become mercenaries rather then accept the restrictions. The freedom of the stars."

    "I can't," Thomas said, shaking his head. "I… I won't do that to my siblings. To my parents. God help me, I hate the idea of my life as a ruler, but I'll do my duty just like they did."

    "Right." She took a step over to him. "You and I are of a kind there, I guess. Maybe that's why I felt… why it felt right."

    "It did. It felt right. I just… I just don't know if it is right. For us."

    "Well, let's move on from it," she offered. "We'll keep things friendly. 'Mech runs, officer lounge meals. Nothing closer, nothing… private. Not until we know for sure."

    It was the smart move, but he could feel the tension in her voice. She didn't quite want to do that. He didn't either. He… he wanted her, and he wasn't sure why. Why her and not any of the other pretty girls he'd seen his life? It wasn't like she was a model of beauty either, with that muscle, the roundness of her face…

    We are adults, and we're officers. For now, this is the smart play, he told himself. "I'd like that," he said aloud. "And then if… if we feel comfortable about it, we can discuss things."

    "Good. Right. Perfectly rational." She balled her fists for a moment before walking off, and Thomas didn't know if she was angry at him for not agreeing to do more now, or angry at herself for wanting it.

    Time will tell, he told himself. Time will tell.




    The next morning began like any other for Thomas, save maybe a slight headache from a little too much of a bottle of schnapps among his gifts. He began his morning routine in despite of it, and once ready, approached the table to have a quiet breakfast with Mark.

    His hope for the same was dashed the moment Mark, with a weary expression, handed him the tablet.

    It was his image, and Johanna's, from the party. Intertwined together. Kissing deeply. The headline read "ROMANCE IN THE AIR FOR ARCADIA'S HEIR?!" in block lettering.

    All the color drained from Thomas' face.
     
    • Q3 3036: The Name of the Thing
    • Ducal Council Chambers
    Laughlin Capital District, Roslyn, Eastern Islay
    Arcadia
    Arcadian Free March
    4 August 3036


    The Ducal Council Chambers were rather larger in the new Legislative Complex. Where they'd once had little more than a very large round table for twenty members, now they had their own small legislative chamber for the seventy-plus members, with a seperate platform and raised podium for the speaker with a smaller one below for someone to address the Council. Above them all was Sara-Marie's place, as monarch if not as Duchess of Arcadia. as by custom she selected a representative to the Council anyway, in this case, her cousin Lorelei Keahi, Baroness of Tupana in the Iaukea Islands, granddaughter of her aunt Princess Zoe.

    She attended today for much the same reason she'd been attending the Ducal Council all year, with the Constitutional Reorganization growing ever nearer. In this body and in the Assembly everything from the proper styling of march rulers - "March-Duke" had long prevailed over "Grand Duke" and "Archduke", despite some opposition - to the specific powers to be delegated to the March Assemblies were debated and harangued over and screamed about. Understandably some rulers felt opposed to the reforms, thinking even the clunkiness of their system stretched to accommodate seventy-seven worlds (although two were not represented here yet) was superior to seeing power more widely distributed, while others finagled over fine details. The republican worlds of Pingree, Rexburg, Thermopolis, and Sterling were adamant about their internal structure being completely elective, even if other marches would not be.

    In short, even this far, there were a number of fine details to hammer out if the constitutional reform was to be completed, and as ruler Sara-Marie had to help shepard them all through.

    This specific matter, however, she found to be rather awkward.

    The floor was currently held by the nephew of the Earl of Stewart. "In due respect to the suggestion of the representative of the President of Rexburg, giving to the ruler of the new federation that same title, 'President', lacks the appropriate majesty and prestige that will be necessary for our worlds. We are an interstellar empire of seventy-seven systems and planets, not a commercial enterprise."

    "Damned blue-blood!" The dark-skinned man who thundered that reply, Anthony Watkins, was the Senator of Rexburg appointed by President Shaun Taylor of that world to represent him on the Ducal Council. "It's not like it turns the Federation into a Republic. It'll be a hereditary title anyway, and it reflects the reality of the throne's political power…"

    "It lacks weight, like all other titles employed by republics!" one of the other delegates shouted. "Her Serene Highness must be more than a mere President!"

    "Is she not presiding over us now?!" Watkins demanded. "And it's worked before. In the 19th and 20th Centuries, the German Emperor was specifically referred to by his own constitution as President…" That drew laughter and shouts that finally brought Watkins to sit down.

    "Let's just vote on it and get it out of the way." That exasperated comment was from Marquess Queensbury, the delegate of the Duke of Ford. He directed his eyes toward Duke Abdulla. "Your Grace, I move to vote on whether the title of the sovereign of the Federation will be 'President'."

    The vote was held. Sara-Marie noted that it got more votes than she imagined, but was still fairly easily defeated, twenty-eight votes to forty-nine. It was evident a number of the others were just as tired of this argument as she was.

    Duke Abdulla affirmed the failure of the vote, and "President" joined "Federated Princess", "Grand Duke", "Sovereign", and a number of other titles in the trash heap.

    The next delegate to rise was Donald Atholl, Earl of Campbelton and son of the ruler. A former Marik Commonwealth officer, he'd been captured in the fall of his homeworld and paroled, then appointed when Atreus was invaded and clearly doomed to fall. For all intents and purposes he struck Sara-Marie as having transferred allegiance well enough. When he received the floor, Lord Atholl spoke with a Scots brogue fairly different than the McAffe and Arcadian brogues Sara-Marie was familiar with. "I have a suggestion for this esteemed body to end this debate and deadlock," he began. "A title that will fit the spirit of what the Proctor dynasty is for our realm, for new worlds and old within it. I look to the inspiration of our ancestors on Terra, from many a culture, and the title they granted to those who ruled over other rulers. For many of us have ruled independently as well as through greater sovereigns, much as many ancient lords did in those old eras. It is only appropriate the greatest amongst us have a title befitting that status. One that reflects the superior majesty of the Federation's sovereign, and the dignities of those who swear her fealty."

    Sara-Marie wondered if he would continue on, given the signs of some growing disinterest in his audience, but Lord Atholl timed it quite right. Having laid the foundation of his argument, he got to the point.

    "I move that this body adopt for our sovereign the title granted to the highest rulers of my own Scots and Irish ancestors, and may she reign on as Sara-Marie, the High Queen of the Arcadian Royal Federation, with all of the Liberator's line to be known henceforth as the High Kings and Queens of Arcadia."

    There were some murmurs, an obvious discontent from some of the republican delegates, but in general it seemed that the entire body was starting to consider it.

    Another stood to join Lord Atholl, Lord Malcolm Wallace, son of Duke Peter Wallace of McAffe and heir to that planet's throne. His own brogue was of a slightly different inflection to Lord Atholl's. "I second the suggestion of Lord Atholl," he announced. "And I call for a vote."

    "As do I." Representative Watkins stood once more. "I have little love for the aristocratic class that smothers the people of the Inner Sphere with its presumed privilege and excess, but in the interest of getting this item off the agenda, the people of Rexburg accept the proposed title."

    Those remarks seemed to sway the other republicans, at least to keep them from objecting to the vote starting. Sara-Marie wondered if this would be blocked as well, but unlike the other titles it seemed to hit a sweet spot, not too Lyran or too Leaguer, and given the number of worlds with Anglo-Gaelic ancestries, it registered strongly with them. The translation fit other cultures, such as the Persian majority on Rasalas, with traditions of such titles.

    I do not know if I like it. It is somewhat pretentious, she mused quietly, even if she was already preparing to bow to their decision. Ultimately the reorganization wasn't for her benefit but that of the worlds she was responsible for. At least it is not 'Empress'.

    The clerk of the Council called the roll, as was tradition, and then read out the resolution. Some last minute editing resulted in the usual kind of language employed, with it amounting to a line in the Reorganization Act that would place all powers of the monarch into the "High King or Queen of the Arcadian Royal Federation, whom by law shall be of the blood of Sara Proctor the Liberator". The readings were had, with the votes, and with no significant changes the results came in: 52-23. The margin was quite high, with over two-thirds voting for the title, leaving Sara-Marie to wonder how many voted not so much from support but to get the issue over with.

    Granted, that was just the start, as another matter immediately came up: the styling of the new title, and of the royal family. But none wanted to heavily dispute this, and with the obvious example at hand, it was swiftly decided: she would be styled "Her Royal Majesty", her husband and children as "His/Her Royal Highness", and her sister, niece, and nephews as "Highness".

    Once the session was over and the Council filed out, Duke Abdulla approached her. "That took rather longer than I imagined," he admitted.

    "So much fuss over titles," Sara-Marie said wearily.

    "Words have power, Your Highness," he replied. "In all cultures. The title we know you by defines the dynasty and our realm."

    "I am well aware that the name of a thing can be so powerful, if only we could be more reasonable about it sometimes." She smiled at him. "Thank you, again, for your efforts on this matter, Duke. Have you thought of remaining an active member of the new upper chamber when it is formed?"

    "Alas, I believe my time on Arcadia is coming to an end," he said. "My son Farouk is of age to learn the business of government, so I will likely name him to the new Parliament, but I shall be back in Khadijah governing my world directly."

    "So I am losing you and Simon," she remarked.

    "Not just yet, Highness," he assured her. "We still have months of work ahead, while you will be off to the wedding on Oriente. Everything is at least on track so that, by the time you return, the Reorganization should be ready for your approval, Inshallah."

    "Yes, if God wills it." With that passing remark she departed the Chamber.
     
    • Q3 3036: Time Capsule
    • Ducal Palace
    Roslyn, Eastern Islay
    Arcadia
    Arcadian Free March
    2 September 3036

    The mood in the Ducal Palace was increasingly frantic as the day of the Proctor family's departure for Oriente drew closer. By tradition the Palace would be mostly shut down, with only groundskeepers and vital maintenance personnel remaining along with a company of the Arcadian Lifeguards, the ceremonial infantry regiment that protected the March-Princess. The rest of the staff would be on paid furlough, accompanying the family, or with the archival and administrative staff, assisting the appointed Regent - Lord Alexander's older sister Lady Margaret Proctor - in fulfilling the role of government.

    Prince-Consort Thomas Heresford had his own duties to attend to, mostly in seeing to it that the household's needs would be met during the two and a half months they were due to be gone. After completing those tasks for the day, with dinner still a couple hours away and his wife off meeting with the Assembly on the subordinate title their son was to have as heir once the new Federation was in place, he settled into the family library to continue reading one of the available books.

    "Highness." The voice of the family librarian and archivist, Ms. Emily Quinfaster, was reserved but loud enough to get his attention. He looked toward the middle-aged woman. "There's something you and Her Serene Highness need to see."

    Given his wife's political duties had her so greatly occupied he didn't hesitate. "Show me, Ms. Quinfaster."

    She led him away from the table and into the palace library. It was an expansive collection of hundreds, likely thousands of books, editions of everything from treatises on statecraft to popular novels of a dozen centuries of Anglosphere civilization. Thomas knew from experience that one could find an edition of the works of 20th Century British statesman Sir Winston Churchill (A favorite of the Duncans before their extermination), a complete set of Shakespeare, Blackstone's Commentaries on the Laws of England, a multi-volume edition of the journal of John Quincy Adams, Clausewitz's On War, Macauley's speeches, a history of the Western Alliance, the biographies of Kearny and Fuchida and Henry Sinclair and a dozen other personages, and two exhaustive histories of the Lyran Commonwealth along with one multi-volume work on the history of Scotland from the 5th to the 28th Centuries. Sara Proctor's favorite novels were in one section, another had March-Prince William's treasured editions of Caesar's account of the Gaul campaign, histories of the Norman Conquests of England and Sicily, and DeChevalier's memoirs of the Amaris War. He'd personally once read first edition copies of Sir Michael Devon's History of the Davion Civil War, History of the War of Davion Succession, and History of the Rise of the House of Marik. Lena San Souci's Alexander Davion: A Life of Burden was a book he and his wife had once spent two years reading together for discussion material, and Terran Phoenix: The Life of Admiral James McKenna was his model for the children to get into the historiography of the Inner Sphere.

    Yet Quinfaster led him deeper, from the bookshelves to the storage room. Here were excess volumes and the physical location of the cloud servers containing digital copies of virtually every book they owned. Within, at the center of the room, were the boxes meant to contain the papers of the Dukes and Duchesses of Arcadia, from Fergus Duncan all the way to Sara-Marie's early journals.

    He noted immediately that there was another box between those of Sara Proctor and William Proctor. Not just any box, but an armored capsule with a thick alloyed metal door now swung open.

    "The archivist systems logged the box opening this morning," Quinfaster said. "It was placed into deep storage half a century ago and flagged to be left alone, but that flag is no longer in the system. From what I can tell, HIghness, it is a time capsule of sorts. The digital entry said it was to be presented to the March-Princess or a trusted family member and forbade anything else."

    "Odd." Thomas approached the box. It looked like a standard armored safe of sorts, with a digital lock and keypad on the now-open door. He reached inside and removed the contents: a thick book and an attached sheaf of papers. The cover of the book caught his attention.

