A Question of Greatness
- Chapter 4 -[]
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Target Practice[]
Logan Estate
Proving Grounds, Detroit
Early 31st Century
Next day I woke up before dawn and went to our Mechbay to log some hours in my brother's Assassin. I would have asked him for permission, but after we'd returned without him giving me any kind of answer he'd simply disappeared. He just left our family compound and I honestly had no idea where he'd gone. So, if he wanted to complain about me taking his Assassin for a spin would without asking he would simply have to show his face and do it in person.
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Assassin Medium 'Mech
Our Mechbay was a fairly standard thing only big enough to handle a lance, but it's small size was relative. It was still a cavernous facility that made my 21st century memories think of a high-tech aircraft hangar. Security was twitchy still not even a week after the attack, clutching their weapons close and giving me terse nods of greeting as I passed security. Following Earth-Logan's advice I stopped for a few minutes to talk to our security guys, asking them if there had been any trouble and just generally how they were doing. They seemed a little surprised but were appreciative, and even seemed a little more upbeat when I left them behind.
Maybe Earth-Logan had a point, when his memories criticized me for having been too aloof and antisocial. How do you expect to manage people and run an organization if you don't pay attention to them and just live in your own head, eh? If things went how I hoped then having a good relationship with my people would be critical for me to succeed. I was deep in thought about this when I began to climb the staircase of the repair bay where the Assassin was docked, wondering at all the opportunities I might have missed in the past with my complete disinterest in developing my HR skills.
In our family, we all had the access and activation codes for all of our 'Mechs in case of emergencies, so I had no trouble gaining access and climbing into the cockpit even with my right arm still in a cast. As I squeezed myself in, I grimaced as I was suddenly unpleasantly reminded of something: the Assassin was rather infamous for it's tiny and cramped cockpit. I had no idea why they'd designed it so small, since even my Wasp had had a roomier (if not necessary spacious) cockpit while being a full 20 tons lighter than the Assassin.
Cramped and somewhat uncomfortable, and wondering how in the hell my 6"3' brother with broad shoulders could pilot this thing when my 6"1' slimmer frame barely had enough room to move, I nevertheless put on the neurohelmet and went about doing the routine startup system check.
Funnily enough, while my father's Quickdraw and my own Wasp had been destroyed, the Assassin had escaped with only some superficial damage to it's armor that had already been repaired. As I ran through the system's check I couldn't help but look around the cockpit and imagine what might be in the future for this Assassin. If I could talk my brother into it, we were definitely going to be using The Cube on it. Even if the thought of basically disintegrating our last remaining 'mech, or hell any 'mech for that matter, sent a shudder of instinctual revulsion through me.
Checks finally done, I powered up the 'mech, feeling the little thrill I always did when I felt a 'mech's fusion engine roaring to life. Slowly I took the first steps out, getting used to the much higher vantage point than the one from my own Wasp. So far, so good.
"Control," I called into the comm unit. "I'm going for some shooting practice so please make sure the field is clear. Are the dummy targets set up?"
(("Affirmative Axe-One,")) came the response. (("The field is clear and the targets are active. You're clear to go weapons free."))
"Thank you, control. Exiting the hangar now."
Slowly I guided the Assassin out of the bay doors, a little surprised to realize the machine's acceleration was comparable to that of my Wasp even though it weighed twice as much. Once outside I took a look at what we used as our training field for mechs and vehicles. It was basically just several square miles of flat empty dirt with as little as possible nearby that we could accidentally blow up during live weapon's training. Our training dummies were cheap, disposable things, basically little more than plywood and scrap metal cutouts of combat vehicles with just enough heft to be able to get a target lock on them. To start with though, first was always the basics of the basics: slowly I upped the throttle of the Assassin until I was running around the field at the mech's top speed of 118km/hr, which was frankly absurdly fast for what was ostensibly a medium mech.
Still, I'll admit I wasn't the biggest fan of the Assassin. Now don't get me wrong, it was a machine that did a very good job at what it was designed to do. The Assassin was basically meant to be fast recon scout and to hunt down and destroy light mechs. It was extremely fast with some of the most powerful jump jets around, had a better than average targeting and tracking system, and it's weaponry was adequate for what it was intended to do. For the most part.
