Loren L. Coleman - BattleTech - MechWarrior - Dark Age 15

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s

Imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business

establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

The Penguin Putnam Inc. World Wide Web site address is

http://www.penguinputnam.com

For Sharon Turner Mulvihill and Mike Mulvihill.

Great friends.

Acknowledgments

Working onSword of Sedition was a treat and a terror. We spent so many years creating The Republic

and introducing a cast of characters, and then Jordan Weisman asks me to take it, add a secondary cast,

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larger plotlines, nitroglycerin, and shake it all up. Never a dull moment. And with support from so many

good people, we’ll keep bringing you more and more surprises.

Thanks to Jordan and Dawne Weisman and everyone at WizKids who continue to work very hard on

this universe. A special thanks to Sharon Turner Mulvihill, who labors tirelessly with the authors to get

our work out there. I’d be lost without her. And a big welcome to Liz Scheier, our newest shepherd at

Roc books.

Big-time appreciation to Kris Rusch and Dean Smith, incredible teachers and even better friends. Allen

and Amy Mattila, for their friendship. Randall and Tara Bills, Bryn and Ryana and now Kenyon

Aleksandr, who are a large part of our lives. Phil DeLuca, Kelle Vozka, Erik, and Alex. Peter and Kathy

Orullian, and Cheyenne. Russell and Bobbie Loveday, and Dwayne and Raven.

Mike Stackpole, Herb “Snuggles” Beas, Chris Hartford, Christoffer “Bones” Trossen, and our

“cartographer” Øystein Tvedten. “Team Battle Tech” members Pete Smith, Chas Borner, Warner Doles

and now David Stansel-Garner, without whomBattleCorps.com would never have gotten off the ground.

Also, Alexander “Wild Knight” Strong, who gave me a good laugh and contributed to the “newswire”

clips.

And to the new generation of writers it is my privilege to work with onBattleCorps.com : Ilsa Bick,

Kevin Killiany, Phaedra Weldon, Louisa Swann, Steve Mohan, and Dan Duval. Welcome to the

neighborhood.

Always—always!—the deepest of thanks to my wife, Heather Joy, for her love and generous support.

My children, Talon, Conner, and Alexia, who are growing up far too fast. And yeah, the cats. Chaos,

Rumor and Ranger. Our local “nobles.” And Loki, our neurotic border collie and court jester.

TRIALS OF DAMOCLES

“Politics is war without bloodshed, while war is politics with bloodshed.”

—Mao Zedong, “On Protracted War,” May 1938

“Politics is the real two-edged sword. It always draws blood.”

—(Exarch) Jonah Levin, “Overheard Conversations, Vol. IV,” Terra,

4 December 3134

1

Historically, the proof is there. If you look—if you think past all the white noise the governments

bombard us with from every media outlet—there is a trip-wire mentality among the Marches that

when the strength of local military forces exceeds a certain ratio to the direct power supporting

the Davion throne . . . a war happens. I’ve put my own life in danger by pointing this out, you

understand. You have to let the people know!

—Free Radio, “TALK Conspiracies,” New Avalon,

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19 August 3134

Kathil

Federated Suns

17 December 3134

Julian Davion hunched over the ConstructionMech’s controls, working backhoe scoops as they broke

apart pale green sod and exposed the rich black soil.

Clawing down into hardscrabble and clay.

Widening the foundation for a new perimeter-gun emplacement at Kathil’s Yare Industries.

The machine’s cab smelled and tasted of diesel fumes. And honest sweat, though not Julian’s own. The

reversed buckets required a firm hand to control, in contrast to the responsiveness of the weapons

systems of a BattleMech, and when the internal-combustion engine labored, growling under the load and

coughing oily smoke into the air, there was no comparing this machine to the war avatar the prince’s

champion normally piloted.

Wasn’t even in the same class.

Not yet.

Julian’s “handler,” standing on the edge of the excavation, gave him two thumbs up and then made

punching motions. Both men wore sound-dampening headgear, a must for anyone spending long hours

on the construction site, and didn’t even try shouting to each other. Julian simply nodded, and lifted the

full buckets up to the machine’s chest height.