    The Life of Sara Elizabeth Proctor, written by her own hand.

    He blinked. His wife's grandmother, the great founder of the dynasty, was publicly known to have rejected any idea of writing memoirs. That she had, in fact, written such…

    "May I be of further help, Highness?"

    "I'll need a table," he said, "and some time alone."

    She nodded and led him out of storage and back to the library. A table off to the side fit his needs. He sat and opened the book. The writing inside was a curved English script using "American" spelling, the kinda found in a place like Plymouth Peninsula. It roughly matched the handwriting examples he'd seen of Sara Proctor herself from old documents and letters. The first entry was marked "2890-2904: My Innocence", and contained a roughly-chronological account of her life in New Salem as the daughter of middling Plymouthian farmers, Abraham and Abigail Proctor. It was clearly written by an old woman recalling a long-forgotten world, with some surprising clarity despite the gap of years.

    He didn't read past that point for the moment, flipping ahead instead and looking at the script more than reading it. The last half of the book, roughly, was not in the same handwriting, but more of blocky, exact script. A transcription, he imagined, as Sara's condition worsened and she was unable to write legibly herself.

    I will have to show Sara, he thought. She would want this.

    He set the book aside for later reading and checked the sheaf of papers.

    Then, just to be sure he'd read them correctly, he checked them again.

    With a trembling hand he set the papers down and quickly checked the journal, skipping sections to find what was mentioned. He read those parts and those parts only, confirming what the papers themselves said. That it could be true at all, that it was true, was exhilarating and terrifying at the same time.

    More to the point, it served to explain the terrible words he found at the heart of that sheaf of paper, in the precise, military-trained hand of March-Prince William.

    "I carry this weight on my soul that others may not have to, but this may yet be a problem of your own time, my dear daughter, so here I bear all so that you or yours may understand what I have done and why. I have signed a man's death warrant, and while it may not be the only one I sign in this life, it is certainly the one I will feel the most guilt for. This man, Roger Kingsley, committed no crime other than being a true and faithful retainer to his liege, my poor mother. I felt no choice but to act, as his loyalty to her wishes might have harmed our realm. I will carry the burden of this guilt on my soul forever, my darling little one, and pray God spares you ever having to do the same. I pray also he takes mercy on my unworthy soul and forgives my trespass, great and terrible as it may be.

    Enclosed you will find the source of Mr. Kingsley's doom, and the terrible burden my mother carried to her grave. Had I but known how much I hurt her without realizing it while a child…

    "Highness, your wife has returned," Quinfaster said politely.

    "Good, I will see to her immediately. I want these books set aside for later reading, with the papers."

    "Yes sir," she replied.

    Thomas let her get to work on putting them up, considering what he'd just read, and whether or not he should reveal it to his poor, overworked wife… that was something he had to pray on.
     
    • Q4 3036: Arrival at Oriente
    • (Co-Written with Silence)


    AFMS Melanie
    Landsfall DropPort, Diplomatic Section
    Oriente
    Grand Duchy of Oriente
    20 November 3036


    Among the many DropShips bearing rulers and senior delegates from across the Inner Sphere for the wedding of two heads of state, the Melanie stood out. Not due to ostentatiousness or size or anything of the sort, but because out of all of them, the ship bearing the Proctor family to the wedding was perhaps the most plain looking.

    Indeed, if not for the family seal on one of the spherical ship's sides and the Free March hawk on the other, it would have easily been thought of as a civilian cargo DropShip that landed in the wrong spot. Its surface was a base gray color, with the seal backed by a box-shaped field of blue and red. The ship was visibly well-maintained, an old design predating the Star League that had a rough, well-traveled look to it. This was a vessel that one could believe had landed on every world in the Inner Sphere and Periphery at some point or another.

    The main bay doors opened and a military band started playing Lands of Hope and Glory, an old British tune re-written and revised to be the national anthem of the Arcadian Free March. Grand Duchess Eris herself waited with her entourage to greet the wedding guests. From within came March-Princess Sara-Marie and her family and entourage, who walked up with practiced steps to complement the ceremony of the occasion.

    The two were indubitably among the most powerful women in the Inner Sphere, but they were visibly quite different. The March-Princess of Arcadia could have been Eris' mother, demonstrated by the presence of her daughter Melissa, clad in the red of an AFFM uniform with a naval aviator's wings and markings on her uniform and likewise older than the bride-to-be. There was warmth in her eyes, a certain motherly look, leavened by the reserve appropriate to her station and the occasion, and perhaps, a certain lack of energy from age. Eris projected energy while still seeming cold next to her guest.

    And yet, she might also be looking at her future. Sara-Marie was only a little older than she was upon taking her father's throne not thirty years before. The years might have worn her down, but how much of that was age versus time spent under the burden of rulership?

    The band finished the tune at the final steps of Sara-Marie's approach. She was flanked by her husband, Prince-Consort Thomas, and three of her children, Princesses Melissa and Abigail and Prince William. William was in uniform like Melissa, although his uniform was far more sparse in ribbons and insignia, showing he was only a second year cadet. Abigail was in a respectful civilian gown, taller than either sibling and looking rather big and strong for a young woman reputed to be so gentle she could not serve in the AFFM like her siblings.

    "Welcome to Oriente, Your Serene Highness," Eris said in measured tones. "I am grateful you still chose to attend given the recent events."

    Knowing she meant the conflict over Andurien, now spreading across the former Free Worlds League, Sara-Marie nodded politely. "As a neutral sovereign, I felt no danger in coming to attend the delightful occasion, Your Grace."

    There was nothing more to say on the subject, or so it seemed to both. "I am told your vessel is the same as your grandmother's," Eris remarked. "Truly?"

    "The Melanie has served House Proctor since before we owned her. Fabian Comeau's kindness gave Sara a taste of freedom and a chance to become the heroine we now know her to be. I like to think both would be happy and proud that the ship continues to serve." Sara-Marie said nothing on the interior of the ship. While externally she still looked the same, internally she was built to be the traveling vessel of the March-Princess of Arcadia, with sophisticated communications systems, a proper living suite, and the best defensive systems available at any time.

    "It is certainly an impressive vessel," Eris said. Impressive in that a sovereign would go around in a vessel looking so shabby, just to maintain family tradition.

    Sara-Marie clearly noted the unspoken thought and smiled widely. "She is not the expected ship for one of our station, but tradition is a powerful force that binds a people together. I felt it important to continue her use."

    "So you did." With that Eris gestured toward the convoy of awaiting aircars. The guests followed their hostess with luggage in tow behind them.

    Once settled into the airlimo that Eris had brought with her to the DropPort. The air vehicle took off, with a flight of a VTOLS flying alongside as an escort. The flight taking them over the capital city of Landfall towards the coast of the Nu-Adriatic Sea, which was capital was nestled against. Locally the season was in its spring, trees of all shapes and surprising colors that lined the boulevards and streets of the capital were in full bloom.

    Eris offered Sara-Marie a glass of wine from the limo’s bar before nodding towards the explosion of colors both natural and manmade in her capital. “My predecessor fancied himself a bit of horticulturists and urban planner. So while other nations were building heavy industry for new Mechs and shipyards for WarShips, Rico turned his capital into a work of art. Though I suppose from up here it gives a bit of a mad impressionist vibe, but such is the risk of dillenetate I suppose.”

    The limo flashed over the city, and soon began to make a landing approach at a sprawling seaside complex. Eris flashed Sara-Marie a grin, “I gave you the best vacation spot on the planet really. Feel free to enjoy yourself to your heart's content.” she winked at William, “You should know I control all the press on the planet so whatever you do will forever remain quiet, so go forth and enjoy yourself without dealing with the paparazzi for once, and if any outsider gives you trouble, let me or my staff know and I’ll have some of my knights challenge to them a duel.” Eris looked philosophical as the Limo landed, “I find the threat of being gutted like a fish tends to change people’s opinions very quickly.”

    She started to waive off any preemptive comments, “I know that isn’t how things are done in Arcadia, but in Oriente, people please the Grand Duchess and or pay the price, and I don’t want who I regard to be my second best neighbors annoyed at any churlishness.”

    There was a flash of irritation from William, only recently turned twenty and still completing the changeover from fairly hormonal teenager to matured young man. The Grand Duchess clearly had heard the stories that came out over the years on the scandalvids of his teenage flings and partying.

    Sara-Marie, however, merely nodded her head. "We are grateful for your generosity, Your Grace. As for the power you wield here, that is how things work and that is all there is to it. There have been worse regimes than your own, after all, and as guests it's not our place to judge you under your own roof." As Sir James and Lord Prestwick said. She tests. Always testing.

    "I hope your recovery's gone well, Your Grace," Abigail added with some cheer.

    “I’m nowhere near fully 100% yet, but thankfully the Duchy has obtained the most punishing of personal trainers to get me back to shape. No doubt a petty revenge for my sins. But as they say c'est la vie. It beats the alternative I suppose.” Eris’s studied Abigail, “You know, I was thinking I start some sort of menagerie at Landfall Castle to add a bit of my own unique touch on that blasted monument to history, if you ever get tired of lights of the scandalvids, I’ll let you run it once you complete your degree in Veterinary Studies.”

    "Perhaps in time, Your Grace," Abigail replied softly, "but I am bound to the Rural Medical Service for my first years of veterinary practice. When it's done, and if your menagerie is completed, I'll be glad to consider it."

    Sara-Marie was quite proud of her daughter in that reply. Eris was, of course, testing still, and the replies were all respectful and nothing to cause a breach.

    The ruler of Oriente returned her attention to her Arcadian counterpart. “As for worst regimes, I suppose so, Oriente is a feudal state, but my people do have core rights, but at least we never had wholesale chattel slavery for example, and while our politics can be bloody and deadly, there is a certain le code de l'honneur of my nobility to not involved those not directly involved.”

    "Every state in the Inner Sphere finds its own way. Our Lyran allies do not rule as we would either, but I believe we have demonstrated adequately that different institutions and methods of governing do not preclude peaceful relations or pursuing common causes."

    The limo landed at the vacation complex, and the Grand Duchess exited and gestured towards it, “Built only ten years ago, it used to be the property of one certain Baron Lauber before his unhappy misstep cost him his life. It has three separate panic rooms, underground bunker, and legend has it somewhere in the maintenance tunnels an armory capable of outfitting a regiment of infantry capable of storming a castle as well, enough money to buy a small dropship. Yours if you can ever find it, my security service thinks its urban legends.” she gave a shrug, “He was paranoid enough to do it.”

    "I suppose it would go toward balancing the budget for the year," Sara-Marie remarked drolly. If there was anything she knew Eris would be familiar with, it was the relationship of rulers and money; namely, they never had enough.

    “So please enjoy yourself, I have affairs to deal with, war fleets to dispatch and orders to give, but tomorrow if you are interested you are invited to fly to Halas Hall and check out the Dukesworn, one of the largest collection of Royal Assault Mechs in this quadrant of space.

    "We look forward to it," was the answer.
     
    • Q4 3036: Cousin Margaret - A Desperate Thought - Reformation
    • Ducal Palace
    Roslyn, Eastern Islay
    Arcadia
    Arcadian Free March
    14 November 3036


    After a return home in the pre-dawn hours, Thomas and Mark found their older cousin Margaret in control of matters. Lady Margaret Proctor, Baroness of Carlisle-Arcadia, was the oldest child of their late grand-uncle Prince Jacob, the second child of Sara Proctor and Baron Julianos. After a short and quiet AFFM career she'd gone into the civil service bureaucracy of the Free March, climbing the ranks of the civil service until she chose to retire in the 3020s. Nevertheless, due to her age and willingness she was the designated Regent whenever Sara-Marie was off-world, and with their mother even now burning in for Oriente Margaret was handling the day to day matters of government.

    After insisting on breakfast with the two young men, the old woman invited them to the guest study she was using as an office. "How is Coventry?" she asked pleasantly.

    "Liveable enough. The Commonwealth Steiners are… devoted. Stern," Mark offered. "They're almost obsessed with Lyran unity and keeping the 'nation' strong."

    "Truth be told, I found them uncomfortable sometimes," Thomas added. "And conscripting fourteen year olds into military duty is unfathomable to me. I know they have their own threats to worry about, but we've never done such."

    "Not as the Free March. But half the worlds that make up the March used to admit boys and girls that young, even younger, into militia service," Margaret noted. "Especially in the dark days of the later 29th Century."

    "The Age of Chains, you mean."

    "For us, yes, and for other worlds. Gienah's age of conscription was 14 from 2850 until 2932. Mariefred didn't raise its age of conscription to 18 until 3014, even if they stopped conscripting below that age after the Desert War ended. Zwenkau put nine year olds into "scout battalions" until the Free March outlawed the practice." Margaret shook her head. "Worlds under siege, or feeling under siege, they will do terrible things to protect themselves. It's easy to rationalize it all, very easy." She grinned at Thomas. "So, my boy, in love? Or was that smooch for fun?"

    The old lady cackled with delight at how red Thomas' face turned. "I… it was more than fun, that's all I can say," he admitted.