Terrible cramped and uncomfortable cockpit design aside, however, my biggest gripe with the Assassin was that it felt terribly under gunned and under armored for a 40 ton mech. It's weaponry consisted of an LRM-5, an SRM-2 and one medium laser. The idea was that the Assassin would wear down a unit from range with the LRM-5 before closing in to finish it with the SRM-2 and medium laser. In practice, however, this meant that the Assassin could only safely chip away at light mechs from a distance relatively slowly. And if it was struck back, it was basically made of paper.
Compare the Assassin to a 25 ton Commando for example. The Commando was armed with an SRM-6, an SRM-4, and a medium laser. Arguably the Commando was better armed than the Assassin even though it weighed a full 15 tons less. A Commando also had four tons of armor for protection, which made it all the more alarming when you realized an Assassin only had four and a half. Granted, an Assassin should still handily beat a Commando, given that it had a massive advantage on it when it came to effective range and maneuverability. But the fact remained that in terms of raw damage output the Assassin was dwarfed by even a lot of light mechs and it's armor was basically no better than a Commandos. The Assassin wasn't a bad 'mech, but it felt far too undergunned and was far too specialized in it's niche for my liking.
We were going to need to get something beefier to anchor the mobile and fragile Assassin. Dad's Quickdraw would have been perfect. I pushed back the still fresh feeling of grief that welled up at the thought and forced my attention back to the piloting at hand.
I took the Battlemech through it's paces more thoroughly than I had since my time at the Mitchell Calderon Military Academy. Turning radius, acceleration, using jump jets from one end of the field to the other and practicing mid-air maneuvering. LRM lock on targets and destroying them, finding and getting comfortable with the narrow band of range where both SRMs and LRMs could be used to their full effect together, getting used to the thankfully very forgiving heat production of the Assassin. My arm hurt at lot, especially when I made certain movements, but I'd always had a knack for ignoring and focusing through physical pain. I lost myself in the training for hours, determined to become as good as I possibly could be behind the cockpit of an Assassin, overly specialized and criminally undergunned or not.
I was drenched in sweat and a bit stiff when I docked and climbed out of the Assassin, but I was feeling good about what I had accomplished all of the same. When the time comes, I'll be ready. I was closing up the cockpit when I heard a the clatter of hurried running steps on the metal catwalk behind me. When I turned around to see who the hell was up here running, I saw a very familiar person.
"Logan! I haven't seen you in days! Are you okay? Why haven't you come to see me?"
Heaving for breath and looking frazzled was a girl of twelve, all awkward coltish limbs and elbows as she was in the middle of her first real growth spurt. Unlike my short and painfully straight hair, hers was closer to Hector's, a huge mop of wavy blonde hair falling almost to her waist. She tall and skinny and had blue eyes just like the rest of our family. This was my sister, Beatrice, and right now she didn't look very happy with me.
"They're not supposed to let you in here.", I said with a frown.
"I'm an Axe, of course they're going to let me in here." Beatrice said with a dismissive wave of her hand. I was going to have to have a talk with security about not letting my little sister sweet talk or bully them into letting her into places she wasn't supposed to be. "Never mind that! They told me you were in the hospital. When did you get out? Why did I only hear about it this morning? Are you okay??"
Beatrice looked stressed out and on the verge of tears. Suddenly, I couldn't help but feel guilty. Hector and I had gotten back late last night after the kids were asleep, and this morning I had so much on my mind I'd simply defaulted on going to see them later on at the time when I usually did. It didn't occur to me that that might not have been enough. I wasn't the only one who had lost their father not even a week ago, and I hadn't gotten a chance to see them since then.
"I'm sorry, Bea." I said sincerely, "I just got out of the hospital yesterday, but I didn't get home until late last night. I was going to come see you after your morning classes were over. I'm fine, I still technically have a broken arm," I said, waving my cast around to emphasize the point. "But it's not even slowing me down all that much. Doctors say it should be all healed up in a month or so." Never mind it was hurting like hell now after I'd forced it to cooperate in my piloting for hours, but there was no need to worry Beatrice with little details like that.
"Really?" Beatrice said in a voice filled with pre-teen sarcasm, raising her nose haughtily in the air. "You were going to come see me after my classes, were you? I take it you haven't even noticed that my classes ended over an hour ago now!"
A quick look at my watch confirmed that she was right. I was going to reflexively open my mouth to tease her for being too impatient before I stopped. Looking closer at Beatrice, she was trying to act the same as ever, but her eyes were red and her body language very loudly hinted that all was not well. Now was not the time to tease and banter like we usually did.
