A Skein of Schemes

MechWarrior 5 Origins, Installment 7

Randall N. Bills

A Skein of Schemes

DEFIANCE INDUSTRIES BATTLEMECH FACTORY

MYOO MOUNTAINS

SOUTH WHITMAN, HESPERUS II

RAHNESHIRE, LYRAN COMMONWEALTH

14 APRIL 3009

Sebastian Spears took a careful sip of whisky. The notes of vanilla and a fruity tang lingered as he swallowed, quickly followed by a smooth, smoky finish that left a hint of spice on the tip of his tongue. He closed his eyes, savoring the drink; he’d not opened the bottle in half a decade. But it still sang with the expertise of a knowledgeable distiller on Northwind who loved their craft, backed by millennia of history.

Thoughts of Northwind led him to Ryana Campbell, which spiraled him around to the Cavaliers. A small mercenary outfit, they’d proven far more useful in some of his schemes than expected. And I’ve become more attached to them than I anticipated. He’d recently become aware that they’d had to kill one of their own due to being trapped in machinations unfolding in the Free Worlds League; he’d been saddened to hear it. Yet, he’d been extensively watching that very region of late. It was, after all, why he was having this meeting…

Despite tension in the room, Sebastian deliberately lounged in the overstuffed chair, his tall frame barely fitting. His eyes momentarily roamed the office he’d kept on Hesperus II ever since his fortuitous visit to the Defiance Industries BattleMech Factory back in ’97, compliments of Leutnant-General Wilhelm Mouttheim. He rolled the glass of rich amber liquid between his hands. He didn’t often pull out his best spirits. After all, this Tilman River Cask Finish from 2951 was some of the finest Scottish whisky money could buy—a gift from the Duke of Northwind for some rather unique services rendered several years back. But there were times when the guests required that extra kilometer. Over the top of his glass, Sebastian’s eyes carefully watched the other two occupants of his office as they argued.

“Money makes all things possible,” Countess Alexa McCorkendale said. She wore a casual business suit of white and yellow. On anyone else it might have appeared irreverent, if not flamboyant, but her personality filled the suit even more than her 1.9 meter height. Her brilliant, flashing smile matched her mane of fabulously curly hair. Sebastian had met her several times over the last decade, and she always impressed. Even outside of the fact her uncle was Duke Aleksander McCorkendale, president and CEO of Federated-Boeing Interstellar, the largest manufacturer of DropShips in known space, Alexa was a force all her own. Sebastian carefully kept a placid face, trying not to smile at her plunging neckline. Not that he didn’t notice; they’d tried dating. Once. No, this wasn’t for him at all, but a knife pointed in another direction, at the room’s other occupant.

“There is only knowledge for the sake of knowledge,” Guhal intoned, as though orating a sermon. “We shall find the star, as Prophet Kroeger testified. We will find Paradise. And there, at the feet of the great General Kerensky, who departed from our midst hundreds of years ago because of our unworthiness and unbelief, we shall entrust unto him all the knowledge we have uncovered.” And a tired sermon at that.

If Alexa was the very model of flamboyant, then Guhal was the embodiment of austere. He wore an actual brown homespun robe, with a woolen wrap around the neck, the only spark of color a patch sewn to his breast, showing a sun with deep blue rays of light. The man sat on his chair as though on needles; Sebastian had ensured the most luxurious chair in the building was brought in and placed where Guhal would have to take it. The glass of whisky Sebastian had given the man sat untouched on the edge of the small glass table between them. Such a crime! Guhal studiously averted his gaze while talking with Alexa, his voice filled with the tension of his form. God, Sebastian loved needling the uptight prick. Especially the way this adherent of the One Star Faith treated women—not that Alexa needed any help handling the man, of course. But if Sebastian could make Guhal more uncomfortable while Alex handily dismantled him, he was glad to play his part.

“How’s that search going for your one true star, dearie?” Alexa said, smiling heavily before taking a long, loud drink of whisky from her own glass. She then let out a belch that made Guhal wince and lean away as though smelling something distasteful.

Sebastian had mingled among the nobility on far-off New Avalon while this shark of a woman worked those waters with the prim and proper elegance of a staunch traditionalist. That she would give him, a mere commoner—despite his own wealth and connections—the time of day spoke volumes. And you work a whole different set of rules here, just as smoothly. Now and then he regretted that there’d only been one date.

“The Grand Council has decided it is once more time for migration,” Guhal said through gritted teeth. “We shall leave the District of Donegal and head toward the Bolan Province. The Duke of Halfway has graciously consented to allow our pilgrimage so that we may continue our hunt.”

“Yikes. How many DropShips will that require? And you’ll ultimately need a few JumpShips to secure for such a large-scale migration, right,” Alexa continued, her voice quizzical. “That’s sure gonna take a lot of money.”

“Each member of the faith is required to tithe. And many who know the value of our search donate funds.”

“You mean tax write-offs, right?”

“Knowledge is for—”

“Oh, please. I don’t care what you do or believe. But it takes money. I joined Interstellar Expeditions to find lost knowledge. Just like you, Guhal, before you donned that silly getup and joined the One Star Faith. But it takes money. We have to sell at least some of the artifacts we find.”

“Knowledge is for—”

“Enough,” Sebastian said, cutting the insufferable man off. Cannot believe I have to deal with the likes of him. He sighed heavily, knowing he’d continue to deal with him, and dozens more like him, if it meant safeguarding and rediscovering the lost knowledge of mankind. “How many times do you both have to argue over the semantics? That’s not why we’re here.”

Alexa smiled, raised a glass in acquiescence, but the gleam in her eye relinquished nothing.

“You imperil the organization with your actions,” Guhal spoke, turning fully to look at him. He’s got, what, three PhDs, including anthropology! How in the world can this man be so smart and connected and yet not be able to look a woman in the face?! Sebastian wondered at the hypocrisy: adherents to the One Star Faith forsook riches and often cloistered themselves away from nonbelievers so they could focus on finding their One Star, but despite Guhal’s newfound faith, he still worked with IE to advance its causes and amass personal wealth. Then again, the High Elders of your Grand Council probably have no idea you still work with us, do they?

“I really, really hate to agree with Guhal,” Alexa said, “but he’s right, Sebastian. IE is about archaeological digs and lost science. And brushing away the grime and bringing knowledge back.”