    "Well, it was about time you were interested in the contents of girls' knickers."

    "Aunt Margaret!" Thomas called out, horrified at her coarseness.

    She cackled again. "You always reminded me of my humorless siblings. Alex and Tabby were no fun growing up, I tell you." Noting Mark was choking back laughter, she winked at him. "And you. When are you going to work up the courage to ask your dear Mum to tell the AFFM to get the lead out and let you back in?"

    Mark stopped choking back laughter because he was too busy choking with surprise. "Ma'am, cousin Margaret, I… you know how this works. She can't force them too."

    "Probably not, but you could at least ask instead of being a sad sack," Margaret said. "You've got it in your eye, Mark. You want back in a 'Mech so bad, I imagine you'll soon burst open. Normally I'd say you need a girl too, but I've met enough Dispossessed pilots to know that's not how it works." She leaned over and put a hand on his left leg, the fake one at that. "My poor, brave boy. We'll find something for you, don't worry."

    "I'm… I'm not," he managed.

    Before the meeting could continue a messenger came in. "Lady Regent, the Assembly is summoning you."

    "Ah, the Assembly. So many of them, it's no wonder we're going through all this hullabaloo about reorganization and reform. The old Assembly was bad enough, they must have two thousand in the damn place now," she grumbled.

    "Eighteen hundred and thirty-four, I think?" Thomas offered quietly. "Although I suppose with Atreus and the remaining Marik worlds getting their representatives in it's gone up."

    "Whatever. It's too much," Margaret groused. "Best thing about this set-up is that it means the Assembly goes back down to something manageable. Two to three representatives per world, no more than five."

    "Better hope we don't get more worlds then."

    That made their older relative sigh. Word was that there would be impromptu peace talks at the wedding, but there was no guarantee there, and given the scope of the fighting Arcadia staying out was not guaranteed. "Well, I had better see to them then. If it's another issue of title I may scream. As if 'Prince of Atreus' was that controversial."

    "'Prince of Atreus'?" Thomas asked.

    "For you, young man. As heir. Whatever Marik may end up as Duke or Duchess, the suggestion is that as the second world of the realm Atreus should be associated with the family, so the heirs to the throne will be Princes and Princesses of Atreus, just as you are Counts and Countesses of Roslyn." Margaret sniffed as she rose to her one hundred and sixty four meter height, snow-white hair cascading around her temples. "If they don't wish to upset me, it'll be about taxation brackets. Something easy." She went for the door before briefly turning. "Oh, ignore an old woman's grousing. The truth is, children, nobody's interested in stopping this. Not anymore. Your mother will hold a royal title and things may get back to normal around here. I'll see you for dinner, I hope?"

    "Certainly, cousin."

    With a final nod she departed the room.




    That night Mark was back in his old room in the living quarters. The benefit of his myomer prosthetics was the lack of need for nighttime recharging or a low power mode, as the internal batteries would last for months if need be, relieving him of the need from before to remove them and put them on the chargers before laying down.

    He laid out on his bed while the sounds from the holoviewer played through the room. His set was configured to display the image above his bed, showing him footage from Solaris of a 'Mech battle. The mediumweight championships were on, in this case a Blackjack fighting an Enforcer. The pilot of the latter worked hard to keep his distance, using his jump jets to fall back swiftly and maintain steady fire from his long-range, light-weight autocannons while the Enforcer tried to close the range to bring its heavier autocannon to bear. Had it been a Centurion, this would be less of a fight, Mark mused. He imagined what he'd be doing with his machine, as his -1A Fusilier had the extra option of an ER PPC over an Enforcer's shorter-ranged Large Laser.

    The fight on the image slipped out of his conscious mind as he thought on the idea of it. The idea of being there himself. Piloting a 'Mech again, being a MechWarrior, feeling the metal move at his command. That itch came to him, strong and terrible, and he wanted nothing more than to scratch it.

    His cousin's words reverberated in him. He wasn't going to be happy unless he had a 'Mech. But the AFFM won't budge. They don't trust the prosthetics yet. They won't risk a 'Mech to someone with them. Even if Mum did put her foot down, they'd stick me in a militia command or an Officer Commissioning School. And they'd resent the hell out of me for forcing it.

    I'll never pilot for the AFFM again. I'll never fight for Arcadia again. I…     Despair filled him at that. It was unfair. He'd given his arm and leg for his people, for his mother's army, and the best they could do was a sympathy promotion and a life of staff duty? He was a MechWarrior, from a line of MechWarriors birthed by the greatest MechWarrior Arcadia ever produced! He belonged in a 'Mech, not behind a desk!

    His eyes floated back to the holo-image above his bed. The Blackjack pilot made a mistake, letting the Enforcer get too close, and now its armor was being ripped open by the larger autocannon on the Enforcer. An emerald flash seared through its wounded metal skin… and an explosion tore the side of the 'Mech off. An ammunition hit!

    A desperate thought crossed his mind, and he couldn't resist it as it grew louder. The AFFM may not let me pilot again… but maybe… maybe I can pilot for someone else. People who don't care about my prosthetics.

    He tried to fight it now, as the idea came with clear problems. He'd need to leave, his family wouldn't be happy, it might be a scandal… they couldn't know it was him. That was the thing. They couldn't know.

    So he began to plan.



    The Assembly of the Free March
    Laughlin Capital District, Roslyn, Eastern Islay
    Arcadia
    Arcadian Free March
    12 December 3036


    The two Princes were present with Margaret for the final readings, wearing AFFM uniform at their seats in the Ruler's Box to the side of the Speaker's dais. At the direction of Speaker Campbell, the clerk of the Assembly performed the requisite third reading of the Constitutional Reorganization Act with solemnity befitting the weight, the history, of the moment. For all the thousands present, and others watching the broadcast on the official Assembly stream, there was no denying something profound was coming.

    One by one the Act's particulars - the title changes, the establishment of the Marches and their assemblies and nature of their internal governments, the new court system required and the alteration to remnant feudal law - were read in summary if not in the actual text. Some among the Assembly read along, checking perhaps to verify the summaries were accurate, maybe even contemplating last minute objections.

    The reading finished and the vote was held. The seconds became minutes, or rather hours for the two young men whose family was to be changed in dignity and station by the result. Was all the year's work for nothing? Would their poor mother, still burning out from Oriente to the JumpShips bearing her and their father and siblings home, have to return to find out all her labors of the year were for naught? Among the quiet grumblings and susserations of speech between various blocs and caucuses of the Assembly there was yet no indication if they would give their final approval.

    Their noteputers, tied into the Assembly systems, finally came alive with the results to relieve them of that tension.

    Twelve hundred and thirty-nine for, seven hundred and seventy-three against.

    The Act had passed.

    The Arcadian Free March was no more. The Arcadian Royal Federation stood in its place.
     
    • FM: AFM 3037 Update
    • Field Manual: Arcadian Free March Updates - 3037


    Unit Updates


    Arcadian Guards

    Campaigns: Atreus, Labouchere, Bella I

    At the start of 3036 the Arcadian Guards finished the Atreus campaign with the destruction of the 2nd Marik Guards, resulting in the complete collapse of the Marik Commonwealth. In the following months it was dispatched first to Labouchere to safeguard that system from the Marian/Corvid invasion of Tamarind and persuade the planet to change sides. It also joined the campaign to the last independent world on Arcadian borders, Bella I, which surrendered without a fight. Following these actions they returned to Arcadia for the first time in four years to be present for the coronation of Sara-Marie as High Queen.


    Arcadian Rangers

    Campaigns: Atreus, Labouchere, Bella I

    At the start of 3036 the Arcadian Rangers finished the Atreus campaign with the destruction of the 2nd Marik Guards, resulting in the complete collapse of the Marik Commonwealth. In the following months it was dispatched first to Labouchere to safeguard that system from the Marian/Corvid invasion of Tamarind and persuade the planet to change sides. It also joined the campaign to the last independent world on Arcadian borders, Bella I, which surrendered without a fight. Following these actions they returned to Arcadia for the first time in four years to be present for the coronation of Sara-Marie as High Queen.


    1st Free March Cavalry

    Campaigns: None

    The 1st Free March Cavalry was left on Stewart through the year, awaiting replacements and restoration of its units given the re-deployment of its now elite pilots of the Gienah Heavy Fusiliers to be made into a battalion in the 1st Cuirassiers.

    Unit Changes:
    The Gienah Heavy Fusiliers and O'Brien's Irish Lancers have been reconstituted, and the 1st Cavalry are back to established operating strength. In keeping with new square formation guidelines, a fourth battalion-sized 'Mech unit was assigned to the brigade, named the Hollabrunn Guards in honor for the troops of that world who fought the vicious Cutter Brigade nearly two decades ago.


    Proctor Light Horse

    Campaigns: Labouchere, Bella I

    After recuperating from losses while on Atreus, the regiment has been employed in the Labouchere and Bella I campaigns. It has since been recalled to Arcadia to take part in the coronation after the New Year.

    Unit Changes:
    1st Battalion has been re-activated with newly-mustered regular pilots.


    Bolan Heavy Guards

    Campaigns: Atreus, Labouchere

    Following the destruction of the 2nd Marik Guards on Atreus, the Bolan Heavy Guards were involved in securing the defection of Labouchere from the collapsing Duchy of Tamarind.


    8th Strikers

    Campaigns: Atreus

    After aiding in the completion of Atreus' capture, the 8th Strikers have remained oneworld as the captured Marik capital's garrison.

    Unit Changes:

    The 8th Aerial Striker Battalion has been enlarged into the 8th Aerial Striker Regiment, with two constituent battalions.


    Hyde Lancers

    Campaigns: Tania Australis

    Due to the collapse of the Marik Commonwealth, the Hyde Lancers saw no fighting in their first year as a full-sized regiment. Five months into the year they landed on the planet Tania Australis to claim the system for the Free March after its Marik garrison fell apart at the collapse of Marik resistance on Solaris and Atreus.


    1st Dar-es-Salaam Cavalry

    Campaigns: Atreus

    Atreus has fallen, and the 1st Dar-es-Salaam now stands as a garrison for the key world.

    Unit Changes:
    A fourth battalion of medium weight 'Mechs is now assigned to the unit.


    Bolan Hussars

    Campaigns: Labouchere, Bella I

    Too late to join the final battle for Atreus, the Hussars participated in the turning of Labouchere and Bella I. They have since been deployed to Cajamarca to protect the former Antisuyu capital world.

    Unit Changes:
    The former 3rd Battalion is now the 4th, and a new 3rd Battalion of mostly medium 'Mechs has been added to the Hussars.

    Bolan Rangers

    Campaigns: Atreus

    Following victory on Atreus, the Bolan Rangers remained as a garrison regiment for the planet.


    Bolan Cavalry

    Campaigns: Labouchere, Bella I

    Arriving too late to join the Atreus campaign, the Bolan Cavalry were part of the bloodless takeovers of Labouchere and Bella I.

    Unit Changes:
    The 3rd Battalion was reconstituted at the end of the year.


    1st Free March Regiment

    Campaigns: None

    The 1st FMR has spent the year in garrison on various worlds without seeing action.


    2nd Free March Regiment

    Campaigns: Helm

    The 2nd Regiment, freshly restored and expanded, landed and secured the defenseless planet Helm after the local garrison destroyed itself on the matter of surrendering to Arcadia.



    3rd Free March Regiment

    Campaigns: Labouchere, Bella I

    Despite not seeing combat, the 3rd's had an active year as part of the forces that secured Bella I and Labouchere bloodlessly.


    4th Free March Regiment

    Campaigns: Labouchere, Bella I

    The regiment saw no combat this year, although they were a part of the takeover of Labouchere and Bella I.



    Concord Borderers

    Campaigns: None

    The Borderers have spent the year on garrison duty with no combat.


    1st Bolan Irregulars

    Campaigns: None

    The 1st Bolan Irregulars were re-assigned to Zvolen after the arrival of New Commonwealth troops following Rosice's transfer to the Commonwealth.


    2nd Bolan Irregulars

    Campaigns: None

    The 2nd Bolan Irregulars had a quiet year.


    Arcadian Navy Changes

    The carrier wing of the Audacious has been restored to regular size, although currently their new pilots are only of Regular quality training wise.



    New Units


    1st Royal Cuirassiers: The Undaunted

    A unit whose composition has long been debated and discussed, the 1st Cuirassiers are formed from the best battle-tried pilots of the Free March Regiments and the Free March Cavalry brought together into a heavy combat unit in the vein of the Arcadian Guards and Bolan Heavy Guards. They are the first of the former AFFM's regiments to be chartered under the expanded monarchy, bearing the title of Royal by charter from High Queen Sara-Marie. Their training and experience will make for a ferocious opponent for the enemies of the Arcadian Federation.

    The unit insignia is a hawk with open wings bearing a sword in its talons, encircled by the words "Fear Is Death". A royal crown rests on top.


