Fortress Republic, page 3
part #18 of BattleTech : Mechwarrior Dark Age Series
It was hardly recognizable now. It still looked the same, but the inviolate calm had been stripped away by an invasion of aides and clerical staff and harried knights who served the working paladins. The place was now more of a war room—a crisis center—than any refuge of thought and careful debate. Sullied. Poisoned, even.
“Not that we were given much choice,” he said. Then he sipped from the nutrient drink his chief of staff had thrust on him, and made a face. The frothy, green beverage tasted like grass. As always.
“Exarch?”
Paladin David McKinnon waited at Jonah’s side, looking up from the noteputer he’d loaded with reports of the latest fighting and clean-up efforts all across Terra. Oldest and now “Paladin Exemplar” with the recent passing of Victor Davion, at one hundred four years of age Sire McKinnon had the vitality and strength of most men fifty years his junior. Snow white hair and a weathered face, perhaps, but a strong bearing and still a dangerous, catlike grace when he moved.
“Apologies, David. Fatalistic thinking has no place here.”
The venerable warrior shrugged. “Things change,” McKinnon said.
But not always for the better.
“You were saying?” Jonah cradled the steel mug in one hand, brushed flat the front of his suit. “Another month?”
McKinnon hesitated. Then, “Less, I’d think. With the First Davion Guards on hand, we’ve moved harder and faster against the loyalist holdouts than I’d originally estimated. If you would care for a formal report?”
The paladin gestured to the exarch’s dock. A raised dais at the focus of room, surrounded in a half-circle by the paladins’ stations. Jonah’s formal “chair” for presiding over the chamber.
Jonah shook his head. “I step up there and the doors close. Every paladin evicts his staff. We lose hours of productivity.” He felt the muscles tighten and pull at the back of his neck. “We’ve been running behind since December. Let’s try to catch up.”
McKinnon glanced between his noteputer and his exarch. Then he gestured towards the station on the far end of the wide arc where Gareth Sinclair, one of the younger paladins, worked diligently over a holographic keyboard. Knight Lady Zou stood by to assist him.
“I believe Gareth has most of the data plugged into a world map.”
The way McKinnon said it, he might as well have called Sinclair “the boy.” Though in an avuncular kind of way. Gareth had certainly proven his chops in the recent fighting, after all. It was a vote of confidence that McKinnon deferred to the younger man, and solidarity among the paladins was a desperately needed commodity these days.
Also, Jonah needed more time in the company of Ariana Zou.
He nodded, and the two men stepped over to Sinclair’s workstation. Jonah also caught Paladin Heather GioAvanti passing by. With a gesture he pulled her into the small gathering. Of all his paladins, he trusted these three the most. And while it dug at him to make such distinctions these days, it was a point that the paladins had not proven immune to the politics of destruction currently being played out across The Republic.
Ariana Zou stiffened to formal attention as Jonah stepped up behind Gareth Sinclair. Her dark, almond-shaped eyes held tiny flecks of gold in them. She glanced sharply at the Gallery, and the door, no doubt expecting to be dismissed.
But Jonah ignored her for the moment. He watched as Sinclair continued to work, fully absorbed in his assignment and all but oblivious to the exarch’s presence. The younger man had only recently ascended to the small circle of paladins, but already the stress told on him. Heavy shoulders. Weary eyes. Sinclair would come out the far side of these hectic months a great deal stronger, or utterly ruined.
“Where are we, Gareth?”
“Sir,” Gareth said. But it took the young paladin a moment more to put the finishing touches on his project. He hit the command key and stepped back as the holographic projectors built into his workstation erased the keyboard and instead projected a fully formed globe of Terra into the air above the lectern-style desk.
The world rotated at an accelerated pace, turning fully around its axis every twenty seconds. A great golden star centered over Geneva, capital of Terra and the seat of power for the entire Republic. Several political districts around the world flashed with cautionary amber. One in danger-warning red.