“Of course it is,” Sebastian responded easily. “But most people don’t care what we’ve lost. We’ve already burned humanity to a low ebb over centuries of war. And they’ll keep us burning. Much less ComStar, who hoards their ancient Star League secrets and punishes the rest of us if we dare ask any questions.”

“ComStar is exceptionally dangerous,” Guhal said, more gravely than before. “You must be careful there.”

“Dammit, Guhal, stop making me agree with you,” Alexa said. “But seriously, Sebastian, stop trying to save the humanity from the Great Houses. We save the knowledge. That should be enough. Besides, what can we possibly do? The universe is what is, we just live it. Well, and make some money while trying to save the past. We can do that.”

“And if I prove that IE can make a difference?” Sebastian asked. “Even just a small one?”

Alexa laughed, tossing off the last of her whisky like it was swill at a cheap bar. “I know you’ve got your machinations, Sebastian. We all do. And maybe, just maybe, if you bring us something, we’ll change our minds.” The smile left her face, eyes growing as cold as Guhal’s, who surprisingly nodded in agreement. “But if you endanger us with your crusades, I will bring down hellfire on you, and none of your connections or wealth or schemes will save you.”

Sebastian nodded, knowing she spoke truth. But he had no choice. He had to try, regardless of the consequences.

ZI-JIN CHENG, SIAN

SIAN COMMONALITY, CAPELLAN CONFEDERATION

3 JANUARY 3010

Madame Chandra Ling, Director of the Maskirovka, the most feared intelligence agency across a thousand-plus light-years of colonized space, stood quietly, awaiting her master’s whim. She used her small, slight size to great effect on others. But here in her master’s chambers, there was no hiding, as his spidery eyes cut through any layer. The older woman kept her chin up but did not hide the tiredness that weighed her shoulders down over a lifetime of diligence to the star empire she faithfully served. To the Capellan Confederation. To House Liao. To its Chancellor. To the Celestial Wisdom of the Known Universe, Maximilian Liao.

Staring up the jade steps to the dais, she always marveled at the skill of the artisan from centuries past who had crafted the huge throne of this masterpiece of Capellan excellence. Carved from a single piece of Ningpo mahogany, the throne displayed various Capellan mythological symbols, haloing the Chancellor ensconced there. Tall and slender, Maximilian rested his calmly clasped fingers on his formal robes, which were all black except the silver of the House Liao crest over his heart. He brooded over a holo projection of the Inner Sphere from over two centuries before, which floated above the steps. At the height of the Star League, and the zenith of House Liao power, 432 star systems fell under their control. Now, a mere 200 years later, 144 years into the Third Succession War, during which all five Great Houses fought to re-forge the lost Star League, the once-mighty Capellan Confederation had been reduced to only 209 worlds, with most of its military a shadow of its former might. Wedged between the vastly larger empires of the Federated Suns and the Free Worlds League, House Liao relied on the only arrow left in its quiver: machinations. Entrust Director Ling’s Maskirovka to unleash chaos in the darkest corners of their enemies’ realms.

She carefully ascended several steps and leaned over to power off the holo projector. Maximilian shifted his gaze to bore into hers as she calmly accepted the rebuke. His steel-gray eyes were cunning as ever, but she caught a glimpse of something that scared even her. Something that percolated to the surface more often of late. There was darkness in those depths. Brilliance that would’ve made Niccolò Machiavelli green with jealously. But she worked hard to redirect those growing streaks of blackness.

“Celestial Wisdom,” she crooned. “Your brilliance proceeds apace. New reports from worlds within both Houses Marik and Davion show continued unrest is growing.” All men need their egos stroked, but some more than others. “And while dissatisfied Davion nobles still appear aloof from more direct actions, the Duke of Procyon makes himself more receptive to your influence. Anton Marik, the brother of the Captain-General of the Free Worlds League, may yet fall into your august hands.”

He continued to stare at her as the silence stretched. She hated meeting him here in the large throne room. She especially hated the Death Commandos hidden along the walls, listening to sensitive issues not meant for their ears. It didn’t matter that Maximilian could crook a finger and they would fall on their blades instantly. She disliked that such a potent force did not fall under her direct control. And she hated not being in control; she had spent her entire life ensuring such things never happened. Even the Celestial Wisdom was not beyond her control. She took in the brooding eyes once more. Well, not completely. She needed to exert some influence over the Commandos.

“To expand our efforts, however,” she continued, “we must increase the funding of the Maskirovka. If your agents are to keep the beasts outside our walls at bay, we must ever grease men’s avarice with the best lubricant. What’s more, I would ask for your illustrious permission to secretly deploy a force of Death Commandos to Emris IV. The Duke of Procyon has spent years wooing worlds from the Protectorate to his cause, and that would serve to further our own plans through Anton. Yet Emris IV has stood resolutely in his way, loyal still to Janos Marik. As occurred so successfully on McKenna, some pirate attacks the League cannot prevent—or perhaps will not, we’ll carefully insinuate—should lean the populace more fully behind Anton.” And start the process of carefully settling my leash on your Commandos.

The steel-gray eyes held hers for long moments more and she wondered if she’d pushed too hard, this time. The Death Commandos, after all, were the creation of Maximilian’s father and were quickly redefining what it meant to be fanatical, even within a House obsessed with loyalty. But the Chancellor’s visage slowly changed, as though fully seeing and hearing her for the first time since she had arrived. Confidence rang from his countenance.

“House Liao will yet rise,” Maximilian said, conviction resounding in every word. “You have my approval. Your agents have full authority for whatever actions they deem necessary, whether within the State or without. And a portion of my Commandos will be temporarily placed under your command.”

She’d been in his presence when he’d ranted and raved, his anger quicksilver and difficult to predict. But this calm, cool, and infinitely capable Maximilian—she would walk through all nine hells to follow him. She bowed deeply, heart in her throat, then turned away to lay more webs and pull ever harder at the strings to topple their enemies. To help House Liao rise again.

COMSTAR FIRST CIRCUIT COMPOUND

HILTON HEAD ISLAND, NORTH AMERICA, TERRA

21 FEBRUARY 3010

“The Peace of Blake be with you,” Primus Julian Tiepolo said, as a man entered the small, secret room hidden within the bowels of the First Circuit Compound. Julian settled himself in a chair at a small table and adjusted his dun-colored robes, pulling his hands deeper into the voluminous sleeves to ward against the cold. He’d thought of keeping his hood raised to protect his bald pate, but knew the man sitting down across from him would take him lowering the hood as a sign of respect. As he should.