    Notable Officers
    Major General Lady Amber Kelly, Countess of Kenmare, is a long time veteran of the Arcadian Guards, whom she once stood as second-in-command of. A skilled tactician and capable leader, she now pilots a Highlander BattleMech produced by the Atrean Armament Factory and presented as a gift by the High Queen for the Countess. She was likewise presented with a promotion to Major General in light of the 1st Cuirassiers' size, making it her second promotion within three years.

    Lieutenant Colonel Lu is from the Capellan expatriate communities on Concord, one of those who has rejected the Capellan creeds and wholly embraced those of Arcadia. He often interviews with journalists on Concord to encourage other Capellans to embrace Arcadian and Concordian ways.

    1st Royal Cuirassiers BattleMech Regiment (Veteran/Reliable)
    CO: Major General Lady Amber Kelly
    XO: Colonel Rana al-Samman
     1st Batt: Lt. Colonel Cassius N'Buta
     2nd Batt: Lt. Colonel Javier del Toro
     3rd Batt: Lt. Colonel Ophelia Morozova
     4th Batt: Lt. Colonel John Lu
    The pilots of the 1st Battalion are considered elite in skill and pilot primarily Assault 'Mechs of Star League vintage or quality, weighed toward the Highlander as is produced by the refurbished factory on Atreus. The 2nd, also elite pilots, pilot heavy 'Mechs, weighed toward the newest Star League-level models as well as the Black Knight produced on Arcadia. The other battalions are veteran quality and use mostly heavy weight machines, with the 2nd Battalion's personnel, formerly being of the 3rd Regiment, considered fanatical by the AFRF.


    1st Royal Cuirassiers Armored Regiment (Regular/Reliable)
    CO: Colonel Karl von Lichtenstein
    Consisting of two battalions of light and medium tanks and armored vehicles, an artillery battalion, and a battalion of VTOL and conventional aircraft, with an attached company of air defense vehicles, the 1st Cuirassiers Armored Regiment is one of the larger support units in the AFRF.


    1st Royal Cuirassiers Infantry Brigade (Regular/Reliable)
    CO: Brigadier Ivan Kubinsky
    With 2 regiments of mechanized infantry and a regiment of armored infantry (battle armor), the Cuirassiers have a hefty infantry support contingent to employ in action. Brigadier Kubinsky is unique among AFRF infantry commanders as he was a MechWarrior before the loss of an arm fighting the Cutter Brigade led to his reassignment to infantry. A tried battle armor infantryman, he also understands the needs of the MechWarriors of the Cuirassiers and works to keep the units working together as smoothly as possible.


    1st Cuirassiers Aerospace Group (Regular/Reliable)
    CO: Colonel Mitzi Meyer
    With a wing of medium- and heavy-weight fighters and two wings of lights and mediums, all advanced models, the 1st Cuirassiers will enjoy significant air cover on all of their campaigns even in the absence of naval aviation.



    Tamarind Rangers: The Tenacious Third

    Formerly known as the 3rd Tamarind Guards, these veteran pilots were re-designated as the third Ranger regiment of the AFRF following the transfer of Labouchere to Arcadian rule. The pilots have accepted access to the superior resources of Arcadia with clear trepidation as most still hunger to be restored to Tamarind and resent Arcadia's refusal to stop the Corvid Principate's conquest of the Duchy.

    The insignia of the unit remains a red number 3 over a flowing river and plains, representing Tamarind's Zanzibar River.


    Tamarind Rangers BattleMech Regiment (Veteran/Questionable)
    CO: Brigadier Jackson Nyere
    XO: Colonel Keisha Brett
     1st Batt: Lt. Colonel Umberto Leighton
     2nd Batt: Lt. Colonel Daniel Shao
     3rd Batt: Lt. Colonel George Adams
     4th Batt: Lt. Colonel Nasira Kidude
    As one of the former Guard regiments of the Duchy of Tamarind, the Rangers' gear was upgraded with refit kits providing some Star League-era weaponry and technology to otherwise Succession War-era machines. They share the same maintenance issues as other upgraded machines, but are still quite capable. Given the unit's training in combat drop operations, their designation as a Ranger regiment was an obvious one.


    Tamarind Rangers Aerial Support Regiment (Veteran/Questionable)
    CO: Colonel Nathan Himid
    Three battalions of VTOL and conventional aircraft under veteran pilots give the Tamarind Rangers a unique capability compared to the other Ranger units.


    Tamarind Rangers Armored Infantry Regiment (Veteran/Questionable)
    CO: Colonel Malik al-Mubara
    A full regiment of armored infantry that gives the Tamarind Rangers more of a line unit mix than the raiding/rapid-insertion force of their fellow regiments. Colonel al-Mubara is one of the few Tamarindian officers who openly supported the transfer to Arcadia, although like the others he hopes to recover the capital world one day.


    Tamarind Rangers Aerospace Group (Veteran/Questionable)
    CO: Colonel Maryam Allen
    Two light fighter wings provide aerospace support to the rest of the regiment. They are as veteran as the others, and have proven especially truculent about the changeover, with many pilots defiantly wearing the uniforms of the Tamarind Ducal Defense Force instead of switching to AFRF uniforms.



    Militia and Garrison Brigades



    Another ten garrison brigades have come into service. Additionally four more of the light militia brigades are now up to full strength.
     
    • Life of Sara Proctor 1 - The Day
    • It is strange to look back past a gulf of eighty years to the day that changed my life. So, so many days have passed since. I have been to over a hundred worlds since then. I've fought with and against pirates, mercenaries, slavers, militia, House troops, and rebels. I now rule over a dozen worlds in my dotage, as I wait for the Lord to send the Angel of Death and free me from my failing body. And yet, that day… that day still looms in my memory. My nightmares.

    Perhaps it is the one item I did not mention before. All of those things, and… I have fallen in love and had my heart broken twice, and all from the cruelty of one man. The man who has played such a role in my life, and who came into it because of that day.

    In the last chapter I spoke of my years of innocence, and left you with my memories of Christmas 2903. Now I bring us forward to the event that shaped the rest of my life, shadowing all of the months that passed between it and the last happy Christmas I would have for years.

    It was the seventh of May, 2904. I'd turned fourteen a month before. My parents rewarded my birthday with more freedom and responsibilities, including my very own mare for riding into town, Esther. How I remember my dear Esther when she was part of my life for barely four weeks, well, perhaps that is part of why God left so many creatures to be our companions.

    I rode Esther into New Salem that day to pick up a new dress I had on order. A dress was an important thing for a girl my age. They made us feel beautiful, and Lord knows I often felt the need for it, for I was so very plain looking then as now.

    I never got the dress, of course. I was waiting for the dressmaker, Mr. Pickering, to finish an alteration when the slavetakers came.

    "Labor conscription". They still called it that, as if none knew what they really meant, more as a sick joke than anything I suppose. The ownership of human beings was a common blight upon Arcadia in those years, enabled by the murderous men who slaughtered the Duncans and seized the planet for themselves. So far in this narrative I have not mentioned them. That was not because they did not exist yet, for they existed since before my birth. It was because, until this day, something about it still seemed remote. Count John, the local ruler of Plymouth, kept them away, and what 'labor conscription' he was forced to do, he did carefully and quietly to spare us as much pain as he could.

    That was over. The Carters were forced to flee Arcadia, as they were no longer in favor with the "Prince of Sannazaro", the man who has hurt me more than any soul should ever hurt another. Carl Tabot.

    I am certain my description of their actions in New Salem that day would be no different than that of other accounts. Many families knew the pain of the takers' arrivals, the tearing of families from homes, the line up in the town common or the nearest park… and then the choosing came, for those who would be torn from their lives, their families, their dreams, and made into the slaves of Carl Tabot and the other monsters like him. Resistance meant pain, although rarely death, as the dead could not be made to labor. Pain for the chosen, or for their families if necessary, until they submitted.

    Mister Pickering, God bless his soul, saw them coming. He urged me out the back and onto Esther, with orders to ride out of town and back to the farm. He pushed and cajoled and, terrified as I was, I was barely able to think as he half-dragged me onto Esther and set us off.

    I might have gotten away, if not for a scout vehicle that was meant to prevent just that kind of escape. They ran me down and ordered me to stop. I did not. I was too terrified not to. Even now, I can't quite remember the voice giving me those orders? A woman, a man? What was the accent? How odd that I cannot remember…

    I suppose it is irrelevant. The air split with thunder, and a terrible cry came from my mare. The comforting weight under me collapsed and I fell over from my ankle being caught in the stirrup. It went white-hot with pain at the impact. Later I was told I was lucky I only sprained it and did not break the bone. Knowing what would have awaited me in the latter case, I believe it was more the work of the Lord than any 'luck'.

    I was not able to extricate myself before the takers came. I was struck across the face and in the shoulders and ribs for being a runaway, for 'forcing us to chase you down', as one called it. They pulled me free during the beating and punished me further by forcing me to watch Esther's final moments. My dear, sweet mare was already badly hurt by gunfire, but her whinnies and cries became truly wretched when they resumed shooting her in the flanks. One broke her legs, one by one, while I cried for them to stop. I received several slaps to the face for that affront. Finally, they ended her pain, and shot Esther through the eye.

    Eighty years. Eighty years and it still haunts me. The sight of her beautiful body coated in blood, of the wounds those savage men and women inflicted for the sheer pleasure of inflicting pain. This was why they were the most feared and hated of the Slaver Lords' forces during the Age of Chains.

    I was beaten, hogtied, and bound on their scout truck back to the commons. Between the blood from my broken tooth and swollen gums and my own sheer terror, I couldn't speak the entire time. I felt like I was suffocating from the raw fear at the future that loomed ahead, and a part of me would have rather died right there and then.

    At the New Salem Commons I was counted among the rest, laying there in my bonds covered in human and horse blood, and had the finger fallen elsewhere, I might yet have returned home to weep for Esther.

    But it fell upon me anyway. I was, ha, a "labor conscript". At least, until I was forced aboard the military transport vehicle and shackled to my fellow captives. At that point the legal quibbles gave way to the truth, and they referred to me by what I was to be.

    "Slave."


    -Excerpt from     The Life of Sara Elizabeth Proctor, in her own hand, privately published 2986
     
    • Q1 3037 - Gifts from the Past
    • Co-written with Slacker



    Ducal Palace
    Roslyn, Eastern Islay
    Arcadia
    Arcadian Federation
    4 January 3037


    With just a few days left before the coronation, Sara-Marie had her hands full with preparations and the necessities of welcoming various fellow rulers to Arcadia, including holding private discussions. This was particularly important given the delicate nature of having two warring rulers - in this case, Consul Livia O'Reilly of the Corvid Principate and Grand Duchess Eris Halas of Grand Duchy of Oriente - in close proximity, but there were other matters of course. King Konrad of Ghastilla was deep in Arcadian-brokered talks with the Communal League of Sudeten to defuse the situation in that collection of worlds, for instance, and Sara-Marie had to keep appraised of that.

    Then there was the case of the visitor from across the Inner Sphere, and his request for a quiet meeting. Therefore, after a day of state papers and diplomacy and some BattleMech piloting practice thrown in with discussing the coronation ceremony, Sara-Marie still found time in her schedule for a meeting in her office with First Prince Ian Davion of the Federated Suns. She was ready in a civilian dress blouse when her aide announced his presence.

    Ian Davion walked into an office that was not all that different from his own on New Avalon. The same beats with different notes, at worst. The aide closed the doors behind her and the First Prince took in his Arcadian counterpart. Sara-Marie was older than he was, of course-she had children nearly his age, in fact, but that didn’t take away from the quiet determination and fortitude he’d seen from her since his arrival on Arcadia. Which to a degree reaffirmed his decision.

    The man settled into a comfortable armchair across from the High Queen’s desk, and the Arcadian had perhaps her first chance to get the measure of her counterpart. The First Prince was definitely of the Davion stock-the red-blond hair, neatly trimmed beard, and the unconscious body language of a mechwarrior were unmistakable. She saw the normal signs of stress a man in charge of an interstellar state had-the crease between his eyebrows, the sprinkling of gray in a beard on a face just past forty-but also the laugh lines of a man who’d found peace and love in a political match and had a young child-and a second on the way, he’d found out while at the wedding on Irian.

    Sara-Marie decided to open the conversation lightly. "I hope you've been enjoying my homeworld as greatly as my niece enjoyed yours."

    “Ah yes, very much so. The climate reminds me much of home. We spend a fair amount of time on Kathil every year and it’s always just a touch cool for my liking.” Ian replied with an easy smile. Good, we’ll start on the small talk. It’ll let me ease into this whole issue.

    "Arcadia was well-named when it was discovered centuries ago. Henry Sinclair called it an 'untamed garden'," she said, looking toward an eight century old portrait of the 22nd Century explorer and navigator who was credited with surveying Arcadia. "You've undoubtedly seen what some of that garden can do." As an afterthought, or perhaps not much of one, she added, "Rachel was the one who suggested giving you that herbal treatment for your wedding, I will add. As much as her desire to stay out of court and state affairs can infuriate my protocol ministers, and her parents, I'm very proud of her devotion to the healing arts."