Throttling back on rocker pedals, he slowly reversed the bipedal machine away from the planned

emplacement. One step. Two. A loud, shrill beeping warned others away from the lumbering ’Mech.

Julian stopped, then pivoted in a shuffling sidestep to swing the buckets over the back of a dumper,

clutching the triggers on each control stick. The buckets up-ended to dump sod and dirt and clods of red

clay into the truck’s low-walled bed. In a new trick he’d learned from Buddy Harris, Julian twisted the

control sticks inward to knock the heavy steel buckets together. More clumps dropped out, shaken

loose by the beating. Only then did he ease off the triggers so the buckets tucked back under long

double-jointed arms. He swung the machine back around, ready for another go at the growing

excavation.

And saw the site foreman and Duchess Amanda Hasek standing next to his handler.

Buddy frantically waved one arm for attention and made a familiar throat-slashing motion, as common on

any battlefield as it was on a construction site.

Julian chopped at the kill switch, felt the engine die with a couple of hitching coughs. He sagged back for

a few breaths, felt the seat’s hard, premolded plastic through the thin padding someone had

pressure-taped into place. Shook his head. It had been too good to last.

Rolling down the wrinkled sleeves of his chambray work shirt, Julian refastened the cuffs at his wrists

and did his best to brush the wrinkles flat. He hung his ear protection on an overhead hook, but kept the

yellow hard hat, which was only common sense on a work site. Then he patted the cab’s dashboard with

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something like affection, or apology. Before Christmas, he knew, the ConstructionMech’s yellow-tinted

foul weather shroud would be ripped away and true ferroglass armor added in its stead. One of the

machine’s back-scooping arms would be replaced with a light autocannon or missile-pack refit.

Technicians would then rivet red danger signs over the construction-classic bumblebee striping, warning

against fire or intense heat and giving proper loading instructions for the ammunition case, and care of the

machine would afterward be shared with an ordnance specialist.

This ConstructionMech and others like it were to be added to Kathil’s local garrison, requisitioned into

military service. Julian had signed those orders yesterday.

Just one of many changes coming to Kathil as the Federated Suns prepared for war.

The ’Mech’s engineticked off the seconds as it cooled. Cranking open the narrow door, Julian grabbed

an overhead rung and levered himself out of the cab. From an easy perch on the ’Mech’s blocky hip

joint, he took a quick survey. Yare Industries’ geothermal plant lay a kilometer back, hunkered down

between two low hills, dominated by the massive, twenty-story-high tower dish used to beam microwave

energy up to orbiting Kathil spacedocks. Staggered between the plant and Julian’s excavation were four

other active work sites. IndustrialMechs labored alongside dozers and cranes. Crews of men and

women, all working on the fortified bunkers meant to house soldiers and equipment, scurried around the

large equipment.

And a short jaunt to one side, half-hidden behind tall, blooming dogwoods, was the executive VTOL

that had ferried Duchess Hasek to the site. A small security contingent secured the area, including a pair

of Pegasus scout vehicles and a squad of Infiltrator Mark II battlesuit troopers. Security Service agents in

their suit jackets and dark glasses spread out in a wide fan to keep anyone else from approaching either

the duchess or the site foreman, David Styles. Lines had already started forming.

More delays.

Leaning out from the side of the ConstructionMech, Julian cupped one hand around his mouth. “Decided

to survey the project, Duchess?” Of course, he knew what had actually brought the grande dame out to

Yare.

“Looking for you,” she shouted back. Her voice was thin, but piercing.

Expecting her arrival through most of the morning, sweating through a mixture of anticipation and dread,

Julian nodded and shifted his weight past the hip joint. A short ladder welded to the ’Mech’s left leg

made for an easy climb down. Dropping the last meter, he landed on slightly bent legs, then straightened

to his full height to work the kinks out of his back. Julian stood one point eight meters, though his mother

always said he carried himself as if taller. His father’s name for it had been “bearing.”

Sometimes Julian still heard The Chairman’s voice in his head.