"Bae," I said softly, before slowly walking right up to her and kneeling in front of her. Beatrice was suddenly breathing hard, looking at me with wet, pain filled eyes, her body language practically asking for permission. As soon as I opened my arms she practically threw herself on top of me in a hug, a wet choking sound escaping from her mouth.
"I-I'm so glad you're okay!" she sobbed loudly into my shoulder, squeezing me hard enough to hurt. I tried not to show my discomfort and hugged her as tight as I could right back.
"I'm sorry," I muttered into her hair. "I'm sorry."
We hugged and cried up there on the catwalk next to our Assassin, the crews tactful enough to notice the scene and quietly leave to give us some privacy. I continued to mutter nothings in her ear and Bae continued to do her level best to squeeze me to death. It was grieving and release that both of us had desperately needed. I'm sorry Bae. I'm sorry. I promise I won't let anything like this ever happen again.
Appeasing the Little Sister[]
"Hey," she said, having mostly gotten her sniffles under control. "Can I get inside the Assassin?"
"Absolutely not," I replied, using my most serious voice that I'd copied from every drill sargent I had ever had. "You're still too young. Like d-, like we've always said. You're not seeing the inside of a BattleMech until you turn fifteen. And that is if you prove to us that you're mature enough to handle it."
Beatrice flinched a bit at my slip, but doggedly did her best to ignore any awkwardness. She pouted at me and whined, "The simulator just isn't the same. It's like playing a dumb game with crappy graphics!"
Well, I couldn't argue with that. The simulator we had was about the lowest of the low in terms of quality that was on the market that still at least gave you some kind of experience in how to pilot a mech. Basically it was just like a video game without any of the simulated movement, sounds, heat, and the real-to-life graphics that more top of the line simulators tended to have.
"They have more advanced simulators that you can rent out elsewhere on the planet," I said to her with a small smile. "Maybe if you prove you can prove you can handle our crappy simulator I'll take you to try some of the more realistic ones. What do you think?"
Bea still seemed a little miffed but ultimately shrugged. "Fine," she said, not sounding particularly thrilled. I understood why. She didn't take our simulator seriously so she had a lot of work to do if she wanted to up her performance to anything resembling 'decent'. "Where's Hector?" she asked me.
Okay, time for a little white lie. "He's off dealing with the rest of the fallout from the attack," I said with a small frown. "I don't know when he'll be back. It might be a day or two until he gets everything settled." Is he off sulking? I bet he's off sulking. Why are so many people in our family so dramatic?
Thankfully my answer seemed to satisfy her, even if she clearly wasn't happy with Hector not being around for a bit. I couldn't blame her for being clingy at a time like this. It was perfectly understandable. Having an idea of what we both needed I made an executive decision.
"Come on," I said, standing up. "I haven't seen the twins yet either. Let's go see how they're doing, alright?"
Beatrice frowned a bit – I knew she found the twins a bit annoying – but accepted without a word of protest.
Silent Promise[]
I could hear them shrieking as they played as we approached the playroom where the twins spent a lot of their time. Beatrice made a face but squared her shoulders and bravely strode ahead of me and opened the door. I followed in after her, looking around and taking in the contents of the room.
In the corner sat Diya, the woman who had been hired for the unenviable task of being the twins' minder and general nanny. She smiled and nodded to me in greeting before going back to some sort of embroidery she was working on. The playroom itself was a mess, which wasn't a surprise since the twins hadn't learned how to find a toy they were looking for without throwing everything else on the floor first. Large windows let in plenty of light giving the room an open and and pleasant atmosphere.
The twins themselves hadn't even noticed me enter from where they lay on the floor, entranced as they watched some cartoon I knew for a fact they'd seen at least a hundred times before. The two six year olds were not identical. Torquil had the same hair as his older brother and a wide face while Joran was the only not-blonde in the family, his hair a curly chestnut brown and his features were more pinched than that of his brother.
Their personalities were similar but also different. Both were loud and had what seemed like never ending energy. However while Joran was happy to just run around and scream and make a mess of things, Torquil was the one you had to watch out for. He was the type of kid who would lick a lightbulb or try to eat any random colorful plant he happened to come across just because he could.
"Boys," said Diya in a motherly tone. "Why don't you take a break and say hi to your sisters?" Then she used the remote control to pause the cartoon, because otherwise it was doubtful they would move.