“And His Wisdom with you, Primus,” Precentor ROM Vesar Kristofur responded, completing the necessary ritual greetings. As appropriate for the head of one of the most potent intelligence agencies in the Inner Sphere, he was unassuming and average in every way, from his build, to his short hair, even to the thin, pedestrian mustache. Eyes naturally skipped over this man in a crowd.

“How much longer do you have?” Julian asked. Steepled his fingers to tap them gently against his narrow chin.

“The Duke of Procyon does not expect me back for another three months. Traveling to the Periphery to say goodbye to my dear, dying mother does take almost half a year. He was very gracious with his words.”

Julian smiled, though he never let it reach his piercing brown eyes. “I do not believe I’ve heard gracious words from Anton Marik before.”

Both men shared that smile of disdain for the power-hungry man they had manipulated with ease.

“In only five years undercover you’ve become a direct aid to Anton. Impressive,” Julian said. The carrot.

Vesar nodded acceptance at the compliment. “But it’s not enough.”

“It’s not. Our C-bill continues to devalue compared to the League’s M-bill, despite my emergency measures.”

“And there’s the Dragoons problem.”

“Exactly,” Julian responded. And now the stick. “The disappearance of Wolf’s Dragoons for ten months last year demonstrated ROM’s continued inability to infiltrate—much less follow—these mercenaries. But their return ten months later, restocked with a vast cargo of supplies and parts, including brand-new BattleMechs we’ve never seen? They must have access to an ancient Star League lostech cache buried in the Periphery. That simply cannot stand. How are we to safeguard mankind’s knowledge, and direct them as Blake would have us, with such a wildcard on the table? There is only so much influence I can wield in the First Circuit to keep you in your position when such failures mount. A new solution must be found.”

Julian spotted the anger buried in Vesar’s eyes—whether against the Dragoons, himself, or the First Circuit, Julian could not tell—but the precentor took the stinging rebuke well. “I agree,” Vesar said, nodding. “Hence why I came in person. Anton is the key to all of this.”

“You’re referring to Chancellor Liao’s covert talks with Anton.”

“I am. The Maskirovka has been spending a fortune to foment rebellion and anti-Captain-General sentiments on dozens of Free Words League border worlds. And he’s been courting Anton, as far as we can tell, since ’03.”

Julian knew where Vesar was going but let him take the lead. He needs to believe that. He nodded for him to continue.

“While the Chancellor’s machinations have been impressive, and Anton’s anger at his brother and greed for power is rampant, I’m not sure our goal will be achieved without a finger on the scale. Those two Houses have warred for centuries, and setting such legacy aside…I’m not convinced even Anton would be so foolish. Yet I already have his ear. I can place that finger very carefully, ensuring a path of our choosing.”

Julian settled his bony fingers onto the table to amplify the dramatic moment, ignoring the cold leaching away what little heat his cadaverously thin body managed to maintain. “Civil war.”

“Exactly. We’ll reach out to the Chancellor, offering both he and Anton our neutrality to aid in brokering a final deal. Anton has already started quietly moving combat commands more loyal to the Captain-General out of his region of power, but he’s not crossed the Rubicon yet. Despite the Chancellor’s crafty offer of his daughter Candace as a potential bride, along with a bevy of cash to support civil war, Anton still hesitates.”

“Ah, the Dragoons.” Julian made it sound as though he’d just arrived at the understanding.

The greed for more power gleamed darkly in Vesar’s eyes. “Exactly. Again, it will take time. The Dragoons just signed a contract with House Liao, after all. But if we can convince the Chancellor to sign over the Dragoons’ contract to Anton, that could be the key to unlock civil war.”

“Such conflicts are notoriously hard on the forces involved.”

“Let alone the House. The League’s economy will be shattered, propelling the C-bill ascendant once more.”

“And the damage dealt to the Dragoons should finally allow your agents to infiltrate the outfit and dig up their secrets.”

The two men shared a long moment. After the fall of the Star League long ago, ComStar’s duty had not only been to run the massive interstellar communication network of hyperpulse generators that tied the Inner Sphere together, but also to protect mankind from itself. Which usually entailed economic, political, and communications-interdiction pressures at appropriate junctures. But now and then, that protection required secretly punishing the children and taking away the toys they were not yet ready to handle. Today was the start of such a punishment.

“With your permission, I will present this plan to the First Circuit,” Vesar said. “With your blessing, I am sure it will be approved.”

Julian Tiepolo, Primus of ComStar, nodded gravely to the other man. Let him believe he’s the sole author of this endeavor. Let them all believe it. If it succeeds, the Will of Blake be done. And if it fails, the noose will fit around Vesar’s throat.

MI4 TRAINING FACILITY

LOCATION UNKNOWN

FEDERATED SUNS

28 FEBRUARY 3010

Standing ramrod straight in his office, a roaring fire at his back, Marshal Ulinov Debreber read the large, bright letters on the dossier once more:

alpha prime priority clearance

dmi marshal only

immediate action required

He felt its edges, the plasticized cardstock smooth against his fingertips, as though he might better discern the paths forward. His eyes slipped past the heavy paneling behind his desk, to the large portrait of First Prince Ian Davion, ruler of the massive Federated Suns and its over 500 inhabited star systems that owed him fealty. Despite the gloom of the room—when in the depths of troubled thoughts, Ulinov liked the dark, lit fitfully by a fire—he could still make out the exceptionally large man in the painting, with a matching nose and long face, filling the frame to bursting. As he did in life. It was joked (carefully!) that only a 100-ton Atlas could support the man’s frame and personality. The wonderful aroma of burning cedar filled the air, the pop and crackle of the bursting sap a soothing sound to the strain within. Have I chosen treason, my liege?

“When do I depart?” Hannah spoke.

Ulinov looked back at the young woman across from him, her long, dark hair blending well with the black jumpsuit that fit her slight frame like a glove. Many years in the past, he might have been the equal of this agent, but now she could break him with a thumb. He’d just managed to keep MI6’s Rabid Foxes—House Davion spec-ops teams—from poaching Hannah from his own MI4 Covert Operations Division. Her field tests were almost legendary, even reaching beyond this ultra-secret Department of Military Intelligence training facility to the other such facilities hidden within the Federated Suns. Yet her mind matched that physicality wonderfully, making her a master of recruiting and running moles. She’d had great success over the last half decade in the Draconis Combine. It’s why she’d been selected for this assignment.