    “I understand frustration with protocol and very much appreciate what she gave me. I won’t say it’s cured the issue, but it certainly helps after using a neurohelmet tremendously. I suspect NAIS may be interested in contracting with someone local here for wider export, if that’s an option.” Ian said with a smile.

    "Export can most certainly be explored," she answered.

    He nodded in appreciation of the idea. “I don’t get to pilot a mech as much as I want these days, a feeling I’m sure both you and your sons understand.”

    Ian's remark brought a bemused grin to Sara-Marie's face. Her hour of stomping around Fort Defiance's proving range in Liberator was still fresh on her mind, and undoubtedly gave her the posture MechWarriors identified in one another, at least for the moment. "My sons, certainly. Especially Mark."

    “I understand his rehabilitation has been long, but more or less successful? Are his prosthetics not adequate for piloting? NAIS has been working on the field some, perhaps when I return we can arrange to have some of our experts come to Arcadia?”

    "I'm afraid it is more an institutional issue than medical," she answered. "Even with the advances in available medicine of the last few decades, most of my senior officers have yet to catch up with that part. Current armed forces regulations do not allow for MechWarriors missing a natural limb. Prosthetics are considered too untrustworthy, even the best. Advances alone will not change their minds, I'm afraid, simply the passage of time. Even if I ordered them to let Mark back in…" She let the sentence trail off. She knew Ian would understand the limits on even the strongest sovereign's power when dealing with a deeply ingrained attitude on such matters.

    "As for myself…" She let the bemused smile return to full force. "I have something of a secret in that regard."

    "Oh?" he asked, curiosity evident.

    "While I trained as a MechWarrior, and I can pilot one well enough to not fall over, I am not one by inclination. Even if my father had not ended my education so I could learn to rule in his final years, I would have likely served the military as a staff officer. I know well my father's reputation, of course, not to mention my grandmother's, but it seems the genes or what have you passed me and took up with my sons instead."

    Ian chuckled at that, sighing a bit. “Honestly, these days, I miss what piloting represents as much as anything else. The good old days, when I was just Captain Davion, a company of mechs, no greater responsibilities, just dealing with pirate raiders or bandits out of Capellan space. Things were...just much simpler. Before Mary and Dad passed and I had the burden of leadership for everything land on my shoulders.”

    He paused for a second. “Still I guess it’s all worked out.”

    "At least for us," she said, although there was some weariness to her voice. She'd been a ruler for nearly thirty years at this point, over thirty if you counted her increasing time as her father's assistant and then regent. "My congratulations as to you and your wife having your second child."

    “For all I wasn’t there for it.” Ian chuckled. “I suspect by 3040 I might even be allowed to sleep on the couch.” he sighed. “The needs of the state. Still, it’s a sign of where we’ve come, that I can take a diplomatic tour a third of the way across the Inner Sphere while my wife gives birth to our second child and leads the Suns once more into war.” He paused for a moment. “Which, in hindsight, makes for a good segue. As you know, last year the Suns, along with Tikonov, took Muskegon and its surrounding worlds. One of the mercenary units the Empire had contracted was Tabot’s Brigade. They actually defaulted on their contract almost immediately after our forces touched down, citing the suicide clauses, which, um, well.” Ian chuckled again. “Regardless, when they did, they left their HQ completely exposed and, under MRBC code, couldn’t touch it until we’d secured the area. Looking for intel in order to bring the fighting to a close sooner, MIIO tossed it, and…”

    The mention of Tabot's Brigade drew Sara-Marie's interest. SIS kept tabs on Matthew Tabot "the Third", "High Lord of Arcadia". From what Sir James' people could tell, Matthew had little emotional connection to his progenitors' interests and only kept the claimed title as a way to raise the notoriety of his mercenary unit. He also seems to keep well away from our space. A wise thing. I prefer not to sign death warrants, but Sir James might relieve me of such if he thought Tabot was up to something untoward. Her spymaster was both completely conscientious about obeying the laws and regulations he was governed by… and notoriously flexible in finding ways to interpret those laws if he felt there was a threat to the realm.

    As Ian got to the end of his sentence, and let it trail, she said, "You found something of interest to us?"

    Ian nodded. “We did. Frankly, we found a few somethings. Matthew Tabot had something of a fondness for the trappings of his great-great-grandfather, if nothing else. There’s a shipping container onboard my dropship that can be unloaded wherever you designate. I have no idea the cultural significance of much of it, to be honest, but once we verified there wasn’t anything actionable in any of it, New Avalon’s official interest came to an end.” He reached into a pocket, pulling out a small jeweler’s box. “This was the most notable. A signet ring, that has data storage built into it. We didn’t try to access it, so if there’s any grand conspiracy against the Suns on it, please let me know before I depart Arcadia.” Ian smiled at the weak joke, as he could see his host’s emotions were...conflicted. “But if there’s anything that’s of personal interest to your family, my guess would be that it’s inside this.”

    "It could be a number of things," she answered. She accepted the box and opened it to see the ring inside. It was gold with inset diamonds along the band, and at the top a silver disc was etched with something like the Lyran fist, except reversed to the back of the hand. Faint lettering spelled out a motto: "Dominion by Strength." "Tabot's personal sigil and motto," she said in a hushed voice, feeling a terrible chill. I am holding the personal signet ring of my grandmother's most hated foe. His hand once held this ring. He once gave orders to her as a girl while wearing it. Harmed so many, sentenced so many to the lingering deaths of the slave mines in Mull…

    "I suppose it's like discovering something left by Stefan Amaris," Ian observed. “Or Rostov.”

    "Yes, very much." She pulled the ring out and examined it. For a moment she considered sending it to get melted down right away, but she held back. It would be petty and pointless, and once lost whatever data was within would be lost forever. "Carl Tabot was a pitiless, ruthless despot, Your Highness, a man who believed that he had a right to take whatever he pleased due to his skill as a MechWarrior. He believed it, I imagine, right up until my grandmother proved a better MechWarrior." She chuckled. "The great Carl Tabot, 'High Lord of Arcadia', killed by the slave he used to keep for mucking out his horse stables. How he must have raged as he lay dying." She returned the ring to the box and set it aside. "Thank you for this, and for everything else, HIghness. There are museums that will be interested in any artifacts Tabot's people left behind. A number of our cultural treasures were taken away by Matthew Tabot when he fled following his father's death. It is time they returned to the Arcadian people."

    “Then I am happy to have acted, even indirectly, to help bring some closure and justice to the Arcadian people.” Ian replied.

    "A drink, before we get into any further business," she said, aware that some matters of state should be discussed, especially the Second Andurien War. The Davions were allied to the Brethren of the Stars, and by all reports those same Brethren were actively fighting in the conflict, one raging on Arcadia's Rimward border. She went to a table and picked up a book, a fine leather volume, which she presented to Ian. He accepted it and glanced at the book's title along the spine, written in gold filigree.

    "San Souci's 'Alexander Davion: A Life of Burden''?" he asked. Checking the inner page, surprise showed on his face. "This is a first edition copy."

    "Admittedly it has some wear," she said. "My husband and I spent two years reading it many years ago, starting while I was pregnant with Melissa and Mark. But yes, a first edition copy. I hope it serves you as well as it has us. I hope it is something for Princess Victoria and your other children to read one day as well, to remember their own ancestors as your gift reminds me of mine."

    “Thank you, Highness. It will have a place of honor in my own office.” Ian paused. “Strange, in some ways did you suspect I would be bringing a more meaningful private gift than the normal high-level fripperies foreign ministries agree on as state gifts?”

    Sara-Marie shook her head, smiling. "No, I confess I did not. I'm certain the good Lord had a hand in this, though."
     
    • Q1 3037 - The Coronation
    • St. John Episcopal Church of Roslyn
    Roslyn, Eastern Islay
    Arcadia
    Arcadian Federation
    7 January 3037


    The streets were filled with crowds watching the parade leading to St. John's, the main church of the Anglian Communion on Arcadia and the largest church in all of Roslyn. It was the traditional site for the investiture ceremonies of Dukes of Arcadia dating back to the First Age of War, continuing in that fashion for the monarch of what was once the Arcadian Free March.

    Nearly 28 years were passed since the last coronation celebration, in 3009, when Sara-Marie became March-Princess. Now, as then, the Arcadian Guards and Arcadian Rangers were out in force, as were the Proctor Light Horse and the newly-formed 1st Cuirassiers. Over six hundred BattleMechs stomped down the reinforced avenues and boulevards of Roslyn. Most made their way out of the city afterward, save a lance worth from the regiments in question that took up positions around St. John's.

    They were accompanied by the ceremonial company of 'Mechs from the Ducal Lifeguard. Old machines, they were only brought out for ceremonial purposes, not fighting, although the 'Mech they escorted was quite capable of such. The Liberator - the Royal Black Knight of the Proctor Family, the machine that Sara Proctor piloted the day she killed the Slaver Lord Carl Tabot - was painted in the Proctor colors and seal.

    Inside the machine, Sara-Marie kept her breath steady while moving the 'Mech on its way. She'd done some training in a sim installed on the Melanie during the trip to Oriente and further readied herself for the day with practice walks in the family machine. She was only thankful she didn't have to fight. It'd been years since her training and she'd never quite inherited her father's skill in a 'Mech.

    A spot was prepared in front of the church, and crowds of people cheered and waved flags as she brought Liberator to a kneeling position. The customary rope ladder was enough to disembark, and the scene of her climbing down all those meters wearing a standard issue cooling suit was transmitted across the worlds under her rule, indeed, across the Inner Sphere. She drew in a breath and stepped forward, the pilots of the Lifeguard all arrayed in formal uniform and ready to follow.

    All eyes were on her as she entered the vestibule. Here, several high nobles picked from across the realm - led symbolically by the Duke of Gienah and the Grand Princess of Bolan - helped her don the coronation robes over the cooling suit. A shimmering garment of white covered the suit, after which a red stole and tunic were donned. Once she was considered ready, the Duke of Gienah, Haim Shaltiel, stepped out of the vestibule and into the church proper. "Our ruler is ready," he pronounced in a firm, Hebrew-accented voice, his head covered by a ceremonial kippah.

    Guided by some of her highest-ranked vassals, Sara-Marie emerged from the vestibule and into a packed church. High officials and rulers from across her realm sat in many of the seats, as did specially-selected citizens who had the right to attend in person, such as the descendants of William Corey's family. They stood and bowed to her from their places in the pews as she went past, row by row, carrying herself with every bit of royal dignity she could muster.

    The front rows were the places of honor. One for other members of the family, her children and husband and sister and her children, and so on. Another was for the visiting rulers or their delegates, such as Ghastillia's King Konrad, Grand Duchess Eris of Oriente, and First Prince Ian Davion.

    She passed the transept next, where her attending nobility stepped away. They were all clad in their own proper regalia as dictated by the customs of their worlds, be it Duke Lee's light blue overcoat and broad hat or the Indian assemblage of Grand Princess Umayr. Duke Wallace of McAffe and Duke Atholl wore kilts with family colors for the tartans, as did the Earl of Stewart, the Landgrave of Fianna, and other Scots-descended nobility.

    At the altar were the hawk-shaped ampulla containing the consecrated oil and the regalia of State. They were pieces of finely-crafted art as might be expected. The Scepter was made of alloyed gold, with a swept wing silver-plated hawk at the tip. The Orb was a solid pearl from the oceans of Zwenkau, which had a species of clam-like creatures many times the size of those of Earth. Two bands of gold crossed over it marked with religious iconography, a golden cross set into the "top" with a hawk perched upon it. The Crown was a band of gold itself, marked with cruciforms set over pairs of rubies and sapphires, with one large pearl set into the golden hawk crest at the brow.

    Behind the altar and before the dais and podium for the priest sat a throne of gold filigree and metal construction, with cushioning of royal purple, built to specifications by various local companies. It was not the ducal throne or even that of the March ruler, but a new construction, reflecting the wealth and greatness of the much-expanded realm. Placed beneath the seat itself was a compartment with a stone slab once in Carl Tabot's possession, rumored to be the famous Stone of Scone or "Stone of Destiny" that was one of many treasures destroyed or lost in the chaos Stefan Amaris caused. Tests so far had proven inconclusive, but the rumor was enough for the Protocol Office to decide to employ it anyway.

    Waiting beside the altar was an austere man in a bishop's vestments over a plain black gown and robe. John Martyn, Presiding Bishop of the Plymouth Congregational Church, stood ready to crown her as his father Peter had thirty years before, indeed, as Peter Martyn had done for William and his grandfather Henry had once done for Sara Proctor herself. He waited until Sara-Marie stepped up before him before bidding her to kneel before the altar. At this Grand Princess Gita stepped up and intoned the ceremonial demand, "Who are you to make the sovereign kneel?"

    "It is the place of all sovereigns to kneel before the Creator of the Universe," Martyn replied sternly.

    Ceremonially chastened, she stepped away and Sara-Marie dropped to a knee. "I am humbled before the Lord my God, Creator of All, font of Justice and Mercy."

    "Why have you come?"