They both shot up, equal expressions of indignation on their face, before as one they both turned to look at me and Beatrice. Then they focused on me and yelled as they got to their feet.
"Sis!" "Where have you been?!"
They both ran to me and gave me a hug, sweet little boys that they were when they weren't being terrors. I couldn't help the smile that spread across my face. "Hey boys. How's school? Are you being good for Diya?"
I didn't get to enjoy the hug for long, as they both pulled away and started babbling with much enthusiasm but not much coherence about anything and everything they could think of. At the appropriate places I smiled and nodded and kept a smile on my face for their sake, but all of a sudden I couldn't help but thinking that in a few years the boys probably won't remember either of their parents. They were still so young. And our mother… our mother had died mere months after giving birth to them.
As I listened to the boys my mind drifted elsewhere, back to six years ago when I had last seen my mother alive. It had been another pirate raid, not as big as the one that had just happened but a dangerous one all the same. Dad had been on another continent on some Ten Families business and he had taken Hector with him at the time when the raid hit. I'd been about to get in my Wasp when mom stopped me cold and absolutely forbade me to go. Never in my life had I been so furious with her. I'd been sixteen then, only a few weeks from turning seventeen, and for some reason I'd been convinced at the time that I was some kind of hotshot 'mech piloting prodigy.
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Wasp Light 'Mech
I don't remember what I said, but I do know my last words to her had been bratty and ungrateful. Mom had gotten this angry/hurt look on her face before telling me we didn't have time for this and that we would talk about this later. She used her credentials to lock me out of my Wasp before getting in her Shadow Hawk and going out to coordinate the defense.
Mom never made it back. She made the raiders regret their decision to attack here, but they managed to take out her Shadow Hawk before fleeing back to their DropShip. I'd very often had deep regrets about that day. Why had I said those things before she went out? Had my yelling at her somehow made her more distracted at the worst possible moment? Had I simply not been as responsible as I should have been in order to be trusted to help defend our home? What if I had said just the right thing to convince mom to let me help her?
Hector said these suspicious raids have been going on for about twenty years now. Is mom's death something else we have to thank McCleary for?
Eventually Torquil got bored with babbling his every exciting adventure to me and ran off. Joran, ever the more thoughtful one, looked at me in a way that seemed almost way too thoughtful for a six year old.
"Bea said daddy got sick and that's why he's not coming back. Is that true?"
I swallowed a sudden surge of grief. Why had Beatrice been the one to try to explain to the twins that their father was dead? She was only twelve for Terra's sake.
Very deliberately I didn't look at Beatrice as I was unsure what my face would show. Instead I gently stroked Joran's hair and said, "Yes, that's true, Joran. Daddy got sick and now he can't come back anymore."
Joran frowned. "Isn't he going to get better?"
I had to swallow a knot in my throat as I continued to stroke his hair. "No, Joran, I'm sorry. Some sick people just don't get better from."
Joran frowned at me, and I could tell that he was upset and didn't really understand. I was searching for what else to say when Torquil ran up to his brother screaming and practically bowled him. Joran yelled at his brother and began to chase after him, our conversation seemingly forgotten.
I looked at them running around, laughing. They were such happy boys.
They've already lost so much and they don't even realize. We've all lost so much.
I looked at Beatrice and noticed the forlorn expression on her face. Beatrice who, if I were forced to choose at gunpoint, I would say was my favorite sibling of all.
Never again. No one is going to take another one of us in a pirate raid or anything else ever again, I swore, first clenching so hard it hurt. I'll make us powerful and influential enough as to be untouchable. No pirate, no one on this planet will ever dare to try to target us again. We will rule this planet, and may the heavens help anyone stupid enough to stand in my way.
Family Agreement[]
It took two more days for Hector to finally show his face back at the compound.
By that point I had grown incredibly annoyed at him. I'd been pulling double duty while he decided to go missing in order to keep up with his responsibilities as well as mine, while at the same time helping to coordinate the cleanup from attack. To say I'd been swamped the last few days would have been a hilarious understatement. To make matters worse I was pretty sure I'd aggravated my broken arm when I'd taken the Assassin for a spin. It was just a more intense distracting ache than before, but it just added to my irritation at the current situation.
In light of all that, I felt that the caustic look I give him when he walks in and interrupts the paperwork I'm trying to work through (his responsibility) is entirely deserved.