“A real man stands straighter when he’s not carrying lies on his back or dishonor in his heart.”

Julian welcomed those moments, liking to think he took after his father in more than looks. The same

reddish-blond hair and healthy complexion, strong chin and hazel eyes, square shoulders. Christoffer

Davion never served one day in military service, and had preferred his elected status as Argyle’s world

chairman to any noble title the Davion name brought home. But he’d have never begrudged his son the

opportunity of fine schools and military academies, or the direct sponsorship of their cousin, First Prince

Harrison.

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“Men choose how to live their own lives.”

Which Julian accepted as a difficult truth. Ultimately, he had chosen to live his life under the bright edge

of a suspended sword.

Julian believed his father would have liked seeing him graduate the New Avalon Military Academy,and

being named the youngest prince’s champion in the history of the Federated Suns. It was a reassurance

he’d held to for fourteen years, ever since his father passed. Twenty-seven now, he saw no reason to let

it go.

Not even under Amanda Hasek’s disapproving frown.

“You certainly didn’t make yourself easy to find,” she scolded him.

Duchess of New Syrtis and Minister of the Capellan March—in charge of fully one-fourth of the

Federated Suns’ star-spanning nation—Amanda Hasek’s glares had been known to melt generals and

cause lesser nobility to quake. A powerful and dangerous woman. Still, her heart-shaped face had a

strong, straightforward beauty that so reminded Julian of Prince Harrison’s first wife, the duchess’

younger sister. Turning matronly in her sixties, Amanda gave in slightly to her years by allowing a touch of

gray at her temples to feather into the coal-dark hair she wore swept up and back in the latest fashion.

She cupped her hands over her ears in an effort to cut down on the noise of so many nearby machines.

Itwas a large project. Julian doubted Yare Industries had seen this much activity since the Fourth

Succession War.

The excavation was too big to jump, so Julian walked around the nearer side. The warm scent of turned

earth rose to meet him. He was only half a dozen steps away from her when he finally said, “Well, you

found me.” A ghost of a smile. “Which I suppose means that I’m done for the day.”

Buddy Harris gave the prince’s champion a friendly wink as he passed, heading for the

ConstructionMech and his regular job. Julian offered his hand to the second man—the one who stood

stiffly at Amanda’s side. David Styles looked like a scared wolf caught in a steel trap, desperate enough

to chew off a leg to escape. He was obviously unused to visiting royalty, especially on an actual work

site. It had taken Julian days to break through the foreman’s natural deference to hear what the man

actuallythought .

Now he felt reluctance return in Styles’ weak grip.

“Thank you for your time, Lord Davion. You handle a CM well.”

“A cockpit’s a cockpit,” Julian said. “And I hate standing around.” Buddy was already back in his cab,

waiting for the order to restart. “I hope I didn’t cost you much in lost time.”

“Not at all,” the foreman politely lied.

Julian laughed. “Thank you, David.”

Taking that as his dismissal, the foreman bowed briefly to Julian and deeper to Amanda Hasek. “My

Lord. Duchess.” He backed away quickly, then fled at a stiff walk to the next closest work site. The

waiting lines trailed after him.

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“Any news from ComStar?” Julian asked soon as the other man was out of earshot. Turning the duchess

toward business before she pounced on any more of his shortcomings.

Amanda shook her head, mouth pinched into a tight grimace. “Nothing beyond what we have already

heard. A priority message from The Republic, being delivered by diplomatic courier. Once it has been

decrypted and all codes verified as genuine, it shall post according to diplomatic rank.”

Julian’s frown sat heavy on his face. “By courier,” he said. He made it sound like a curse.

It was, in a way. Certainly a far cry from the efficiency of ComStar’s vast interstellar network only two

years prior. Before the Blackout. Practically overnight, upwards of eighty percent of all hyperpulse

generators, which made instant communication possible between stars and stellar empires, quit talking to

one another. And even those that worked did so sporadically, reaching only a few stations in the

available network.

Kathil’s HPG was one of the silent ones.