“You’ve been fully briefed?” he finally spoke, gravelly voice easily filling the room.

“Of course. I’m to join the Covert Operations team from the Ministry of Information, Intelligence, and Operations,” she responded, always formal and exacting in his presence. “They will direct me as I infiltrate the Duke of Procyon’s staff in the Free Worlds League and determine whether further seeds of sedition can be sown. I’ve studied the documents provided extensively. The ground is very fertile.”

It wasn’t that he distrusted his civilian counterparts in the MIIO. He just knew his Stealthy Foxes were better agents, and Captain Hannah would ensure the mission’s success.

“And what is paramount to that mission?”

“We cannot be discovered.”

“That is more critical than any other aspect.”

She held his eyes, slowly nodding, understanding exactly what he was carefully saying by calling out what normally would be assumed. After all, even here, buried in the most secret base in all of House Davion, he answered to other masters; the holovid recorder always flowed.

He snapped a salute. “Godspeed.”

“Thank you, sir,” she responded, saluting, and slipped out the door.

If Ulinov weren’t expecting it, he would not have heard that heavy paneling slide open as another man entered the room. He turned to find the smiling face of Duke Hanse Davion, Ian Davion’s younger brother. In the twisting shadows of the firelight, the other man’s large smile and gleaming eyes reminded him of a fox.

“That went well,” Hanse said confidently.

Despite his formal posture, Ulinov shifted slightly with unease. A move the other man easily picked up. You miss nothing, do you, Prince Davion.

“You are still worried about my brother?”

“He has not given official sanction to this action.”

Hanse eased closer, reaching out and placing a large hand—though not nearly as large as Ian’s—on his shoulder, and squeezed gently. “Marshal, I am loyal to my brother. I love my First Prince. I would see him married and spawning a gaggle of scions that will follow him on the throne. But he is a man of action. He has always led from the front. And you know he’s begun his secret journey to far-off Tharkad and the seat of the Lyran Commonwealth to see if perhaps an alliance may be forged between our two Great Houses.” Hanse shook his head, chuckling softly. “My brother is so good at war. I never imagined he might be good at peace.”

He squeezed Ulinov’s shoulder more firmly, smile falling away, eyes growing intense. “Regardless, he has never been good at the shadows. You know the dangers we face. The Haseks grow ever more powerful in the Capellan March, balking at Ian’s rule from New Avalon, while Maximilian’s Maskirovka spends C-bills like water to aid the Haseks with unrest throughout that march, all while furthering their causes in the Free Worlds League. And the Dragon remains ever ready to rend us if we are not forever vigilant along the Draconis March as well. We need to get ahead of this. If ol’ Max actually manages to trick the League into a civil war, we need to ensure that noose is also around his neck. I have always watched my brother’s back. And in this, I do so again. There is no treason here, Marshal Debreber. There is only a duke and a marshal doing their duty to safeguard the First Prince and the Federated Suns, from enemies without and within, using every tool at our disposal.”

Ulinov slowly nodded ascent. God, I hope so, my duke.

IRIAN TECHNOLOGIES

IRIAN

FREE WORLDS LEAGUE

10 OCTOBER 3010

Sebastian Spears sat comfortably at a desk, the sun mostly blocked by darkened visors on the large windows of his corner office that looked out onto the massive industrial complex of Irian Technologies. During his first few weeks in this room, all those years ago, he’d often perched on a stool, looking out over that glory of mankind’s penchant for constructing on a grand scale. And while he still appreciated the view now and then—last week he’d watched a massive cargo airship drop in supplies from a far-off continent—it was the eight monitors mounted to his left that captivated his attention.

One screen indicated that the mission to the Stratford system in House Davion had failed to uncover anything. Surprising, really, considering the world was used for extreme-environment training by the long-lost Star League Defense Force, and served as home to XVII Corps. Perhaps they might try a second expedition on a later date, to verify the first hadn’t missed anything. For now, he touched the screen to indicate final payment to the small merc outfit involved, and swiped it out of view to be archived.

The next screen displayed updates that another mercenary outfit, escorting their archaeologists, recently made planetfall on the world of Liezen, in the Draconis Combine. Centuries-old shipping transcripts indicated that the 183rd Royal Mechanized Infantry Division withdrew from the Rim Worlds Republic following Richard Cameron's Birthday Proclamation. The division was relocated to the then-Lyran world of Liezen. However, 80 percent of the 183rd’s equipment never made it from the Republic to their new duty station. Official statements blamed either a misjump or corrupt shipping cartels, but the truth was never found. A perfect lead for tracking down a lostech find.

The next monitor contained an update from a team tracking the disappearance of Clinton’s Cutthroats. No new details there in almost two years. His hand hovered near the screen, on the verge of terminating the contract and resigning the mission to the archive. But instead, he decided to give them six more months.

Another screen held details he’d discuss shortly, as soon as Nikolai and Chloe arrived. But the last few screens brought a frown to his usually open face, his bright eyes dimming with concern. The first ticked down a checklist of details showcasing the deteriorating circumstances surrounding Anton Marik and his relationship with his brother, Captain-General Janos Marik. Even in meetings with IrTech executives, the words “civil war” hovered in the air, unspoken. It was bad for business. Bad for the potential loss of even more knowledge they couldn’t afford to lose. Bad for everyone. Except for those that would profit.

His hands traced across the screens: ComStar, House Liao, House Davion. He felt confident they’d tagged a ComStar agent among the duke’s staff. Probably just a lowly ROM runner, but the rank was irrelevant to how much damage ComStar could inflict. He’d spent a lifetime digging into ancient records. And while ComStar might be the most secretive organization ever spawned in the Inner Sphere, enough diligence and care could tweeze out bits of information. And if even a quarter of what he surmised were true, ComStar was far more diabolical than any Great House imagined.