“These are all that are left,” Gareth promised. “Loyalist remnants scattered across Europe and Asia. A few holdouts in the Australian outback. The Americas are clear except for the area around Sao Paulo.” He nodded at the one red-flashing district, nestled along the eastern coast of South America. “It’s a stronghold similar to the one we broke in Germany.”
“And a high cost we paid for it,” Heather GioAvanti reminded them. “Sire Jorgensson was only our most high-profile casualty.”
“Where did this start?” Jonah asked of no one in particular. “When did it spiral so completely out of our control that it came to this?”
Not that he expected a response. He’d spent months working on answers to those questions, and was no farther along than the day he’d taken office.
On the face of it, of course, all of The Republic’s woes might easily be blamed on the still-unresolved crash of ComStar’s HPG network; a blackout on nearly all interstellar communications throughout the entire Inner Sphere. With hardly one station in ten still working—still attempting to keep the infrastructure of star-spanning nations functional—on that larger stage The Republic was one realm among several facing the same problems.
At a closer look, however, The Republic was actually an amalgam of the many different realms. Having been carved from the center of the Inner Sphere only seventy years before, following the great Jihad, the identity of its peoples was still wrapped up in those surrounding nations and cultures. House Davion’s Federated Suns had given up dozens of worlds to the forming Republic. Same for the Draconis Combine, the Lyran Alliance, and the shattered Free Worlds League. House Liao’s Capellan Confederation had fought long and hard to resist the annexation of their territory.
So what followed the Blackout might have been predicted. Perhaps. Centralized government quickly breaking down. Powerful men and women taking more authority upon themselves at a local level. The fracture lines deepened, widened, forming divisive gulfs, until all the old hatreds and suspicions flared up in armed conflict and political revolution on many worlds.
House Liao had been first to come back for their former territory. But not the last. There were also the Steiners to worry about. And Clan Jade Falcon, which seized on the opportunity to carve a small island of power within The Republic’s outer prefectures, and now House Kurita’s recent encroachment.
The rise of powerful warlords within, set upon by larger realms without, The Republic of the Sphere had reeled from one crisis to another in the last several years.
So, no, Jonah did not expect an answer. But that wasn’t going to stop his paladins from rising to his challenge.
Paladin Sinclair ran fingers back through his dark, unruly hair. His nervous green eyes danced around, always searching the room now that he had surfaced from his work.
“If you are truly asking, Exarch, I believe it still comes back to the Senate. Mallowes. Derius. Riktofven. They undermined our strength when we needed it most.”
“A simple plan,” McKinnon agreed. “As the best ones always are. Buy deep into the next generation of officers. Leverage them into situations where they can shine, and draw attention, and suddenly you have access to the knighthood.” He nodded easily to Sinclair, though his eyes were hard and unyielding. Gareth had been just such an experiment, though one that had backfired. “Raise one or two as paladins, you can influence policy. Maybe even handicap the election of an exarch.”
What had Heather GioAvanti called it on the day of Jonah’s election? A conspiracy to control thought?
Which was exactly what the Senate nearly accomplished. And might have, if Paladin Exemplar Davion had not tumbled to their machinations. The cabal silenced Victor before he brought his evidence to light, but an investigation into the paladin’s death uncovered enough of the plot to force a confrontation between the Senate and the Executive branch.
The Senators—nobles all—were heirs to long family histories and traditions of wielding power. They resisted Jonah’s efforts to bring them to heel, to the point of directly confronting him with a political censure.
“You did not have a choice,” Heather GioAvanti said.
Her voice was strong and certain. The quintessential paladin, Jonah could not remember the last time she evidenced even the slightest measure of doubt in her duties.
“The Senate overplayed their hand. And if you had backed off, Exarch, they would have castrated the Executive branch and seized complete power.”
“So instead,” Jonah said, “I do the same to them. I disband the Senate on the eve of the greatest political summit of our generation. And in return their rebellion, however brief, has hijacked a great deal of our agenda.”