"What?" he asked, trying to play innocent. I only narrowed my eyes further.
"Oh, I don't know. Where have you been? Did you enjoy your vacation? It's not like we've just suffered a major attack and have about a billion things to sort through to get back to anything resembling normal. And it's not like seeing the new head of house around would have been good for morale or anything. Did you know someone asked me this morning is you had finally succumbed to injuries sustained during the attack? Disappear without explanation and people start coming up with all sorts of interesting explanations of their own."
Hector winced at every one of my points. It was a bit gratifying, but I was still pissed off. "Look," said Hector, holding his hands up. "It's not a good explanation, but with everything that happened along with all of the earth shattering revelations and suggestions you dropped into my lap without warning, I needed a bit of time to process everything. Otherwise I think you might have needed to find me a nice padded room to throw me in before too long. Besides, I knew you would hate it, but I trusted that you were more than capable of holding down the fort for a few days."
Well. I wasn't happy with his explanation, but the trust and flattery was nice. "Well, you had your mental health break. Good for you. Just don't make a habit of ghosting during a crisis or I'll use your own BattleMech to step on you."
"Noted," he said dryly. Then he sobered up and straightened his spine. "Actually, I need to talk to you. Could we go to the quiet room and talk about, um, what we were discussing the last time we talked?"
I squinted up at him, looked down at the paperwork I had been working on, and decided that it was once again his problem now that he was back. "Sure," I said, standing up and stretching. "Lead the way. I'm eager to resume our conversation," I told him with a sunny smile.
He just rolled his eyes but didn't act nervous at my oblique reference to my plan, so I cautiously took that as a good sign. Hector led the way out of the room and I followed closely behind.
The "quiet room" had basically been an idea of our mother's. Basically, it was just a small sitting room with soundproof walls that was built inside a Faraday cage. It wasn't completely foolproof against eavesdropping and surveillance but it was pretty damn good. Why mother had thought such a thing was necessary I'm not sure, but right now I find myself very glad that we have it. This wasn't the sort of conversation that we wanted anyone to overhear.
The room was small, tastefully decorated, with a four comfortable chairs around a round table suitable for tea. We sat down across from each other without ceremony. Both of us were eager and a bit nervous about this conversation, I could tell.
"Well," began Hector without preamble. "I wasn't just hiding away somewhere feeling sorry for myself. But I was feeling in over my head and really needed some advice. So I contacted Uncle Kevan and asked for his opinion on things. He's always had a steady hand about things, and I trust his judgment."
"You what?" I asked him numbly. "You didn't just… write down all of our recent secrets and send them out over the HPG did you?"
"Of course not," Hector said with a derisive scoff. "How stupid do you think I am? I used a lot of coded language and vague allusions in our communications. And even then nothing close to the truth. All I told Uncle Kevan is that we've stumbled upon an incredibly huge unexpected windfall. I'm sure he'll read more than just that in between the lines but nothing that even hints at the truth."
Our Uncle Kevan was our late mother's older brother. And by older, I meant he was a good twenty years her senior. Uncle Kevan had captained our Merchant JumpShip for as long as I could remember. His two sons Ryan and Alexis, both in their forties now, had captained the family's two Danais class Cargo DropShips going on fifteen years now. Uncle Kevan had always been more involved with us than either of our cousins had though.
"That's all?"
"Well, I had to tell him about the raid." said Hector with an unhappy frown. "No one had told him about that, or about dad yet. I also told him my suspicions about who was responsible and about what had been behind some of these raids over the years. All of it, again, in coded language and allusions and using references only he would get. I wanted his advice but it would have been kind of hard for him to give it without having a proper context."
"Okay," I said, reassured. Uncle Kevan could be counted on to be discreet. "So what did he tell you? Uncle Kevan is a pretty conservative guy. I can't see him going along with my plan."
"Well, you would be wrong."
"What, really?" I said, genuinely surprised that gruff taciturn Uncle Kevan would think a radical scheme for planetary conquest would be good idea.
"Yeah. He made some pretty good points." Hector said with a nod. "For example, he pointed out that over the last decade or so our family has steadily gotten weaker and weaker, largely due to pirates with the occasional political attempt to screw us. He asked how much weaker we can afford to get before we cease to be able to function as a noble family. He also pointed out that, if our steady weakening has been enemy action and not just bad fortune. We currently are weak enough that they might be tempted to go for the killing stroke." Hector frowned, his expression bitter. "It's a good point. No better time to hammer an opponent than when they are showing weakness."