    "To assume the throne of Arcadia," she replied, her tone firm but not imperious. "I am Sara-Marie Abigail Proctor. The blood of the Liberator flows in my veins. It is my duty to take the burden of protecting the peoples and worlds of our realm, so help me God."

    "And you solemnly swear, before the Almighty Creator of the Universe, to uphold the work of the Liberator and protect the sacred dignities of all souls within your realm, owned by none by the Will of their Divine Creator?"

    "Yes."

    "To uphold the rights that Nature and Nature's God bestow upon all souls, with all your power?"

    "I do."

    "To rule with justice and mercy as the Lord rules over all?"

    "I do."

    "Then, in the eyes of the Creator and your people, take up the sword of your foremother."

    A teenage girl in page vestments approached. Her name was Helena Kelly-Teshome, the daughter of the Countess of Kenmare and granddaughter, through her other mother, of the Count of Gondar. She'd been the winner of the lottery among the noble-born children for the ceremonial post of Swordbearer. For in her hands was a sword in a scabbard of fine leather, a gold and white hawk sigil prominent in the leatherwork. Unlike the other regalia, it bore no nothing ostentatious or boasting of wealth. It was simply a finely-made scabbard.

    Helena dutifully strapped the scabbard onto Sara-Marie's belt before stepping away. Sara-Marie drew the blade carefully, the sound of the act filling the transept. Like the scabbard from which it was drawn, the blade lacked any sign of ostentatious wealth. There were no precious stones set into the hilt or crossguard. Not a speck of gold nor silver shined on the weapon. The steel caught the gentle light of the church interior while Sara-Marie judged the weight of the weapon her hands.

    It was, in its own way, the most important piece of the Regalia, far more than the new shiny baubles on the altar that shined with greater luster and color. As ceremonial as it was, it was still just a sword. The only notable, unique aspect was the disc set into the crossguard that bore the seal of the Proctor family. Other than that, it was a simple European-style longsword of about a ninety-five centimeters in length.

    And yet, it was rather more. It was the Sword of Liberation.

    Sara-Marie considered the blade and its story. It was meant as a symbolic gesture when her grandmother came to rule. Before the liberation of Sannazaro Carl Tabot's paranoia about slave uprisings was such that he kept his estate servants chained at all times, consigning them to pens when they weren't actively working. After his death and the end of the regime, those poor souls were released. A couple of them were skilled metalworkers who took the chains they'd been bound in and put their skills to use. They forged the metal of the chains into a sword they presented to Sara Proctor before she was crowned Duchess of Arcadia. She worked it into the ceremonial investiture and later her ascension to March-Princess, even if the blade was in no way a ceremonial one.

    Another pair of pages brought forth one of the chains taken from Tabot's pens, a length of about a meter and a half with manacles on either end. They laid it out on a plain table beside the altar and took a step back. Without a word Sara-Maria hefted the sword, struggling a little with its weight in the process, and brought it down in the chain.

    There was a flare of sparks, a loud metallic shriek, and the chain link she'd struck splintered under the weight of the blow. She was under no illusions her strength was enough. The chain had undoubtedly been treated and weakened for her benefit.

    But her effort wasn't the important part. The importance was the symbolism of the act, the reminder of what her grandmother accomplished and what the family creed was. Whatever statecraft may demand of her, whatever compromises of personal ethics or belief, this was one that had to remain inviolate if her reign, if her family, was to remain legitimate: resist any who would enforce, or enact, the principles of slavery.

    "Let this be an example of my conviction," she said, eyes on Bishop Martyn.

    "It is witnessed. Let all chains fall before your sword." He reached for the ampulla. Sara-Marie knelt once more and lowered her head, which her attendants covered with a cloth of golden color. Bishop Martyn, with precision, poured a tiny dabble of scented oil onto her shroud-covered head. "By this holy anointing, in the name of the Father and Creator, of his Son the Lord Jesus Christ, and the Holy Spirit, you assume dominion with His Grace."

    Once the anointing was done Martyn set the ampulla back onto the altar The church choir started a 23rd Century choral piece called "The Work of Samuel", drawn from the Old Testament about the seeking out of a king for Israel, while the rest of the ceremony continued. The shroud was removed from Sara-Marie, as were her tunic and stole. In their place a vest of strong blue color was brought forth by her attendants. After she slipped it on, a jacket of crimson was likewise added, and finally, a long flowing cape of royal purple lined with fine ermine. It was long enough that Duke Shaltiel and Grand Princess Gita took it up and followed her to the throne. They helped her arrange the garment so she could sit properly, including the removal of the scabbard so that it was placed beside her left arm on the throne, intentionally kept in reach.

    With the anointing done, next came the investiture. As a chorus sang on to a well-played organ solo, Bishop Martyn presented her first with the Scepter, the symbol of temporal power, and the responsibility to rule justly and fairly. She held it in her right hand. With her left, she accepted the Orb next, and its symbolic spiritual power, reflecting her responsibility to ensure the well-being of her subjects' souls.

    Finally, of course, came the Crown. She bowed her head towards Bishop Martyn. He held high the golden band with his hands, as if to show the whole world, before he set it upon her head. Its weight pressed down her graying brown hair until it settled around her brow. She returned to her full height with the Crown firmly on her head, the golden hawk crest directly above the midpoint between her eyes. The metal chafed her skin a little and was supremely uncomfortable to wear, which was very much the point. If represented, above all else, the burden of her position, an uncomfortable weight pressing on her head, on her mind, at all times.

    That was not the only discomfort. She was in several layers of clothing by now - undergarments, cooling suit, the white cloth garment covering the suit, and the vest and jacket and cape - and while it was not the hot season for Roslyn just yet, it was warm enough in the church that she was sweating under everything. Nor was the throne very comfortable, as the cushioning barely did anything to alleviate the inflexible, firm construction.

    And yet the ceremony was hardly half-finished, and so she had to endure.

    With every piece of the regalia at hand, she waited as the Presiding Bishop of the Plymouth Church turned to the assembled. "In the name of the Lord, I present to you Her Royal Majesty Queen Sara-Marie, by God's Grace High Queen of Arcadia! May she reign long and well!"

    "Long life and health to Her Majesty!" called out Duke Franklin, the (mostly ceremonial, figurehead) Duke of Concord, and that cheer was brought up from the rest of the assembled.

    The choir proceeded to a rendition of Te Deum Laudamus, and as the song of thanks-giving played, the vassals lined up to kneel and give their personal homage to her as their suzerain. Given there were seventy-six other planets in the Federation, and besides that numerous counts and barons on Arcadia that were her direct vassals, the process took the better part of half an hour, starting with the most prestigious or established of the rulers, all imminent March rulers or the equivalent as well as the rulers of the founding worlds of the Arcadian realm. Haim Shaltiel went first, followed by Duke Felipe Laguna of Launum and Duchess (and Admiral) Mary Katzenburg of Hyde. Next was a man in the white uniform and purple cape of the Mariks. Newly-elevated Duke Joshua Marik of Atreus was a younger man, a cousin two generations removed from the late Duke-General Elias Marik, and the highest-ranking Marik that agreed to take the oath of fealty and be invested as March-Duke of the Atrean March. Dukes Wallace, Franklin, and Rayhan each represented their worlds. Grand Princess Gita, as a former sovereign ruler, presented herself as the last of this early group.

    The chosen Duchess of Cajamarca came next, and then the Duchess of Zvolen, the Earl of Stewart, and the Duke of Campbelton. Duke Lee of Dixie and President Blair of Loric were the last of the major worlds, leaving the minor worlds' rulers and the Arcadian nobles directly her vassals to finish giving their homages. The republican planets' delegates were the most perfunctory, as expected, but they were cordial enough and at least avoided giving the impression they were being coerced (which, in many ways, they were, given their planets were forcibly added to the realm).

    It was a repetitive procedure, but had an important ceremonial role, especially since Arcadia still retained some of the feudal law structure that was so prevalent in the Inner Sphere. Accepting their homage renewed the legal bond of fealty with the planetary rulers.

    Once this was over, and all of her direct vassals gave their fealty, Sara-Marie accepted the recognition of her peers or their delegates. The allied monarchs and representatives came first; King Konrad of Ghastillia, Archduke Ethan Steiner from Donegal, Duke Bradford of the New Commonwealth, and from their neighbors in the Consolidant, Duke Caeser Steiner and Duchess Jacqueline Brewer of Furillo. As one of the co-rulers of the Corvid Principate - once the Marian Hegemony - Livia O'Reilly led the un-aligned rulers and representatives, followed by First Prince Ian and Grand Duchess Eris as the other attending rulers. She accepted their recognition with personal thanks and did everything in her power not to betray how uncomfortable and increasingly-miserable she felt. She was tremendously grateful when this part ended, as all it left was her presentation to the people.

    While the choir continued singing, the Presiding Bishop and her senior vassals escorted her from the church floor back to the entrance. In the vestibule she was finally able to shed the cape and jacket, replacing the latter with a lighter ermine-lined royal purple jacket. The regalia was likewise put aside, save the Sword of Liberation that was again strapped to her hip. A lighter tiara crown, an intertwined series of silvery platinum bands with a hawk sigil over the brow, replaced the formal coronation crown. This made her somewhat less uncomfortable as she, with her husband at her arm and her children behind her, exited the vestibule to the right and followed stairs up to the church's second level and the presentation balcony built into the steeple. They emerged from red curtains and stepped up to the end of the balcony.

    Below them the crowds were gathered. The Bishop, courtesy of a collar microphone, spoke through the sound system. "Peoples of the Arcadian Federation, I present to you our High Queen, Sara-Marie!"

    While she and her family waved, the crowds cheered. Among their number people waved the new flag of the Arcadian Federation - the bicolor and hawk joined by laurel branches and a band of stars around the hawk - along with the old Free March flag.

    For all that she felt tired and wanted to get on with the day, Sara-Marie felt glee at their response. She'd feared the people would dislike her new title, or the changes to the forms they were accustomed to. And certainly there were those who did dislike all of that. But here and now, among their cheers, it was clear to see that many embraced the change from Free March to Federation.

    So she continued to wave and accept the cheering, thankful to God that her realm was yet prospering in the chaos of the Second Age of War.
     
    • Life of Sara Proctor 2 - The Train to Sannazaro
    • Over the years, I have heard the occasional rhetoric about slavery being this or that, everything from waged labor by private businessmen being no better than slaves to the Capellan servitor caste not truly being slaves. I admit that, however my external attitudes, I always seethe at these arguments. They come from those who have never known what it's like to be reduced to a thing, a mere piece of property.

    After my "conscription" from New Salem, I was brought to Worcester to be loaded onto the train line to Sannazaro. The maglev has since been rebuilt, but at the time it was an old combustion engine train on railed tracks. They placed us aboard in a chain gang to ensure no escapes. Ahead of me was Roger Samuels, the older brother of my friend Patricia Samuels, and behind me was Heather Lowell, a pretty girl off sixteen years that was, I admit, someone I was fairly jealous of, as a plain-looking teenage girl often is of the girl who gets all the boys' favors. I remember… I remember how she cried. She called out to her mother, as if Mrs. Lowell could appear by magic and whisk her away, but no such luck was to be had.

    I cried too. Quietly. I was too terrified to do more. My entire life was turned upside down, and I bounced from terrible possibilities to anguish at my parents' pain. I hated myself for taking so long to go to town, I hated Mr. Pickering for not having it ready as intended, I hated the dress for existing, and for a brief moment, I think I even hated God for putting me in that boxcar. At the age of fourteen, I had little idea of what the Lord had in store for me, and I trust in His forgiveness for my adolescent terror.

    The food came regularly, everyone getting a pouch of water and a lump of cornbread, and the bathroom amouunted to a series of pails placed close enough for us to use onee at a time. Some were so catatonic in disbelief they never bothered to use the pails, and so they stank as much as the boxcar in general.

    Three days. That was how long it took us to get to Sannazaro. Three days. By the end of it I had no sense of smell, as if my nostrils simply shut down to spare themselves the agony of the miasma around us.

    Once arrived we were taken out of the car into a terminal. They stripped us of clothing, and in that humiliating state, deloused and showered us with hoses to get the stink of the car out. Once cleaned, we were not re-dressed but brought, line by line, before a bank of vid recorders. They forced us to present ourselves to the recorders, with blows for those who resisted - regretfully I was not one of those - and let us on to pens. There, we were finally unchained from one another, and given simple shirts and trousers to wear. Food was, again, a sparse thing, as if they begrudged us any sustenance only because they needed us alive.

    Armed soldiers came for us, one by one, sometimes in lots and sometimes just one or two. Through that day and the night this gradual separation came. Roger was one of those taken. I never saw him again.

    Heather and I remained until the next morning, when we and a number of other girls were brought out in a single chain line. The girl ahead of me was not from Plymouth. She had dark skin and sort of a frizzy look to her hair, from Mull I'd guess. She looked as broken as any other, although I thought I saw something of a glare in her eyes whenever she glanced at our captors.