His eyes moved to the crest of House Liao: an upraised arm holding a sword, within a downward-pointing triangle. Unlike ComStar, he’d pieced together large portions of the Maskirovka’s hand in actions on dozens of worlds, both within the Free Worlds League and the Federated Suns. The Capellan agents were not so much secretive as they were extremely adept and dangerous, quick to eliminate any threat. He knew Chancellor Liao’s hand attempted to attach puppet strings to Anton. But it appeared Sebastian had some luck, there. A scrap of intel from one of his sources on Sian. A name. Emris IV. He wasn’t exactly sure what it meant, but it was the best lead he’d snagged from that mole yet. However, if he moved on that world, would he tip his hand to Chandra Ling, the leader of the Maskirovka, and cost himself a valuable asset that could tie back to him? Where did the value lie?

Finally, House Davion. He didn’t have a shred of evidence they were operating near the Duke of Procyon. But they’d proven to be some of the most astute Successor Lords, the sheer size of their realm evidence enough of such acumen. And while Ian Davion was a hammer, his brother, Hanse, was another man altogether. Sebastian’s gut told him they were involved. But could he do anything about it?

A knock came at the door, and he blanked out most of the screens. “Come in,” he called out in an easy, confident manner. He flowed to a standing position like a dancer, despite his age, and welcomed Captain Chloe Reed and Nikolai Mason as they entered his office.

“My friends,” he said, “it is good to see you. Please, come in and sit down. I have that new contract we discussed.”

He waved them towards their seats before settling back in his own. There was the expected darkness in their eyes, since Dawson Clarmont had been killed. And the way of it, killed—albeit accidentally—by Nikolai himself. Tension now hung between Sebastian and the Cavaliers MechWarriors. He knew he had to approach this carefully or he might lose them. He decided to go straight for the contract.

Sebastian tapped on the monitor. “We know the Sixty-seventh BattleMech Division of Nineteen Corps was stationed on Emris IV. We also know several members of the command were court-martialed in 2763 for years of stealing materials from the StarCorps Industries factory in Ivanograd, as well as the Holly Industries factory. They never found those missing supplies, as far as our research can ascertain. You’ll be assigned—”

“This smacks of McKenna,” Nikolai said darkly.

“Did you know about the politics of that region, Sebastian? Did you know we could get trapped there?” Chloe asked evenly, eyes probing.

“You know as well as I that there is always a chance for local and regional politics to—”

“Stop that, Sebastian,” Chloe said. “You’re being evasive. Keeping secrets. And your secrets cost us Dawson’s life. And lost us Brooklynn! If we’re going to stay in your employ, there can be no more lies. No more stories. Just give us a straight answer. We’ve earned that.” The pain for the price they’d paid was still fresh and new.

Sebastian wondered if the moment he’d been waiting for was at hand; he was honestly sympathetic to that price paid. So he proceeded carefully. “First, I’ve been up front with you since you signed that first contract with me a half decade ago. Interstellar Expeditions is in fact about guarding knowledge. But, there are…other things afoot. Other places where we try to influence events, hopefully for the better. For example, in your final years with the Eridani Light Horse, several stocks returned dividends far in excess of expectations.”

“I knew it!” Nikolai blurted.

But Chloe’s faced shifted from shock through anger and into understanding. “You were looking over our shoulders even back then?”

“I felt you would be a good investment. But us becoming friends? Well, that was…unexpected.” And he meant every word.

Chloe slowly nodded as the full import of his statement struck home, that the Cavaliers owed Sebastian far more than they had ever imagined. And he’d never asked for anything more than their contract stipulated. Except, perhaps, right now.

“If I’m going to give up further secrets, then we will exchange. Chloe, I know you’ve secrets. Powerful secrets I could use to further IE’s goals. My goals. Perhaps we can both open up, placing our inner selves on the table, so to speak?”

Stony silence returned, and he watched Chloe and Nikolai look at one another for a long moment, before her husband turned away and Chloe faced him once more. “If you want my secrets, I deserve yours,” Chloe demanded emphatically.

Out of the corner of his eye, Sebastian noted Nikolai on the verge of saying something, but then sitting back. In many ways, he and Nikolai had grown more as friends than as contractor-and-contracted, despite his first encounter with Chloe through lostech consults. But Nikolai wisely didn’t cross his wife.

Sebastian’s secrets ran deep, and he had only to decide how many layers he needed to peel back to earn reciprocity from Chloe. He nodded acquiescence, taking a long drink of water. A few kernels of truth to dig deeper into Chloe was worth it. Especially since that might eventually lead to Nikolai himself. You’ve depths even deeper than Chloe, don’t you, my friend?

“My parents immigrated to Telos IV from Rasalhague before I was born,” he began. “And even as a child, I was fascinated with the Star League—a Golden Age filled with technology that we can barely imagine, much less understand. And Telos IV was home to one of the titanic Castle Brian complexes at the height of the Star League. Obviously it had been destroyed during the war to oust the Usurper who toppled the League, and its bones had been picked over for centuries. But in the shards of crumbling walls and caverns and partially filled rooms, I discovered adventurous afternoons that would spark a lifetime commitment.” He settled deeper into his chair, the memories washing over him as he relived the awe and excitement of those halcyon days.

“Barely a teenager, I ran away from home and soon found myself in the work of a prospector. I begged him to take me on as an apprentice as I swabbed every deck of his DropShip twice a week and brought him his sake every night. He primarily operated in Algedi Prefecture in the Draconis Combine. The lion’s share of Terran Hegemony and Star League relics that might be found in House Kurita are located in those star systems. As the years progressed I learned half a dozen languages, archaeology skills, the ability to negotiate—both with formal and black-market contacts—and how to employ the occasional violence, when necessary.” He smiled at Chloe and Nikolai’s reaction to that last statement. His prim-and-proper older-man image didn’t exactly lend credence to the idea, but he’d had to stick a knife in a few people in his day.

“I’d hoped the Combine would celebrate the treasures in its lands. Instead, provided you were certified and registered with the Ministry of Well-Being of the Land and the Peoples, and paid your taxes—call them what they are, hefty bribes—the Draconis Combine Mustered Soldiery didn’t care what you plundered and carried off. Those artifacts should’ve been placed in museums and universities to enrich all our lives and draw back the dark curtain caused by the loss of technology over the Succession Wars. But instead, they were sold off to private collectors for vast sums of money.” He’d long ago set aside the anger of youth for the pragmatic get-the-job-done of a well-worn man, but the echoes of outrage still graced his tone. He was self-aware enough to smile deprecatingly. “Obviously I still have strong feelings.”