“Three weeks from origin.” Julian shook his head. “Four years ago, a secure verifax could have made

the transmission relay in three days.”

Or even in as many hours, at the highest-class priority. There was no way to tell even that, anymore.

This hand-carried message might bring word of new trade offers from The Republic of the Sphere, or the

flare-up of a violent boundary dispute. Tempers were running short on many worlds guarding the borders

of the young nation. It might be the arrival of a dignitary. A natural catastrophe. Intelligence reports.

“It could be news of an invasion,” he said. “And we would not know until all passcodes and red tape

procedures are verified.”

“Faith forbid!” Amanda was quick to say. But her brown eyes were veiled. Hardened.

Not that Julian needed any overt signs. He knew the Haseks’ Capellan March was lacking only an

excuse to break the peace and invade the nearby Capellan Confederation. Or strike at the

ever-troublesome Taurian Concordat. People were scared. Planetary governments were nervous. And

despite fifty years of military downsizing, everyone was still too well-armed.

Even the duchess’ presence here, visiting Kathil, was a sign of the distrust building between Prince

Harrison and the Federated Suns’ stronger noble families. Harrison Davion, as well, lived under the

sword, mortgaging strained relations against the future of his realm.

At least with the duchess on Kathil, there was no immediate threat from New Syrtis. And whatever

news had come from The Republic would come to them first.

Julian saw Buddy still waiting, and gave him a high thumbs-up. As the ConstructionMech’s engine

roared back to life, dumping more oily smoke from its stackpipes, he caught Amanda’s elbow and

escorted her away from the excavation. He noticed some gray dust staining the lower legs of his black

trousers, and stopped to brush at them without much hope of success.

“Julian.” Amanda Hasek shook her head. “You’re a mess.”

He would be by her standards, of course, having spent the morning on site. But what else was there to

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be done? “Plans can look fine on the table, Amanda, and be wrong for the field. You don’t leave military

planning to civilian contractors.”

“Yes. But you do not trade skilled labor for an academy-trained MechWarrior either. Although Sandra

wagered with me that I’d find you at the controls of some machine out here.”

Lady Sandra Fenlon was Amanda’s ward, and the duchess’ calculated attempt at matchmaking had

been painfully obvious to both young nobles. Privately, they had agreed to let Amanda believe it was

working. Better that, they decided, than worrying about whom the duchess had in her second-string

lineup. For either of them.

“There’s so much to do,” Julian said, keeping to the subject. “This morning I had to shut down a site that

was half-completed.”

He pointed out an abandoned work area where three high slab walls stood over a finished excavation

and new-poured foundation. Half a kilometer behind it rose the massive, twenty-story satellite dish of

Yare’s geothermal station.

“What was wrong with the site?” Amanda asked, studying the layout for herself and not seeing the

problem.

“Too close to the microwave tower. Too far from the next supporting bunker. If it were me, I’d throw a

combined-arms company right at it, with flankers to hold off any chance for reinforcement from the east

or west.”

He made a steeple with his hands, showing the maneuver. Thenclap!

“Bring them together, smash the defensive line, and storm the facility.”

The ground-based power stations were a known weakness of the orbiting shipyards. House Liao had

pointed that out over a century ago, during the Fourth Succession War, and might have seriously

undermined the Davion offensive if the Kathil Uhlans hadn’t successfully defended the world.

During the Steiner-Davion civil war the shipyard itself came under fire, and this local ground facility had

been all but destroyed in the fighting as Prince Victor’s supporters rose up against the usurper’s garrison.

Katherine Steiner-Davion had not relinquished her hold on the Federated Suns easily, and Kathil had

been a hotly contested world over most of five years.

And right on its heels had come the Word of Blake’s Jihad, dragging the entire Inner Sphere to the brink

of ruin.

Julian had studied the history of all three wars very closely, and recently had refreshed himself on

Kathil’s failed defense during the Jihad. Victor Steiner-Davion, in fact, had authored several political and

military papers about Kathil. Julian found his study of the man as fascinating as what Victor had had to

say about the importance and vulnerabilities of such high-profile worlds—namely, that they were nearly

impossible to hold, or to take, without ruining the infrastructure that made them valuable in the first place.

