Act 2 - Bargaining[]
With A Bared Sword[]
Chapter 39[]
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Mount Asgard, Tharkad
Donegal March, Federated Commonwealth
16 September 3057
Thomas Marik’s face was a mask of righteous anger. “I have evidence, incontrovertible evidence, that the Joshua Marik under care in the Federated Commonwealth is not my son. He is, in fact, a minion of Victor Steiner-Davion. The Archon-Prince's purpose in substituting this other child for my son is obvious: he wishes to put his puppet in the Captain-General's place at the helm of this nation.”
In the privacy of his office, Victor understood at last what his father must have felt, as he watched Sun-Tzu gloat in that last message, the one that had been playing as Hanse Davion’s heart gave out. He was younger than his father, and healthier. But his own heart writhed with him at the words.
But this was worse.
Sun-Tzu was a smug snake, boasting at an old man whose pride lay in service to his people. Thomas was the old man here, and his anger was just.
And aimed at Victor.
The recording of the Captain-General had not paused for Victor’s self-loathing, but now Thomas’ own words faltered and Victor looked up to met the gaze of the scarred man on the TriVee display.
Gathering himself, the Marik resumed his speech: “I am forced to assume that my son is dead. Given the nature of his illness, such an outcome was not unexpected. What was unexpected was Victor Steiner-Davion's cold and cruel and calculated attempt to take advantage of my loss, our loss, to further his own political ends. Unable to govern the realm his butchered mother left to him, he dabbles in the internal politics of his neighbors, desperately hoping to absorb them into his faltering empire.”
“No…” The Archon-Prince whispered. That had never been his goal. Conquest was never his goal!
But who would believe him now? For everything else he was accused of was true. Every other accusation had hit home.
In the dim privacy of his grandmother’s office, Victor Steiner-Davion wondered how she would have judged him. Harshly, he could only assume. He had indeed failed the realm left to him by his family… and it could not have had worse timing. One of the messages on his desk was what might be Phelan’s last message: IlKhan Ulric Kerensky had been deposed by vote of the Grand Council. Unless he won his Trial of Refusal to overturn that decision, the Clans would surge towards Terra once more.
Everything was falling apart around him.
The image of Thomas Marik blinked off for a moment, as the speech concluded, before displaying a count-down before it repeated itself. Victor looked away and then blinked at the ping of an inbound message from his desk.
He had told Galen not to interrupt him. He’d made it an order, in fact.
Victor forced himself to check the console and found the answer. Messages from his family bypassed normal channels. This one was marked as from Kathy. He checked the clock and did the math automatically; she must have sent it within hours of seeing Thomas Marik’s declaration of war.
He had this coming, the Archon-Prince supposed. He terminated the repeat of Marik’s speech and prepared to face his sister’s anger.
Kathy was wearing a sash of Campbell tartan across her uniform. “Victor,” she said quietly. “I don’t think I can tell you anything you’re not telling yourself. Cousin Morgan can probably yell at you better than I can - someone that tall has to have bigger lungs than I do.”
The disappointed expression, so much like their mother’s, hurt more than if she was yelling.
“Moving on,” his sister said, visibly pulling herself together. “You must have heard now about David Sandoval. Every report I have suggests the chain of command is in tatters. I don’t have the military rank, but I am nearest and if there was ever a time to use royal authority to cut across the confusion this is it. I’m asking for formal authority over the Sarna March until David recovers or someone more senior can get here.”
What had happened to Sandoval? Victor wondered, looking guiltily at the door. What had he been missing?
On the trivee, Kathy leant forwards. “Victor, even Dad wasn’t right all the time. This has all the earmarks of one of his plans. I thought Mom would have told you that wasn’t a guarantee of success, but maybe not. The difference was, he was the great Hanse Davion and could brush off the occasional reverse.”
“And I can’t,” he replied as if she was there.
Kathy continued without interruption. “You’re not Dad… but you’re still my brother. I’m sure you’re very busy getting things back under control, so I’ll cut this short. Love you.”
This message, like the last, prompted him with a count-down before it would repeat. Victor tapped the controls to prevent that and sat back in his seat, leaning back… looking at the ceiling. He exhaled slowly.
And then, with what seemed like herculean effort, he entered the comm code for Galen.
“Victor?” his friend asked. “Are you…”
“Done sulking in my tent? Yes, I think so.”
“I never mistook you for Achilles.”
“Just a bit of a heel. That’s what it feels like.” He ran one hand down his face. “I need a shower and a coffee. Is it too late in the day for you to put a quick briefing together on what I’ve missed?”
“No, it’s not too late. I’ll see you in thirty minutes.”
“Thirty minutes it is.” Victor cut the call, looked at the grandfather clock placed where he could see it from the desk and winced. “Not too late? I don’t deserve him.”
The Archon-Prince started the coffee and then stepped into the bathroom next to his office. By the time he was out again, in pants and shirt-sleeves, the machine had finished its preparations and spat black coffee into his mug. The smell alone reminded him had it had been a while since he ate.
A knock on the door reminded him that he’d locked the door and he padded over to correct that.
Galen looked him up and down. “Doing this informally, I see,” he deadpanned, studying Victor’s bare feet.
“I’ll hide my toes behind my desk,” he promised. “Do you want some coffee?”
“What do you think I’ve been drinking while I waited?” His aide took a seat facing the desk and opened up his noteputer. “Do you care where we start?”
“Sarna,” Victor said and dropped two sugar cubes into his mug, stirring it. He didn’t usually like to sweeten it, but he might need the energy.
Galen arched an eyebrow and then brought up a file. “The Capellan side of the attack was partnered with the Zhanzeng de Guang launching another major wave of attacks. They must have been planning this ahead of time.”
“Or at least for it,” he said grudgingly. “I have to wonder what Sun-Tzu had in mind to trigger this if Thomas hadn’t found out about Joshua.”
“We might want to find out in case he has something else ready,” the other man agreed. “But they have been aiming for everywhere our command structure was strained dealing with the casualties of their previous attack. Our troops are doing everything they can, but coordinating anything beyond individual worlds is difficult and Marshal Sandoval was one of the first casualties. It’s not clear who is in command right now. We need to send someone out there.”
“Alright.” At least there was something he could do right away. “I’ll send a message to Kathy, giving her complete authority to organize a new command structure for the Sarna March.”
“Are you sure that’s the best idea? She’s just a Hauptmann.”
“I’m not expecting her to fight any battles. She just has to organize the people doing it,” Victor assured him. “She’s practically there already and everyone knows who she is.” He paused. “It’s also an ironclad excuse for her to leave Northwind and that damned Death Commando behind.”