“Then along came Interstellar Expeditions?” Nikolai asked.

“Right.” Sebastian took another long drink after talking so much. “I was only in my twenties when they recruited me.” He chuckled. “A secretive organization whose goal was to find and preserve lost knowledge and technology? They practically had me at ‘hello.’”

“And why have we never met anyone else from IE?”

He took a moment to empty the glass of water. How much more do I say, Chloe? How much more do you need to open up yourself? “Well, we don’t really have a leadership as most organizations would understand it. But within my sphere of influence, there’s really not that many more people above me. And I’ve always liked taking a hands-on approach.”

“And does IE pay for all of this, or is that Irian?”

“Oh, IE could easily pay for all of this. But there’s a certain…decorum we attempt to keep among those at my level. Having IE pay for it would be so gauche.”

He smiled at Nikolai’s sour face and Chloe’s incredulous look. “It’s hard to explain. Some of us are nobles, many are not. And the interaction of those groups can be…testy, to say the least. Keeping money out of the equation as we try to work together toward our common goals is important.”

“And Irian…?” Nikolai pushed.

Sebastian shook his head. “Good heavens, no. IE would never allow one such as I to be beholden to a transnational corporation of such power. Let’s just say we have a mutually beneficial relationship that’s been very lucrative for both of us.”

“So how did you come by your wealth?” Chloe asked. “And what is IE’s real goal?”

Even Nikolai winced at her directness. Then again, that was one of her best qualities.

Sebastian smiled, holding up his hands. “As I said, I’ve been up front with you. Guarding knowledge is our calling. As for the second part, well, I do believe that’s a story for another day. I’ve given you more than I’ve given most in my life.” He nodded to both Chloe and Nikolai as near equals. He did in fact very much like the two of them. Didn’t mean he wasn’t going to use them for his own ends, though. It just meant a few more sleepless nights to survive, and in the balance, he was willing to pay.

Sebastian watched Chloe closely as she closed her bright green eyes, and her fingers twirled the JumpShip-shaped pendant around her neck. You’re trying to figure how many layers to peel back. How many of my layers exchanged for yours, Chloe?

“I was born on Terra,” Chloe began, reluctance painted large on her face, though she continued looking off to the side. “My parents told me I was pulling things apart to look inside them before I’d even learned to talk.” She shrugged. “I’ve always had an affinity for technology.”

Sebastian shared a look with Nikolai. “Savant” is the word to use.

“And my parents, as good members of the ComStar Order, had me tested. I was fostered by the time I was ten. By fourteen I was a darling of their Science and Research branch, experimenting with hidden Star League technologies. I even started to train as a MechWarrior.”

“Wait,” Sebastian said. “Why were you training as a MechWarrior? ComStar doesn’t have an army.” That we know of…

“It helped me better understand the technology I was trying to decipher. As for an army, I’ve no idea.” Her eyes flickered over to Sebastian, and then away, as though uncomfortable with the whole situation.

From the corner of his eye he watched Nikolai shift uncomfortably as well and look away. At some point she told you her deepest secrets. And you feel guilty. You’ve secrets you still haven’t told her, don’t you, my friend? Someday I will dig those out.

“I’m not sure I ever really believed their pseudo-religious babble,” Chloe went on, “but as my expertise and understanding expanded, it all turned to lunacy. Their mumbo jumbo, their trappings, their ostentation, their ‘Peace of Blake be with you.’ Unfortunately, I take Saint Blake’s name in vain all of the time. Can’t help my own upbringing, after all. But from my own research, I’m pretty sure he’d be horrified with all of that crap.”

“We’ve our own recordings of most of his life,” Sebastian said smoothly. “And I believe you’re right.”

Chloe continued as though he’d not spoken. “But I was their darling. No way would ComStar let me go. They’d as soon kill me as do that. So it took years. And years. I had to slowly lose my touch. Weeks became months, and months dragged into years. ‘Blessed Adept Reed’ had lost her magic, they’d say about me. And then I became an embarrassment. And finally a nuisance. For five years I hid myself and carefully dragged out a persona that might let me reach a freedom beyond their cult. And finally, like an ugly, unwanted redheaded stepchild, they pushed me off Terra after letting me know I’d be killed if I ever said anything. At that point it was an afterthought. They never saw me as anything but a broken woman.”

Sebastian sympathized with the echoes of pain still filling her voice, despite the years gone and all of the successes since. The arrows we’re all heir to leave a thousand cuts, Chloe.

She pulled in a shuddering breath and blew it our explosively, far out of proportion to her small frame. “Blake’s Blood, that actually felt good to tell someone beyond Nikolai.”

“Especially if he means such knowledge might be used to blunt ComStar?”

“Not stop them?” Nikolai spoke up.

Both looked at him before Chloe broke into peals of laughter that echoed off the office walls. His face, never open, closed down even more as he hunched his shoulders. “What?”

“I’m sorry, my love,” Chloe finally said, still trying to keep her mirth under control.

“I’m not sure you understand the power of ComStar, Nikolai,” Sebastian said, stepping in. “I’ll have my people digging out every last data point Chloe has trapped in that magnificent brain of hers, and we’ll put it to very good use. But ComStar has been manipulating the five Great Houses for more than two centuries. They are cruel, ruthless, manipulative, and exceptionally good at what they do. More importantly, they’re true believers. That may make them more dangerous than anything else. So I am truly honored and grateful by Chloe’s trust. I hope we can somehow use her knowledge to curtail their manipulation of Anton. And perhaps elsewhere. But as others forcefully reminded me, we are carefully maneuvering pawns among a chessboard filled with rooks, knights, and queens. We have to move with the utmost caution if we are to have a chance at unraveling even one of their many threads.”

“So where does that leave us?” Nikolai asked.

“Right back to where we began this night of sharing secrets. Emris IV.”

“Because we’re one of your pawns,” Chloe stated matter-of-factly.

Sebastian looked at both of them and decided on another level of truth. “Yes. Yes, you are. Because you’re less than a company in strength, with enough cred to leave alone but not enough to take too seriously, working for a bunch of do-gooder hippies with too much money, trying to save some old dusty books. We’ve used that trope for many decades, and it still works wonderfully well. You’re a wallflower no one even looks at, even when you’re sitting on the edge of battle. I’ve read history books that ignore the presence of a lance or two in the employ of the Interstellar Expeditions because we cannot possibly have an effect, especially when we refuse to display the colorful rags of one lord or another.”