    We were assembled upon a bus this time. It drove us from the stockade through the city, giving me my first look at what was becoming our planetary capital. It was bigger than even Worcester, far larger than any city I'd known, with entire blocks of shops, housing, factories, parks. Under bettter circumstances I might have enjoyed it greatly, but I couuld not for my heart was nothing but a nub of numb terror.

    The Palace was a new structure then. Carl Tabot had it started a year after he killed General Norman and took control of Norman's Lashers, and as the self-proclaimed "Prince of Sannazaro" poured millions of pounds and the labor of hundreds of people into its construction. Military base and luxury palace, he intended to rule all of Arcadia from there, and be lord and master of all the world's people.

    I did not meet the foul man that day. Nor for days afterward. His majordomo, a man called Colonel Lamar, sorted us out for duties. I was picked for domestic staff, as were most of the others, while Heather and some of the prettiest girls were picked for "comfort duty". At the time I had only a vague idea what it meant, but… I would find out. Dear Lord, I found out, and I still pray for His mercy on Heather's poor soul to this day.

    As a domesitc, I would have been assigned to cleaning normally, but Colonel Lamar apparently learned of my riding a horse. "Since you know horses, girl, you'll be great for the stables", and so I was given the duty of seeing to Carl's racing horses.

    That was how I met Sean Fitzroy.



    -Excerpt from The Life of Sara Elizabeth Proctor, in her own hand, privately published 2986
     
    • Q1 3037 - Thomas Meets Ethan
    • William Corey Memorial DropPort
    Roslyn, Eastern Islay
    Arcadia
    Arcadian Federation
    6 January 3037


    With just a day left before the coronation, the capital was abuzz with activity, and the entire ruling family was part of that. With Abigail and William helping their father prepare for the post-coronation reception and the twins doing other tasks, Thomas was tasked with some of the dignitary greetings as the late arrivals finished burning in-system.

    The last of those arrivals now nestled into the DropShip pad visible through the terminal window. While the gantry swung into place to the ship's airlock, his eyes settled on the insignia of the Donegal Kingdom on the ship and the personal sigil of the Gallery Steiners, led by Ethan Steiner.

    Johanna's brother.

    Hope and dread and uncertainty roiled in his stomach. He wanted to see Johanna again, obviously, but if she were here she might not be allowed to see him anyway, and it would prove a false hope, the worst of all such things. And how would Ethan react to him anyway? Did he support the idea of the two of them being together? Did he not?

    Thomas forced his mind to focus on duty in the minutes before Archduke Ethan stepped through the terminal gate. The band played, the customary salutes were given, and the ceremony led to the aircar bringing Ethan to his housing at the Donegal Embassy in Laughlin.

    It was only here, in privacy, that Ethan spoke fully. "The man who took my sister's heart," he mused, his accent somewhat more pronounced than Johanna's. "Fitting that we should meet first."

    "I suppose so. I want you to know-"

    "Save it," Ethan interjected. "The truth is, I have little desire to undermine my sister's happiness, and you actually managed that impossible feat. Presumably because, like her, you're more interested in 'Mechs and soldiering than the complexities of politics." His expression was dour. "Whhich is why you didn't realize how played you were."

    "Played?"

    "Scandalvid reporters are like cockroaches, but high society events like your birthday party are still beyond their normal reach," Ethan said succinctly. "Someone in the upper echelons of Archon Katrina's government wanted you and my sister to be seen together, and you gave them more than they could have asked for."

    Thomas' brow furrowed. "You think the Archon betrayed her own court privacy?"

    "Not wholly, and maybe not even her. Although her husband is a right bastard, and quelling rumors that you were really there to be betrothed to Melissa would have benefited them. More than likely, though, they were trying to destabilize Donegal."

    Thinking of the things Johanna said, Thomas realized what he meant. "Because if Johanna and I did become a couple, and married, the other Steiners might worry that Arcadian troops would support your bid for Queen Raquel's throne."

    "Or Johanna's bid, allowing for your offspring to claim both states." Ethan shook his head. "Family politics are both complicated and simple. We all want the same thing, and we're always bouncing around trying to get everyone else on the same page, especially with my dear cousin's health declining."

    "Why doesn't she name an heir?"

    "Because said heir would, she feels, immediately kill her to take power right away, or the Estates General would fight to elevate the heir regardless of what we want." He shrugged. "Given the lengths she was forced into in order to save her life and take the throne, I can't blame cousin Raquel for her paranoia. Especially as it hasn't stopped the others from scheming to take herr place when she paasses. I'm one of the leading candidates, as you're likely aware, so I have to stave off the occasional assassin. Uncle Klaus is another, although his last legitimate heir died in the invasion of Donegal so he'll be a stopgap at most. Right now he's busy reorganizing our military into something more 'Teutonic'." Ethan smirked at that. "Not that we couldn't use some refurbishment."

    Thomas had the feeling Ethan was trying to dance around the issue. "Is Johanna in danger?"

    "No more than anywhere else. She's back on Donegal under Uncle Klaus' personal protection. She'll stay there for a while, until things are decided."

    "What things?" asked Thomas,

    "Whether or not to actually pursue the marriage, of course," replied Ethan. "For what it's worth, I'm rather for it, but the prospect of a royal marriage to another ruler goes beyond my consideration, for obvious reasons."

    "I suppose I should be thankful for that, at least."

    "So…" Ethan knelt forward. "You do love my sister?"

    "I know that I want, very much, to spend more time with her, and she's the first woman I've actually been, well, interested in marrying," answered Thomas.

    To that Ethan smiled. "Ah, you Proctors. I can see why everyone says you're honest to a fault. Ask a direct question, get a fairly direct, but long, answer. Not just a straight 'yes', but an explanation of why the answer is 'as close to "yes" as it can get'."

    Thomas found the bluntness a little disconcerting. "And what is the right answer if I werre in your family?"

    "Usually? Refuse to answer at all, or hedge." Ethan turned his head, prompting Thomas to do the same. They were approaching the multi-storied Donegal Embassy, where a welcoming party was already present. "And this is my stop. I look forward to tomorrow, and the reception afterward, Your Highness. Perhaps if all goes well, I'll be planning my return for the wedding."

    "If the Lord so blesses us," was the quiet reply.
     
    • Q1 3037 - The Deal
    • Royal Palace
    Roslyn, Eastern Islay
    Arcadia, Royal March
    Arcadian Federation
    8 January 3037


    After the long day of the coronation, Sara-Marie committed to a relatively light working day to recuperate and enjoy the company of her family before they spread out to commands and work across her expanded realms.

    Relatively light, though.

    After a genial lunch with her children and husband and her sister's family (genial despite her nephew Roger proving he hadn't improved with age), Sara-Marie returned to her office for a quiet meeting with one of the foreign attendees of her coronation: Consul Livia O'Reilly.

    Livia stood when she entered, giving the slightest bow, but otherwise standing straight and sloic. Projecting confidence, but the hands were fidgeting under her imperial purple stola undermined the look. “Thank you for the audience, my lady. It was a surprise, and an honour, to be invited.”

    "A deserving honor. From what reports I have heard, you played a critical role in ending slavery in the old Hegemony," Sara-Marie noted. So very young… like I was. Not wanting to make her guest uncomfortable, she averted her eyes from the fidgeting hands and kept them primarily on Livia's face. She was Abby's age, and yet the way things developed in Alphard left this young lady with a significant share of political power. "The end of slavery changes things for our peoples. While some issues have yet to be resolved, I feel we have a chance to establish a stable border and a continuing peace beyond the one your brother agreed to two years ago."

    A wide smile spread over Livia’s face. It seems real enough, but how much was a result of a genuine desire for peace and how much relief at having at least one safe border in a time of war remained to be seen. “We feel the same. And I speak for my father, sister, and daughter as well.”

    "So you do." Sara-Marie laid her hands on her desk. "I will be candid. The matter of Bolan is still the greatest issue between us. As she is my lawfully sworn vassal, I am obligated to uphold Grand Princess Gita's rights to her world. A permanent peace between the Federation and the Principate will need to involve Bolan being settled. I likewise have obligations to the soldiers and officers of Tamarind who agreed to peacefully transfer their allegiances."

    Livia nodded along politely. “I appreciate the honesty. We expected as much. But let me also be candid with you. It will take a long time to break our people of the love of conflict and conquest. Our people bled for those worlds. To give them up, at a time when our revolution at home is just beginning, would give strength to the old patrician families waiting for a chance to remove us from power. I’m sure you would hate to see a return of the old order in the Principate as much as we would. You hold the capital of our ally, the Kashamarkan Antisuyu. Our people would never accept the surrender of worlds, but they might accept an exchange.”

    "I expected as much. And given your reforms I am no longer bound from considering such. Cajamarca's economy would be better served, at the very least, and the higher-ranking family members who refused to become planetary rulers under me might be more interested in a former ally." Sara-Marie considered Duchess Amara, and what she knew of the young woman. "The current Duchess will, I think, be more than willing to abdicate her title if she is permitted to join my nobility here on Arcadia."

    “Of course. I think freedom of movement between the three Kashamarkan zones is the only fair outcome. The collapse and partition have divided too many families. Let them move and trade freely, for as my un- father likes to say, the best guarantor of peace is the loss of money.”

    That brought a titter of laughter from Sara-Marie. "My father groused something to that effect once, under very different circumstances. So, we shall have an exchange of worlds. That leaves another matter. Harsefeld and Oriente." She turned somber. "They played a key role in bringing Marik down, I don't deny, but the way they accomplished that is little different from what they have done here. They treat agreements as little more than tools, to be discarded when it suits them, and my Privy Council has agreed with me that such neighbors cannot be trusted. My allies feel the same way."

    Livia’s mouth twitched and her eyes seemed to sharpen. The hands twitched again as she leaned closer to Sara-Marie. “Once again, I can’t help but agree with everything you’ve said. Even in the darkest days of my uncle and my brother, our legions never touched a civilian target. Never broke a deal with anyone. Never bombarded a military target, even to save our own legionnaires. The question then, is, what are you willing to do about it?”

    This was it, then. The moment. Whatever her own concerns, her own gnawing doubts and worries, it'd come down to this. It was, hrm, her own personal Rubicon to cross. And I have crossed so many these past few years…

    "Our staff has already drawn up the orders and made everything ready, in conjunction with our allies," said Sara-Marie, and she handed a digital tablet to Livia. It was a graphic of the border Arcadia shared with Harsefeld and Oriente, with Harsefeld as the furthest system on the "southeast" side. Multiple arrows linked Arcadian space to the systems along the border, in a pattern that suggested Nova Roma, New Olympia, and Asellus Australis had all been targets until recently. "For diplomatic propriety, we awaited the end of my coronation, and Grand Duchess Eris' departure tonight. By the time her command circuit is taking her home, the first jumps will be taking place."

    Even as she spoke those words Sara-Marie felt a pang of guilt. Eris was about Livia's age, and while colder and far more withdrawn, she couldn't help but feel sympathy for her as well. Yet I have seen the reports, heard her own words. She is a child, but not mine, nothing like Melissa or Abby… nor is Livia, of course. Perhaps Simon is right and I need to watch myself for being overly 'motherly'.

    Livia finally let her facade drop. Her hands stopped twitching and found space on the arms of her chair. The rigidity disappeared a real confidence appeared to take over. “Thank you, Sara-Marie, for being willing to stand with us. I can’t say I have a copy of our own plans at hand, but if you’ll allow my Aedile to run to the Concordia to grab something I need, we can fix that. I’ve enjoyed my time here on Arcadia, perhaps, for the sake of both of our nations, it would be best if I stayed here a while longer. I would like to have more of these chats with you.”

    "You'll be welcome. And it will be important to have a connection between military staff for coordination, if we're to pursue this conflict in common." Sara-Marie glanced over at her noteputer, reminding her of other pressing appointments. Thankfully Lord Alexander already finished a number of the administrative issues to allow coordination with their new allies, as well as the channel of communications with Donegal. "I will have Lord Prestwick draw up the formal treaty, we can sign it tonight. It will be important to report before the operations begin."

    Livia rose from her seat. “Thank you. I know the generations that come after will thank us for standing together.”




    11 January 3037


    A day of state duties continued on until dusk, and it was in those twilight hours that Sara-Marie had an unexpected visitor to her office. She finished signing a state paper and set it aside in time for Grand Princess Gita to enter. The expression on her face was stern but otherwise normal, but her eyes burned furiously. "I just saw my daughter off with her unit," Gita explained. "I know what's going on, Majesty. Instead of using this conflict to liberate my world, you are aiding our conquerors." Her words were spoken softly, but Sara-Marie wasn't fooled. Real heat and fire were underneath them. The Grand Princess of Bolan felt betrayed.

    Without saying a word, Sara-Marie offered a digital tablet to Gita. Gita just about snatched it out of her hand before catching herself in the final moment and making sure to take it rather more gently than planned. Her eyes scanned the text rapidly.

    And then scanned them again.

    She set the tabled back on the desk and settled into a seat. "Bolan is mine again."

    "It is."

    "But not by force. We will not have the satisfaction of driving the conquerors out."