I nodded at that. Very practical, if incredibly sobering, advice. As expected of Kevan, really. "What else did he say?"
"He agreed with you, that these days humanity tends to do better with a single family in charge. That there isn't a single good example of group rule that has worked out in the long term for centuries now." Hector said with a shrug. "But that that should not factor into my decision. Bottom line, if I truly believed that our existence was on the line due to a current threat, that I have the moral obligation as the head of our family to take radical action to eliminate that threat. Not only that, I also have the moral obligation to make sure our family will prosper as much as possible, both in the short term and for generations to come."
I kept my face schooled, but I could feel my heart begin to pound in my chest. "Sounds like Kevan sees things the way I do, then."
Hector smiled thinly at that. "Funny you should mention that," he said, his tone all schadenfreude. "Kevan also had some practical advice about how we might go about this project. He told me, and I'm paraphrasing here, 'your sister is going to tell you to do everything at the end of a barrel of a gun. That's incredibly dum dum stupid and you shouldn't listen to her.'"
I frowned at that. "No way Uncle Kevan used anything close to those words." I thought about it for a second before adding. "And no way would I advocate to simply do everything at the end of a gun!"
"Really?" asked Hector skeptically. "Because the Logan I remember was a military and 'mech nut, but she never had a single political bone in her body. In fact you've always hated politics practically on principle as I recall."
I froze at that. But I'm not longer the Logan you remember, am I? As Detroit-Logan I had always hated politics. Hated the fake smiles, the fake flattery, the showmanship involved. Hated how everyone pretended at virtue and the moral high ground in order to manipulate the room to get what they wanted. Hated how everyone was always looking to disingenuously twist your words into something sinister in order to gain some sort of advantage over you.
Maybe Hector was exaggerating a bit, but Detroit-Logan would have simply preferred using a gun first and leaving politics as an afterthought. She saw politics as inherently disingenuous and artificial even if, perhaps, it was a necessary evil. But how could you ever really trust it?
Earth-Logan, though, had a different perspective. To him, "politics" was simply synonymous with "getting people to see things your way." It was a competitive game, it was an art and a science, it was getting people to come around to your way of thinking by using any number of tools. Charm. Logic. Social obligations. Social pressure. And yes, even force, so long as it was used for business and not for pleasure. Though for Earth-Logan, "force" had been more financial or legal or occasionally blackmail as opposed to the force that came from a mech wielding an autocanon. That didn't change the fundamentals of the matter though, just opened up more avenues by which to apply pressure.
Now? I still wasn't a huge fan of politics, but I thought I could at least play the game now without it bothering me. And it wouldn't necessarily be unpleasant all the time.
Still, credit where credit was due. "You're probably right, I might have pushed for something rather more strong armed. I take it you've got some ideas that are of a more political bent then?"
Hector hesitated, looking momentarily uncomfortable before he nodded. "I do."
"So," I asked him with a bit of a shit eating grin. "Does that mean that you're in on the Grand Conspiracy of Planetary Conquest?"
"Don't call it that, that sounds awful. You'd really make a terrible politician." he said, lips twitching a bit. Then his expression turned serious. "And to answer you question: Yes. It's a big risk, but Uncle Kevan was right. Radical action is needed if we're going to save our family. So yes. I'm in."
"All the way?"
A solemn nod and rock steady look from him. "All the way."
My grin spread across my face so wide it almost hurt.
Game on.
Kept out of the Loop[]
As it turns out, my good feelings towards my brother were short lived.
"What do you mean you've arranged a meeting with the Vargas family?"
"Just what I said," he replied, looking infuriatingly unruffled. "We just got done talking about how we need to be political about this, not just start building mechs and hope for the best, yes? I have a plan to bring the Vargas family firmly on our side."
"Vargas?" I asked him, a bit skeptical. "Isn't it a bit too soon here? Also, why the Vargas and not the Falconers?" Those two were often allies and the closest thing we had to friends within the Ten Families.
"To address you second point first, that should be kind of obvious," Hector said with a raised eyebrow that seemed to question my intelligence. "I know we haven't outright stated it, but the plan is going to be for you to get something like a combat group or merc company together and go out and get us what we need to build up our strength, is it not? Do you really think we can put together something that won't end in disaster by ourselves in anything resembling a quick time frame? Because I don't know about you, but I've got this ominous feeling that the clock has already started ticking. And we might not necessarily have a great deal of time before the next blow might come for us. If we want to do this fast, we're going to need help. The Vargas family is the obvious answer."