Not without years of preparations and a unified vision for their defense.

Harrison Davion wanted no part in such destruction, which was why the first prince had dispatched his

champion to oversee these final stages of planning—a decision that did not sit well with Amanda Hasek,

or with other Capellan March nobles who wanted less interference from their prince, not more.

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“And we are truly certain that House Liao will suddenly come for Kathil one day?” the duchess asked.

“They will,” Julian promised. “Suddenly come for Kathil. One day.”

Unless the Confederation was already defeated, he didnot say.

He sounded so certain because it was his profession. Julian could read the signs—and the intelligence

reports. The shadows of war loomed, and not just within the Federated Suns. Peace was at an end

unless calmer heads prevailed very, very soon.

“Fighting in the Draconis Reach has intensified,” he said. This was the private, silent conflict financed

against House Kurita by the Sandoval dynasty, noble heirs and ministers of the Federated Suns’

Draconis March. “The Republic of the Sphere is being torn apart from several directions, as well as from

within. And if Daoshen Liao was not so preoccupied with reclaiming lost worlds from The Sphere, he

might already be coming for us. When the Confederation does turn in this direction—not if!—Kathil, with

its shipyards, will be a key world.”

Amanda Hasek might be born and raised among the Federated Suns’ nobility, but she knew enough of

the leveraging of focused violence to at least appreciate the danger, and nodded.

“Especially when the Capellan Confederation has barely recovered from losing their own primary

shipyards at Necromo during the Blakist Jihad,” she said. Noting Julian’s raised eyebrows, she added, “I

do read my generals’ reports. It’s hard to forget the account of an entire worldsterilized .”

She looked into the distance. “Kathil must shine like a forbidden gem to the Liao chancellor.”

The prospect of war, and her Capellan March turned into a battleground, turned the duchess’ mood

very quickly. She walked along in silence for a moment, and Julian wished desperately to know what she

might be thinking. Of ways to prepare? Or of taking the war to the Confederation’s chancellor?

And, sadly, knew that either was preferable to his prince’s true worry. That after half a century of

near-autonomous rule, the Haseks were beginning to look very seriously at New Avalon, the very throne

of the Federated Suns.

“The prince only has your best interests in mind,” Julian prompted the duchess.

Another long pause.

“When Isabella was alive, I don’t remember Harrison being such an alarmist,” she finally said.

Julian steeled himself against any outward reaction, wondering who was now goading whom. “Your

sister had a way of making everyone see better days ahead,” he offered cautiously. The wounds still ran

deep between both families. “But I think even she would have sensed this gathering storm.”

“Or perhapsthat woman has sunk her claws in deeper than I imagined. Stroking Harrison with her

dreams of martial glory.”

“That is unkind, Amanda. And unwarranted.”

But having brought it out into the open, Amanda Hasek was not about to be cautioned so easily. “Some

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might say what is unkind is the way Harrison treats the memory of my sister.”

“Some might. Those who don’t see four years of mourning to be enough.Or how Isabella’s death stole

the joy out of our prince’s life.”

Julian walked a thin line, upbraiding the Minister of the Capellan March. But she was also Julian’s cousin

by marriage, and certain courtesies extended between family. Also, as prince’s champion, Julian often

spoke for Harrison Davion. It was one of the greatest honors of his young life, and an awesome

responsibility.

“Amanda, please.” Julian stopped them beneath the pink-flowering dogwoods. A sweet, roselike scent

drifted around them. They stood within sight of Amanda Hasek’s executive craft but beyond the point at

which her loose screen of security would converge. The duchess stared fixedly ahead. “Do you realize

how rare it is that a leader born to Harrison’s duties finds a companionand a peer? I can only hope to be

so lucky.”

As he had planned, the mention of his own single status brought the ghost of a smile back to Amanda’s

compressed mouth. But she still refused to look at him. The patrolling Pegasus hovercraft glided by them

on cushions of warm air. She followed their path with her gaze instead.