Chloe smiled slightly at the strong emotion that crept into his voice. “And how do you really feel about that?”

He chuckled once more. “I am rather passionate about my vocation. I do want to save those dusty tomes. And if we can stave off some of the worst tendencies of humanity, I’m glad to tackle the task and remain in the shadows after the fact.”

A companionable silence engulfed the three as a new level of friendship unlocked. They were still mercenaries and he the employer, and there were still secrets and still pain. But for the moment, there was something more in the room, and they savored it, knowing Nikolai and Chloe would all too soon be off to prepare the Cavaliers for liftoff. And Sebastian knew one more thing, that despite this new friendship, he would use Chloe relentlessly to achieve his goals: she always did what she felt was right.

“Sebastian, we’re on board,” Chloe finally spoke up. “But our last pirate hunt was horribly aggravating, to say the least. I’ve an idea of how we might remedy that, but we’ll need to negotiate some extra funds to cover the assets.”

Sebastian smiled. “Let’s hear it.”

PLAINS OF IVANOGRAD

SNOWDEN, EMRIS IV

THE PROTECTORATE, FREE WORLDS LEAGUE

2 JANUARY 3011

The darkness came alive as scintillating beams of PPCs and energy weapons slashed superheated furrows through the air. Metal sloughed off BattleMechs in sizzling droplets, spattering the dirty ground while the Cavaliers sought to find targets in the inky darkness of a moonless night—a feat made all the more difficult due to the heavy iron-ore contents of the surrounding lands playing havoc with magscans while the hot, rain-soaked, early summer weather hampered standard radar. A flashing strobe of illuminated PPC fire allowed a visual image of a BattleMech to be caught on a battleROM. Painted dead black, without a hint of insignia, the 50-ton Hunchback was caught in mid stride, the massive autocannon in its right torso blazing.

Ryana Campbell’s fists slowly clenched with anger. Standing in the command bridge of the Cavaliers’ Leopard-class DropShip, a half dozen kilometers from where the fighting had broken out, she realized that despite the years, she desperately wished to be at the helm of her beloved Claidheamh-mór—“claymore” in Scottish Gaelic—taking the fight directly into the teeth of these pirates. After all, 90-tons of an assault ’Mech could kick down many a door. And yet, here is where she’d chosen to be. Her motto, slightly adapted from her days in the Northwind Highlanders long years ago, rang in her head: No one can harm us unpunished.

Then again, when you sat out as bait, harm did come calling.

She touched a hand to her mic, opening the commline. “Captain, as before, they’ve no markings at all. And the BattleMechs I’ve tagged so far still give nothing away. They’re thousands of them in every single House.”

“And they still fight like demons,” Captain Chloe growled back across the channel, the exertion of the fight plain in her tone.

The small figures moved erratically, weapons stabbing continually on the holotable, as the camera feed from their new, high-flying Boomerang Spotter Plane kept Ryana far more informed of the situation via status updates she’d only previously dreamt of having. Normally she’d have a more hands-on approach, but the die had already been cast here. Weeks of planning coming to fruition, hopefully, in this one moment. Ultimately, despite the Cavaliers’ skills, these enemy MechWarriors, whomever they might be, were simply fantastic. She wasn’t sure even she could take one of them in a stand-up fight. And meanwhile, as the weeks slipped by, the government of Emris IV continued to rail against far-off Atreus, and Duke Anton Marik’s worm-tongued agents continued to seduce the planet toward sedition.

She caught sight of a Rifleman, its twinned autocannons and lasers lashing into Chloe’s Shadow Hawk. The relentless energies tore through the remaining armor in both the torso and right leg, leaving her 55-ton BattleMech heavily limping as she tried to put distance between her attacker and the Hunchback, which was quickly trying to narrow the distance and bring the killing blow of its giant autocannon to bear.

A 35-ton Jenner sprinted through the clearing, most of its missiles and lasers flying wide from their intended target. The pilot, new recruit Allison Stevens, was barely holding her own. Then again, they were all betting on Chloe’s plan.

“What the hell!” Ryana couldn’t help yelling as the Rifleman and Hunchback finally managed to capture the limping Shadow Hawk between them, and the large-bore autocannon’s stream of depleted uranium slugs savaged the last of the damaged leg’s armor. Eaten to a nub, the limb was shorn off, throwing the Shadow Hawk violently to the ground.

The sounds of Chloe’s scared, heavy breathing from the fall reached Ryana’s ears as she gripped the edge of the table. Two more pitch-black ’Mechs entered the picture of the holotable, closing ranks with the Rifleman and Hunchback, as several waves of missiles from Nikolai’s Catapult corralled them exactly where the Cavaliers needed them to be.

“Hold on, Chloe,” Ryana said, trying to leash her emotions. Will it be in time?

She watched Chloe desperately try to crawl her machine out of the area while the Hunchback sauntered toward her, the large autocannon ready to finish the downed Cavaliers ’Mech.

A heavy blast of sound rocketed through the DropShip, and Ryana counted the seconds, a metronome to the heavy tread of the Hunchback—and the holovid abruptly whited out. A full flight of six aerospace fighters struck at the spot. The first four, 60-ton Stingrays, let loose with a blistering fusillade of PPCs and lasers, delivering pinpoint accuracy as they sliced heavily into all four of the black-painted ’Mechs. Following right behind them, two 100-ton Rievers dropped a devastating spread of bombs. The initial surgical strikes opened up wounds, but the concussive blasts of overlapping bombs effectively wrenched the enemy ’Mechs down unto destruction.

As the whiteout cleared, the explosions dropping to manageable levels for the camera feeds, Ryana spoke hesitantly: “Chloe?”

“I’m here,” the voice responded, to a chorus of cheers across the commline.

“Seems like hiring that merc outfit of aerojocks for backup was worth the C-bills,” Chloe said through the pain.

Nikolai moaned at the reminder of mounting expenditures, and the laughter only grew louder.

