Cordia City
Coromodir VI, Aurigan Coalition
July 22nd, 3026
“Lady Arano, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
The flickering image of Prince Hanse Davion smiled at the young ruler of the Aurigan Coalition.
Lady Kamea Arano smiled through clenched teeth: the number of palms that had been greased, the number of low-ranked nobles with freshly kissed asses, and the staggering number of C-bills funneled towards Comstar for ever longer communications had strained both her coffers and her patience. But she couldn’t argue with the results: one of the five most powerful people alive was giving her a few minutes of his time.
She had to make the most of it.
“Prince Davion, the pleasure is all mine.” She mentally relaxed her shoulders. “Thank you for taking some time to speak with me today.”
“Not at all, Lady. I should be thanking you. Ever since news of your return to your throne and the end of your civil war, I have meant to extend congratulations. I have been sadly distracted by other matters.”
“Yes, I can only imagine so!” The news of the massive Galahad Tournaments, military exercises broadcast throughout the Inner Sphere, was far from secret. “I can’t even imagine the number of Liao delegates you have to deal with these days.”
Davion snorted and smiled. “Everyone’s convinced that I’m going to invade Capellan space. As if I would allow a little thing like a plot to overthrow my government with a clone send my people to war.” He shook his head. “Maximillian Liao is a walking bundle of paranoid delusions.”
Just because he’s paranoid doesn’t mean he’s wrong, Arano thought to herself, but wisely said nothing.
“It is actually as a result of the Galahad Tournaments that I thought to reach out to you, my lord.”
Davion blinked twice, temporarily caught off guard. “Oh? Surely you aren’t also here to accuse me of wanting to invading the…” he glanced off-screen for a moment, “… Aurigan Coalition, are you? The buildup along our counter-spinward border…”
“No, no.” She waved one hand dismissively. “But we both know that moving so many troops to the Capellan perimeter has resulted in a shortage of BattleMechs for usual garrison duties.” Arano’s smile grew factionally. “And it just so happens that I have a suggestion that could help us both.”
“Oh?”
“I assume you are familiar with the Listowel system? Site of a considerable number of Draconis raids about a century back?” She paused long enough for Davion to nod. “It turns out that a small number of loyalists to the Espinosa-regime fled in the aftermath of the civil war and headed there. And they took materiel that I would rather like returned to me.”
“Probably assuming they would be safe within my borders,” Davion said slowly, brow knit in concentration. “You sending troops into Federated Sun space would reflect poorly on our political situation.”
“Exactly. However, I happen to know a group of mercenaries…” she winked and made air-quotes with her fingers, “that are currently offering a significant reduction in their usual rates for garrison duty.” Arano shrugged. “If you happen to need a group that could protect one of your worlds, hypothetically speaking…”
Davion barked a short laugh. “And just where would these mercenaries happen to be at the moment?”
“Why, I do believe they’re on a Dropship, somewhere near Farwell. They’re just passing through for now, but I suspect they might be able to stop at a system for the three months you’ve stated that the tournament will be running.” Arano tilted her head to one side. “Are there any systems near Farwell in need of a small but very capable garrison?” She tapped her chin with one finger. “Why, if a nearby system happened to have a contract or two available in the next day or so, I’m pretty sure they might take that job on offer…”
Davion’s smile grew.
Asahidori Mining Station
Markab IV, Draconis Combine
July 23rd, 3026
Ayaka Tormark wrinkled her nose as the winds blew the scent of the oil refinery through the ramshackle town. The air on Markab IV was always vaguely unpleasant to offworlders, making it an unpleasant planet to visit… and making it an ideal place for secret meetings, since foreign spies tended to avoid the place like the plague unless they had no other choice.
She threw open the door to the Oil Baron’s Best bar and stepped in like she owned the place. A quick glance around revealed a handful of miners deeply engrossed in their drinks, a pair of bored looking engineers, and a meticulously dressed colonel of the DCMS. The man had greying hair and a face that looked as if it was born to hold no expression other than a frown.
“Tai-sa,” Tormark said softly, bowing low before his table. “Is this seat taken?”
“Will you have tea?” he asked formally, indicating the empty chair across from him.
“Thank you,” she nodded and sat. She watched in barely contained horror at the brown sludge that sloshed into her cup by the shaking hands of the bartender, who withdrew so quickly he left afterimages. “This is tea?”
“I am told it is a local delicacy.” His frown managed to grow. “I wouldn’t drink it if ordered by the Coordinator himself,” the tai-sa said with a wink. “But tradition is tradition. Now, what is it you wanted to speak to me about?”
Tormark sat up straighter, squaring her shoulders. “I was hoping we could speak again about my proposal for a mercenary force.”
The tai-sa rolled his eyes. “Chu-i, the Dragon has little use for mercenaries. And with this recent saber-rattling from the thrice-cursed Davions, we need every capable pilot—”
“Tai-sa, it is exactly these Galahad tournaments that makes me ask you this,” Tormark winced. “With apologies for interrupting.”
“No, please, you seem quite eager. Explain.”
“It is widely known that the Fedrats have reinforced the systems closest to our borders by employing mercenaries as a bulwark to us striking at them.” Tormark drew a quick circle on the table. “But it is also known that those soldiers and mechs must’ve come from somewhere.”
“Their inner, more secure systems,” the tai-sa said with a nod. “A reasonable move. We can’t attack any system more than a jump or two away from our space without risking the Davions cutting off supplies or intercepting any logistics train we create.”
“But what if we didn’t invade to conquer a location?” Her eyes were gleaming. “What if we seized the opportunity to bloody their nose and to claim some honour in the process?”
The colonel raised an eyebrow. “You have a plan.” It was a statement, not a question.
“A unit of mercenaries, under our direct command, and flying colours so close to that of the DCMS that only an idiot would mistake them for anything else. We pick a world where the Fedrats have previously defeated us, and we strike there, fast and hard. Not to claim the world, but to make their people question if anywhere is truly safe.” She unfolded a piece of paper from her pocket with a dozen carefully hand-written names on it, and passed it to the officer.
The tai-sa leaned back in his chair, rubbing his chin as he read the list. “Bristol, Exetor, Listowel, Sturgis, Waunekee… Some of these are quite deep in enemy territory.”
“Which is why it is critical to use mercenaries.” She permitted herself to smile. “Each of these systems currently offer garrison contracts, desperate for protection as the Fedrats have relocated their troops for the tournament. We will accept one of the contracts, but then ignore it when we arrive, smashing everything of value and evacuating before anyone can respond.”
The tai-sa nodded slowly. “And you have a suggestion for mercenaries we can trust to do this?”
“Well, whatever company accepts the job will immediately have their MRB score obliterated and probably have to disband for some time afterwards,” Tormark said with a nod. “But I do know a chu-i that would jump at the opportunity to teach these scum a lesson.”
The tai-sa nodded one more time. “And if everything goes wrong, it isn’t on us, but on these mercenaries to take the blame…” He stroked his chin again. “Very well, chu-i. Pick a world, and let us see how much honour you can bring to the Dragon.”
Tormark smiled, her eyes glancing down the page one more time.