“Well, we shall have to see what we can do about that. Dear boy.” She said this last as an afterthought,

but reached out for his hand anyway and tucked it under her arm, escorting him forward.

The Chariot-class VTOL waited, hunched low to the ground with its rotor drooping overhead as if

wilted under Kathil’s strong sun. Two infantrymen in Infiltrator Mark II suits stood at the fore and two

more at the aft. A shiny metallic gold trimmed in regal purple, the Chariot could not have shouted

dignitary aboard any louder without setting its identification transponder to broadcast the message.

But one of the best things about having such a craft available was its cutting-edge electronics suite, which

allowed the duchess to stay in constant contact with Kathil’s planetary administration. A colonel in the

Federated Suns Armed Forces, wearing the unit insignia of the Syrtis Fusiliers and likely Amanda

Hasek’s pilot, waited for them outside the craft with a verifax reader in hand. The device took secure

downloads from the communications board and was specifically coded to Amanda’s DNA. No one but

her could access its controls.

The colonel handed over the reader with a military precision that bordered on ceremony. Enough that

Julian wondered if the grapevine already had the news, and it had raced here alongside or even ahead of

the official transmission.

When the officer stiffened to attention as Amanda thumbed her print and her DNA onto the lock, the

prince’s champion was certain of it.

Amanda caught her breath as she read, studying the first page carefully as if verifying for herself the

message was real enough, then paging rapidly through the electronic file. Her matronly air deserted her

for a moment, replaced with a kind of sorrowful resignation, which was quickly chased away by a

calculating frown that looked very familiar to Julian. Anyone involved in the politics of the Inner Sphere

knew that look. Julian had seen it before on Harrison, and quite vividly on Harrison’s son and heir,

Caleb.

He’d even seen it in the mirror once or twice.

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And it never followed good news.

“What is it, Amanda? How bad?” A prickly touch crawled over his scalp.

“Bad enough,” the duchess replied, “especially if we were hoping for stability within The Republic. And

it is going to strike close to home as well, Julian. In fact, there is not one Great House or realm that shan’t

feel this at some level.”

She had that sorrowful look again. One that spoke of seeing too much of this kind of news. Julian usually

guessed correctly. Even so, he had not prepared himself for this.

“Victor Steiner-Davion is dead.”

2

Today, on the world of New Aragon, Paladin Anders Kessel declared a local state of “extreme

emergency” in response to the Capellan Confederation’s hardest-hitting drive since the fall of

Liao. This preempted any announcement from the office of the exarch, which remains silent on

Terra.

—Damon Darman, Stellar Associated, 16 December 3134

Terra

The Republic of the Sphere

13 January 3135

“If this is going to be the next three years of my life, I’ll resign now and save myself the ulcers!”

Skylights warmed the exarch’s formal receiving office at the Hall of Government. Natural light soaked

into the red cherry wainscoting and gleamed in the room’s bronze accents. Wood polish and leather

richly flavored the room that had been nicknamed “The Bullet” by paladins for its unusual shape; one end

wall of the long, rectangular room bowed outward and was set with floor-to-ceiling windows.

On good days, The Republic’s leader might stand in that semicircular alcove and stare out over

Geneva’s Magnum Park. Fifty acres of cultivated grounds, including the Trees from Every World and

some of The Republic’s most beloved monuments.

This was not one of those days.

Pacing the width of the office, traipsing back and forth over the Great Seal of The Republic, which lay

on the other side of his desk from the magnificent windows, Jonah Levin ground his aggravation into tiny

shards beneath the heels of his dress boots. His path cut the room in half, dividing his baroque

mahogany-and-bronze desk from a more comfortable sitting area. The carpet mosaic robbed him of any

satisfying stomps, however, and the Latin mottoAd Securitus per Unitas mocked him with every pass.

Through unity, freedom .

Or if read another way:Through security, freedom .

He wondered, not for the first time, if Devlin Stone was having a joke on his successors.

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Loren L. Coleman - BattleTech - MechWarrior - Dark Age 15 - Sword of Sedition

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