CALGARY, PROCYON

SIRIAN CONCORDANCE, FREE WORLDS LEAGUE

3 FEBRUARY 3011

Hannah sat quietly and stared into the distance, her dark hair blending into her black bodysuit, as the third body fell soundlessly to the heavily carpeted floor in the small, dank apartment to join his companions. Poisoned water sloshed in the cup still clenched in the man’s hand, and its slight bounce after his fall drew Hannah’s attention to the body before her eyes settled on the similar cup in her own hand. She carefully set the cup on the edge of the table; pretending to drink along with the others had been child’s play. As usual, the active agent in the poison had been brutally quick, killing all three of her fellow MI6 agents within moments of one another after the toast.

She’d been wracking her brain for weeks trying to figure where her team had slipped up. But the moment she’d tagged their tail, she’d been on the alert. And soon realized the tradecraft smacked of ComStar’s ROM. Nothing definitive, of course. But enough to cement her decision. It was becoming too dangerous. Whether they had been infiltrated or compromised didn’t matter; time to clean house. She’d already sent the HPG message wending its way through dozens of worlds before it would reach its far-off destination in the Federated Suns, initiating a months-long process that would see DMI forensic accountants discreetly rewriting these agents’ MIIO records to ease their erasure. Just an unlucky accident, after all. Fires in this part of the city occurred all too often during this time of year, as the old electrical wiring struggled to keep up with peak demands.

In all her time in the Combine, she’d never once come close to discovery. ROM’s every bit as dangerous as they say. She stood up and slid on protective clothing to clean away all evidence that anyone else had ever been in the room before the coming explosion.

The next encounter would be different.

ZI-JIN CHENG, SIAN

SIAN COMMONALITY, CAPELLAN CONFEDERATION

27 MARCH 3011

“Four Death Commandos dead,” Chandra Ling’s aide spoke as she reviewed the documents. “Their equipment is lost.”

Chandra sipped carefully at the hot tea, the redolence of cinnamon and rose filling the air. Her body more and more often craved a well-cushioned chair, hence why she perched on the fine, lacquered-wood stool. She leaned forward beside her aide, reviewing the papers as well. “And the Chancellor will be upset,” she responded. “After all, he does so love his pets.”

“Was it worth it?”

“Of course,” she responded immediately. “At the end of the day, more dog soldiers will fill his kennels, snarling and ready to die for their Celestial Wisdom. But they have now felt another master on their leash. And once that knowledge settles in, the Pavlovian obedience naturally begins.”

“The Chancellor will not like that.”

Chandra sipped the tea again, the burst of flavors always a bright spot to her day, as she carefully looked at her aide. The room was swept for bugs twice a day, all her codes were switched regularly, and she consciously interrupted her own work and travel rhythms to not settle into habits that could kill. She was as astute as she was perceptive, and she’d grown to know this woman, trusted her, but this much? I’ve already entrusted her with my life.

“The Chancellor need never know. Especially if we ferret out the spy.”

“How did they know we were on Emris IV?”

“Exactly. So few had access to that knowledge. We have a spy to deal with.”

“ComStar?”

Chandra pursed her lips, lost in thought. “No,” she finally said, shaking her head. “That feels…wrong for them. We’ve plenty to deal with over their interference. But this is different. There is someone else. And if they are buried in Interstellar Expeditions, we’ll drag them into the light, and make sure that organization knows the consequences of playing with their betters.”

“And bring them to the Chancellor?”

She smiled, her sweet, motherly smile, anticipation of the game mounting. “Perhaps. We’ll just have to see what we find.”

COMSTAR FIRST CIRCUIT COMPOUND

HILTON HEAD ISLAND, NORTH AMERICA, TERRA

27 JUNE 3011

Primus Julian Tiepolo touched the document on the table. A verigraphed message from the Chancellor of the Capellan Confederation, accepting ComStar’s invitation for mediation between Anton Marik and Maximilian Liao.

He touched the other document he’d recently finished reading. The latest field report from Precentor ROM Vesar Kristofur. As the man grew ever closer to the Duke of Procyon, the stretches of time between such updates grew. The nature of such work.

The two documents created a perfect symmetry on the clean desk. Events proceeded apace in the Free Worlds League, with more worlds slowly aligning with Anton Marik. A civil war seemed inevitable, if they kept them on the tracks they laid before him.

The Primus was well satisfied.

IRIAN TECHNOLOGIES

IRIAN

FREE WORLDS LEAGUE

2 JULY 3011

The kiss lingered, before Countess Alexa McCorkendale pulled away, leaving Sebastian’s lips tingling. She flashed her flamboyant smile, settling her curly hair back into a semblance of form. “I know we shouldn’t have done that, but you intrigue me more than I imagined, dearie,” she said, lounging on the bed next to him.

Sebastian laughed easily, savoring the sensation. He took an exaggerated look around. “I’m waiting for the knife.”

“There’s always a knife, dearie. You’re just never gonna see it come.”

With you, I probably won’t. “So I’ve proven my point?”

“Well, hardly a point at all. I’ve read your report thoroughly. Twice. You didn’t really manage to stop much at all. The League is still dangling over the precipice, with ComStar and Liao fingerprints all over the scene.”

“Of course not. The resources allocated to me by IE are a shadow of those wielded by the Great Houses, much less ComStar. And yet…” He drew the thought out, hopefully.

“And yet…even with such limitations, you were surprisingly effective at altering a few courses,” Alexa said. “Perhaps IE can be more than just what we’ve been.”

“Then you’ll back my play?”

She drew closer again, his lips tingling involuntarily in anticipation.

“Until I don’t.”

About the Author

Randall N. Bills began his writing career in the adventure-gaming industry, where he has worked full-time for over two decades. He’s led the publication of literally hundreds of sourcebooks, rulebooks, boxed games, and more. This includes instrumental work on the seminal BattleTech and Shadowrun game lines; he was lore advisor on Harebrained Schemes’s BattleTech computer game, and is a co-story developer for Piranha Games’s forthcoming MechWarrior 5 computer game. His most recent game publications include the Dungeons & Dragons Dragonfire deckbuilder.

His hobbies include music, gaming, reading (fantasy to history, theology to science), and spending time with his family. He currently lives in the Pacific Northwest, where he continues to work full-time (and then some) in the adventure-gaming industry while pursuing his fiction writing—Randall has published eight novels, two Star Trek novellas, and a host of short stories.

He lives with his wife, Tara, and children—Bryn Kevin, Ryana Nikol and Kenyon Aleksandr—as well as a neurotic German Shepherd named Ecko.

Cover by David Kerber

Edited by Philip A. Lee

Additional Continuity Review by Chris Wheeler

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