Such an opportune moment it had been. Victor Davion (Victor Steiner-Davion) had lived a life of legend within the Inner Sphere. Related by blood to two of the Great Houses and having ruled both the Federated Suns and Lyran Commonwealth, there were few leaders who had not fought with him or against him (or both) at some point during the last century. Jonah had capitalized on this by organizing a state funeral to which nearly every Inner Sphere realm and Clan had responded. A chance for real dialogue, to reaffirm old alliances and set out bold, new agendas in this uncertain time.
And it had been working! That was the galling part. Slow but certain, several larger realms had relaxed their guard and put forward tentative feelers that might have led to a restoration of peace and cooperative effort.
Then, Prince Harrison Davion had fallen from the chateau balcony at Thonon-les-Bains.
On the very eve of victory over the Senate loyalists, in fact. By all reports a stupid, tragic accident. Sitting or leaning back against the low stone balustrade, waiting for Julian Davion to report back. Had he seen the lights of Julian’s car on the road? Leaned back a little too far, impaired by the glass of bourbon he’d enjoyed earlier?
Failed to grab the railing as he overbalanced?
Three seconds. At best, according to the initial report Jonah had read and reread. That was what Harrison had been given, to realize what had happened. Cracking his head hard against the edge of a stone balcony on the second floor. Pinwheeling through the remaining drop. Slamming hard into the ground.
The prince’s own guard handled the investigation, aided by the best forensic team Jonah had to offer. But all the king’s horses and all the king’s men . . . No matter the exact circumstance, Harrison Davion remained in a coma in Genève’s Sisters of Mercy Hospital. Hanging on, but weakening every day.
And any alliance that may have come from their talks and pledges of assistance hung in the balance.
Jonah took another sip from his nutrition drink. Grimaced. Grass again. He set the steel mug on the edge of Sinclair’s workstation, stared at the turning globe.
“So what’s left?” he asked. “We can root out the remaining loyalists, but Senators Monroe and Derius—among others—made it off world and are likely to continue their resistance. The Capellan Confederation has eased back their aggressive stance, but I expect that to last only so long as Daoshen Liao remains a willing guest. And in their place, House Kurita pushes hard through Prefecture II.”
Heather GioAvanti tugged straight the hem of her dress jacket. “Coordinator Vincent Kurita plans to leave Terra within the week,” she said. “He reminds us there is little he can do while isolated here.”
“Convenient.” McKinnon’s leathery face wrinkled into a deep frown. “He relies on his absence from the Combine as proof against his participation in the attacks. Now he leverages that same argument to safeguard his own return.” The paladin’s hand knotted into strong fists. “I don’t believe him.”
“What would you have me do, David?” Jonah’s hands were tied. And everyone—most everyone—standing nearby recognized that. “Hold the Coordinator of the Draconis Combine hostage against the cessation of all hostilities? And Chancellor Liao as well? Do we violate our pledges of safe conduct and grab up every ruler? We might be able to do that, yes. And then were would we be?”
“The Great Houses would all turn on us then,” Heather said.
Sinclair’s green eyes shifted from exarch to paladin to paladin. “I’m not sure we’d even get so far. Communication intercepts and readiness postures of the honor guards for several visiting rulers indicate that many of them have anticipated such extremes. Daoshen Liao has already removed himself from the Capellan Cultural Center here in Genève, isolating himself with his DropShip. Khan Becker of the Dominion as well. And BattleMech patrols around the natural preserve above Ishinomaki Port have doubled.” He kept his voice very soft, and even. “Worse than holding such leaders hostage would be killing one in an armed attempt to take them.”
Which was why Jonah had never seriously considered it. And despite McKinnon’s usual hard-line stand that victory at any cost was acceptable in the preservation of The Republic, even the venerable warrior nodded to the truth of the matter.
But, “What do you think, Lady Zou?” Jonah asked.
As tactical surprises went, Jonah achieved complete victory. Ariana Zou had maintained a stiff and formal bearing, ready at the slightest nod to stand dismissed. Only her intense gaze, following the conversation, betrayed her complete devotion to every spoken word, every facial expression.