    "I understand that would have been more satisfying." Sara-Marie nodded. "But sometimes victories best come by the pen. Bolan will be your world again, a March capital of the Arcadian Federation."

    "But not the rest of the Principality. They keep that."

    "They do."

    Gita lowered her eyes. "So it is, then. We are back where we started, by the gods' own will." She drew in a short breath. "I will personally inform General Umayr to pass on to our troops. They have regained their homeworld. Some may yet be dissatisfied that it was not through victory… but their loyalty, you will keep. And mine."

    "I would expect no less."

    Nothing more was said. After a few moments to gather her thoughts, Gita left the office, leaving Sara-Marie to her work.
     
    • Q1 3037: Promotions - What Can Be Argued
    • Fort Menelaus
    Atreus City, Ionus Continent
    Atreus
    Arcadian Federation
    3 January 3037


    The officers of the 8th Striker Regiment's 1st Battalion stood at attention while Colonel Andrews, the regimental CO, faced Lt. Colonel Scott Pierce, their CO. While many had a a grudging respect for Pierce, he'd always been strict and never very popular, and as much as he was trying to hide gleeful satisfaction, most of them were as well for the same reason and entirely different motives.

    "Lieutenant Colonel Scott Pierce," began Andrews. "For your years of meritorious service as Commanding Officer of the 1st Battalion, 8th Striker Regiment, the Colonelcy Board has seen fit to authorize your promotion to full Colonel, effective January 1st 3037. Congratulations." Andrews replaced the silver hawk on Pierce's rank lapel with a gold one. "On both your promotion and your reassignment to the Procurement Office. We'll need officers like you making sure we continue to have the best gear the Free March - the Federation - can provide."

    Nobody was in a position to laugh at Andrews' mistake, as most of them had made it too in the two days since the changeover was official. The March-Princess was now High Queen. The Arcadian Free March was the Arcadian Royal Federation, or the Federated Marches… the name seemed to vary sometimes. The AFFM became the AFRF. Their uniforms… were still their uniforms, thankfully (or perhaps not so thankfully). Nevertheless change was here, and it was here to stay, and everyone was still rolling with it.

    "I'm thankful for the chance to command this fine group of MechWarriors," Pierce began. "I'll make sure to do my bit to keep you in the best machines with the best weapons, so that whenever we face a fight, we have the best chance to win it. I'll miss you all."

    Only Major Alex Penton heard the very lowly spoken hiss of "We won't miss you". He didn't need to turn his head to know it was from Captain Dame Danielle Verdes, Knight of the March… now Knight of the Realm, anyway.

    Clearly Pierce hadn't heard her either, as he continued his speech for a short time before finishing the ceremony… well, mostly. There was one bit left. Two, actually.

    "Before we begin the change of command ceremony, we need our other promotion to be settled," Andrews said. "Major Alexander Penton, step forward."

    Alex breathed out and left his place among his company officers, approaching the two men. As he saluted, Pierce replaced his rank insignia as well while Andrews intoned, "Major Alexander Penton, for your years of meritorious service…" Again the Colonelcy Board's authority was invoked, and he was named a lieutenant colonel and commander of the 1st Battalion.

    Andrews didn't need to correct himself this time either.

    Alex felt a flutter at the promotion. Brigadier Sinclair's promise was coming through. Two years and he'd made lieutenant colonel. He had a battalion of MechWarriors under his command. Could I have done this if I'd stayed with JAG? I'm not sure…

    The change of command ceremony took place perfunctorily, and when it was over Pierce received individual farewells from his pilots. Even the ones he'd never won the love of were giving him kind words of departure.

    Until the end anyway.

    Dani and Lieutenant Rebekah Shameel stepped up together. The two were together, at least emotionally, even if legally Shameel being her subordinate bound them never to be more than friends even privately. Becca was quiet and reserved, but there was no denying the smoldering tension in Dani's eyes. "Colonel. Enjoy your new job," Becca said politely.

    Pierce thanked her and offered his hand. Becca took it quietly. Dani did not. "Captain, I'd like to think…"

    "There's nothing to think about. We both know what you did, although I'm not sure why. Whatever you hoped to accomplish, Colonel, all you've done is guarantee that at the end of the year, we're out." WIth that she turned on her heels and stomped away.

    Pierce said nothing until they were out of earshot. "I think she just justified me utterly," he finally remarked, turning his head to Alex. "Don't let them bully you, Colonel. A regiment runs on discipline, respect, it doesn't have room for romances."

    "I always wondered why you deemed to deliberately assure Shameel remained under Verdes' direct command," said Alex. "I think everyone knows what they are to one another…"

    "If you're thinking that's it, no. If Verdes was a man, or Shameel was, I'd still have made the same choice. Assignments should be from merit, not to give an opening for sleeping together." Pierce shook his head. "Keep them in line, Colonel. It'll make things easier."

    "I'll see what I can do," Alex promised, even if he wasn't sure what he was promising. "I never felt comfortable with it, though."

    "Oh?"

    "It felt like you were going out of your way just to spite them. There's a reason the regs only apply it to actual chain of command, I mean."

    "Minimal case there, Colonel, and frankly, they should be tighter." Pierce clearly noted the way that got him a bewildered look, and he confirmed it by sighing. "My wife and I were in the same company when we met. We got married as fellow MechWarriors. Then I got promoted to Lance Lieutenant, and given the lance. Company command after that. Three years, Colonel Penton. Three years and we didn't do anything but act like proper professionals with one another, on and off duty. Then she was re-assigned and we took up where we left off. And let me tell you, I felt that same smoldering anger toward Major Petrovsky that I saw in Captain Verdes' eyes, but he was right, and I'm right. Romance, love, it has no pllace in this line of work. It clouds judgement."

    Alex thought of Rachel. Of what had nearly happened the day of the Fall of Atreus, having her so close… and yet, they hadn't, because it would have been wrong on a number of levels.

    "I'm not blind, Colonel. I know about you and Vallejo, and I know you kept it professional," Pierce remarked. "It's why you're getting the battalion, or I'd have personally brought you before Sinclair to be tossed out of my unit."

    Another good reason why I turned her down. Thinking of Rachel made him very aware of how much he cared for her… how much he loved her. "I'd have betrayed my oath to uphold the laws of the military and Free March, sir… well, Federation now."

    "I'll admit I wasn't sure of you at first, but you won me over during the training, Colonel, and I'm sure you'll do well." Pierce offered his hand again. "Good luck out there."

    Given the things he'd been hearing, and the orders for the 8th to be ready to deploy by the 9th, Alex knew he'd be put to the test soon enough. For the moment he accepted Pierce's hand. "Thank you again, sir."




    After departing the ceremony Dani and Becca went out to lunch in the city. The cuisine on Atreus was quite good, at least, and given the year since the fighting ended locally, the populace was fairly settled in their new role within the Arcadian Federation. Duke Joshua taking charge was proving to make life easier as well, as the local populace saw him as a hero of their interests.

    While waiting for some gyros and hummus, the two women sat outside in the pleasant climate. War damage was mostly gone by this point, and Atreus City was swiftly becoming the major economic center for this entire region. Whatever the prominence of Gienah or McAffe, Atreus was now the second world of the realm, and it showed.

    "So Pierce is gone." Becca sipped at her tea. "You think Penton will do anything different?"

    "He's not the namby-pamby lawyer I thought he'd be, but he's still a rules guy. He won't let it slide." Dani shook her head. "I think nothing changes." She looked Becca's way and her heart fluttered. Two years of celibacy. How do nuns do it?

    Becca smiled wanly at her. "You've got that look in your eyes."

    "Oh?"

    "The 'I want to tear your clothes off and do naughty things' look. It's been in your eyes a lot."

    "Yeah, I can believe that."

    "I still love you, you know. We can love each other without having sex."

    "This isn't about sex!" Dani hissed. The skeptical look that won her made her shrug. "Alright, some of it is. Two years is a long time for me. But it's… I can't kiss you. I can't hold your hand. Even hugging got us a lecture from Pierce! And I'm tired of it. I love you, Becca, and I feel like I've been living a lie for two years now."

    "I know, and I understand." Becca ran a spoon through a bowl of baba ganoush. "But at least we're not light years apart. If that offered spot in the 1st Cuirassiers hadn't been just an offer but an order, I'd be back on Arcadia."

    "Right." It was a small mercy, but it was one. "I think it's time, Becca. Time we made it clear we're done."

    "You don't want to give Penton a chance?"

    "Even if he's not as strict, he's still a lawyer, still believes in the law. He won't let us act against regs, not personal ones anyway."

    "Militia duty's not exactly guaranteed for posting us together either."

    "Yeah, but I'm a 'Knight of the Realm', so that opens doors."

    "Let's at least give Penton a chance first? As a battalion commander, he might be able to arrange us getting the same assignment," Becca said. "Or something compatible. Maybe an instructor role at AMSA for me while you do your engineering classes and work with the local militia, or the Engineering Corps? You passed some of the courses already, with your rank there's probably at least administrative duties you could cover."

    Dani wasn't sure that would work out. And ultimately she wanted out of the AFFM - or AFRF now - completely. The civilian world beckoned, and she'd long decided she was tired of the military life. Militia reserve status was the bona fide way out.

    But at the very least, Becca was right about having Penton on their side. He might help them get a common posting in the reserve, not something on different planets. So we give him a few days to get settled and see him about it all.



    7 January 3037


    Many a holoviewer at Fort Menelaus was tuned to the HPG uplink and the not-quite-live video from Arcadia, showing the crowning of Sara-Marie as HIgh Queen. Alex occasionally glanced at his own office holo-viewer while seeing to paperwork.

    His yeoman, Corporal Karen Fredricton, opened the door. "Colonel, Captain Verdes and Lieutenant Shameel are here to see you."

    Well, they picked some good timing, Alex said, withholding a sigh. I told Pierce I'd keep things organized around here… but I can do it my own way. And I can handle them my own way too. "Have them come in," he said.

    The two women entered the office and saluted. "At ease," he answered, and with his own returned salute bid them to sit. "What can I do for you?"

    "Our eight years of field service time is up by the end of the year, Colonel," Becca said. "We're exercising our right to request transfer out of the line."

    "Can't say I blame you, even though I admit I had hopes for Captain Verdes here as a battalion XO," he admitted. And here we get the result of Pierce being a hardass. Two of the best MechWarriors in the regiment want out.

    Dani shook her head. "It'd only be for the year. We want to move on with our lives."

    Alex considered them both for a moment. "You realize militia service might see you on opposite ends of the Federation, right?"

    "That's why I didn't say no outright," Dani replied. "If you really want me as your XO, I'll do it for the rest of the year, but I'd like your help ensuring we get assignments near each other. Maybe AMSA, since I'll be resuming my engineering studies anyway."

    One year was hardly worth the trouble, which told Alex she was more interested in his help. He was inclined to give it, too. "I'll say yes to that, but you need to know it won't be next year."

    "We reach eight years this summer, Colonel. We're due out."

    "Yes. Under peacetime regulations."

    He watched the two of them put it all together. "We're going into the war?"

    "Just got the orders. We burn out in two days," Alex said. "So we're stuck with one another for a little while longer."

    A bitter look passed between them. "Of course, it had happen to happen this year," Becca sighed.

    "Not a fan of the timing myself, Captain Verdes, but it is what it is," Alex said. "Granted, as my battalion XO, you have your own command unit, while I hope soon-to-be-Captain Shameel is interested in taking your old spot as my personal unit commander. It would mix things up. Change the structure of command in this unit, certainly."

    There was a moment of silence between the two of them, and he almost thought he could see gears turning behind their eyes as they realized what he meant. The regs were tricky on that matter, but in general practice in the service, battalion XOs did not command or indeed have any regular day to day power over their CO's personal command unit. The entire point of the system was the battalion XO led their own command lance, typically in conjunction with the second company of the battalion, and aside from specific battlefield situations, they didn't issue orders to the CO's personal unit.

    In short, they would no longer be in the same direct chain of command as practiced in the unit.

    Pierce would disagree, Alex thought, and so would many others. Practically speaking, the battalion XO was the second in command of the entire unit. But the regs regarding fraternization were written to interpret the ban on direct "day to day" chain of command, not the possibility of command. If it came down to it, he felt he could argue the case before a military court that the fraternization regulations would not apply in this case. He couldn't guarantee winning, but just the fact he could argue the matter helped. Especially given what was going down.

    We might all die soon anyway. "Do you accept?" he asked.

    They swallowed and had that kind of unspoken conversation the truly in-love could have. "Accepted," Dani said quietly, her hand moving to take Becca's in a way she'd not dared to in public for two years.

    "Thank you. I'm going to need you both, because you're smart and we've got a lot of work to do. Now, I'll call Brigadier Sinclair and get the assignment approved, and we'll get the promotion board working on making it official. Just… be a little circumspect when around the others, nothing too egregious, and I'll deal with the LRM fire when it comes in."

    "Thank you, Colonel."

    "Thank me when we live through this, Captain Verdes," Alex sighed. "Thank me then."
     
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