I frowned. He wasn't wrong, per se. We had our own people who we could count on but not nearly enough to field an expeditionary force and keep operations going at home, especially with all the losses we recently took. Also, the Vargas were the obvious choice.
The Taurian-Canopian War of 2813 had been a disaster for Detroit. At the time Detroit had been more or less a Magistracy world, albeit weakly, and it'd had a decent amount of mining and industry for a periphery world. Then the Taurians invaded Detroit as part of a pointless pissing match over control of a few worlds along their borders. The Taurians had, of course, decided to land their forces near all of the most important mining and industrial centers of the planet as well as our most critical infrastructure and moved to secure those sites. The Magistracy, naturally, wasn't going to just let them have it and attacked. The result was that in the span of a few days their respective militarizes had completely destroyed all of our most important infrastructure across most of the planet in the midst of their fighting, the whole tragedy of the Succession Wars in microcosm played out over a week in our world instead of centuries.
Then the "war" was declared over with a nice little ceremony that was held in Detroit. The Taurians and the Canopians decided to have a buffer zone between them that neither would control, with Detroit being included among those worlds. So both of them just left and didn't bother to compensate anyone or fix even a single damn thing that they had smashed on Detroit in their stupid, pointless pissing match on our planet.
Afterwards we had degraded technologically since no one on the planet had the expertise or know-how to rebuild all that had been lost. The Ten Families emerged as ten groups who had the knowledge to still perform some kind of critical service or task. The Axe family, our family, had retained the manufacturing, technology and techniques to make large scale agriculture still viable on our planet. The Vargas family, on the other hand, were the ones who managed to scrape together some semblance of a defense industry on Detroit.
So yes. While pitiful compared to other well industrialized planets, the Vargas family was still able to build some combat vehicles, some VTOL aircraft, and they mass produced infantry gear that they exported and sold all over the periphery. In fact we'd had two Galleon light tanks that fought alongside my father during the pirate raid that we'd bought from the Vargas family years ago. Unfortunately both of the tanks had been destroyed in the raid, and a dear friend of mine had been injured in the process.
"Okay," I said, conceding the point that it made sense to consider reaching out to the Vargas. "I can see the sense in it. They would be more immediately useful. But why wait on approaching the Falconers?"
"Well," he said, fidgeting in his seat. "My plan for getting the Vargas fully on board wouldn't work with the Falconers. I'd like to get them on our side but that'll have to be at a later date and by different means."
"Fine," I said. Intrinsically I was uncomfortable with the idea of bringing some other family into this. But then again, I also now knew that gaining allies and support was invaluable to getting anything done. "So what is this plan of yours to woo the Vargas to our side? You do realize that they might strenuously object to us attempting to become the ruling family of Detroit, either just on principle or because they might reasonably wonder if it would make their own situation worse?"
"I have a plan." Hector said confidently, or tried to. He looked a little nervous. I narrowed my eyes at him.
"You're not going to tell me what it is, are you?"
"Nope," he said with a bright smile. "You can find out at the same time they do."
"Hector," I said to him, as if speaking to a small child. "Blindsiding me with this later instead of telling me now would be a stupid idea."
"I see," he said, faux thoughtfully. "Maybe, just like you blindsiding me with lost JumpShips and magic Battlemech factories was a really stupid idea?"
You petty fucker. "If this somehow comes back to bite us in ass," I growled at him. "I will break your nose. And Hector? That is not hyperbole."
He looked a bit worried before schooling his features. Good.
"Don't worry, Logan. I wouldn't carelessly put the family at risk. I'll say my plan carries some risk, but I truly do believe that it will work."
I huffed. Earth-Logan had been a bit of a control freak sometimes. I felt that itch now. Hector was taking charge, and I wanted nothing more than to make it so that I was the one calling all the shots. I wanted to demand he tell me what he had planned. I wanted veto power over it if I didn't like it. I wanted to set the agenda instead of being half a step behind.
But I kept my mouth shut. Hector was still the head of our family. If this had any chance of working out, I was going to have to learn to trust him to make decisions.
"Fine," I conceded, though none too gracefully. "I hope you know what you're doing. So when are we having this meeting?"