Jonah had noted her hard glare at the mention of Senator Monroe. And the very slight shift in her stance as she witnessed the small group so easily discussing (and dismissing) even the possibility of taking an Inner Sphere leader hostage. She had strong opinions. One way or another. But would she voice them?
For an instant, it seemed she wouldn’t. She clasped her hands behind her back and stared straight ahead. But what Jonah initially took as reticence was really a measure of time in which she ordered her thoughts.
“I think, Exarch Levin, you should put your own realm in order before meddling in the affairs of others.”
Her voice was soft yet strong. A woman who knew the worth of her own counsel, regardless of whether it would be weighed and fairly considered.
“The Republic is too fragile, at the moment, to withstand further aggressive policies.”
A moment of silence followed Zou’s calm argument. McKinnon was first to respond. “Glass houses and throwing stones, eh?” He tasted the words, and obviously found them not to his liking. “You do not think passive policies will only encourage our enemies to begin lobbing bricks of their own?”
“Why should they? When the Senate nobles are more than willing to do the heavy lifting for them?”
McKinnon folded arms across his chest. “Abandoning an aggressive foreign policy in favor of domestic policing is risky. If the nobles resist our efforts for too long, we will look weak.”
Now that McKinnon had drawn Zou out, Jonah slipped back into the discussion. “If the nobles resist us long,” he said, “we are weak.” He reached for his mug again, if only to have something to do with his hands. The steel sides were cold and sweating. “We need to build on our recent victories. And quickly.”
Zou nodded. “With respect, Exarch. Regarding victories or alliances. Quickly built means quickly abandoned. You want a strong house, you begin with a strong foundation on good ground. A fortress built on quicksand is no bargain at all.”
That Zou had so closely mirrored his own thinking was enough to startle Jonah. And her choice of words was eerily on target. A stronghold was exactly what The Republic needed. And exactly what Jonah had set in motion last month, secretly laying the groundwork for one of many failsafe plans prepared against such a day as this.
As indicators went, Zou’s stated opinions were all strong votes in her favor.
Still, he was not quite ready to commit. There was one question more he must have answered.
“Let me ask you, then, why you risked your life and your own warriors so easily on the Siberian plains.” He’d reviewed the battlerom footage and read reports from everyone involved in the operation near Salekhard. He had his own thoughts about what had happened. But he needed it direct from Ariana Zou. “You broke from the battle plan when Julian Davion fell. In what seemed to be a sharp, emotional reaction. It happened to work. But you would not call that hasty? A ‘quick’ victory?”
“I would,” she admitted. “We were fortunate.”
“Very fortunate,” Heather GioAvanti said. If it were possible to scold Zou and reward her for chutzpah all at the same time, Heather accomplished it with her tone.
“Or,” Sinclair offered, “one might say ‘instinctive.’ A leap to sudden knowledge based on experience and conditioned skills.”
Jonah sipped his nutrient drink, and barely tasted its green flavor with the thrill of the hunt on him. “So which was it, Lady Zou? Luck? Or skill?” Every word fell heavy from his lips. Most everyone knew how much was riding on her answer.
If she knew, she hid it well behind a mask of serene contemplation. The exarch and three of his most trusted paladins were giving Ariana a full-court press. Guiding her in the direction they wanted. Prodding and poking at her. Gauging her response. Certainly, she earned high marks for her composure.
“I’ll take both in my corner any time I can, Exarch. And be glad for them.” She drew herself back to formal attention. “But that isn’t exactly the question you’ve been wanting to ask me. Is it, sir?”
If she hadn’t fallen back on cadet-level formality, Jonah would have ended their conversation quickly. But he had to appreciate her ability to cut through to the chase, and maintain a proper level of respect. So be it, then. Bluntly.
“Why did you risk Republic lives for Julian Davion?”
“Because he deserved from me exactly what he stood ready to pay, especially in a fight not necessarily his own.” Fire flashed behind her eyes. “Such men are rare, Exarch. And at that moment I believed his value to you, and to The Republic, at a much higher worth than me and mine.”
