The Let's Play Archive

Battletech

by PoptartsNinja

Part 82: Political Vote 4

Political Vote 4:



Melissa Arthur Steiner sat quietly in her room, her hands folded quietly in her lap. Held virtually powerless by her uncle Frederick and her self-appointed ‘regent’ Aldo Lestrade; there was nothing the Estates General could do to aid her, and very little she could do to help herself.

The door to her room opened quietly, and Duke Lestrade’s idiot son slipped in. She frowned, he looked ridiculous in clothing his father had picked out for him; a doublet of bright canary yellow with green pants of a roguish cut. His father may have made the look work; but his son certainly couldn’t.

“Melissa,” he beamed widely, “It’s nice to see you again.”

“So nice of you to knock,” she glowered. “It’s a pity the Clans didn’t kill you, toad.”

“You wound me,” he clutched his heart as if struck; then glared at her. “But the Clans couldn’t shoot me; I’m far too small a target. Besides,” he teased, “You’ll warm to me eventually. After all, we’re to be wed in the spring.”

She turned away, glowering. Clovis Lestrade laughed raucously, slapping his knees—and accidentally triggered a small handheld device his father had given him. In a few moments, it blinked red; then flashed green as it located and silently neutralized all video and audio bugs in Melissa Steiner’s quarters. It was a powerful tool that Simon Johnson had been entirely against giving the Duke’s idiot son.

All mirth slipped from Clovis’ features; he straightened quietly. his attitude changing in an instant from imbecilic good humor to a morose resignation.

“… How much longer do we need to keep this up, Jeana?” He whispered quietly,

Jeana Clay, agent of Heimdall and Melissa Steiner’s body double looked up at him silently. She’d been hand-picked by Katrina Steiner herself; and willingly given herself to the mental conditioning that allowed her to ‘be’ Melissa Steiner; at the cost of her name, her rank, and her ‘Mech. It had been worth it; it still was… with her on Tharkad, Melissa was free. Free to gain support, free to gain power, even free to marry her betrothed, Hanse Davion, if she so wished.

“As long as it takes,” Jeana replied quietly.

He sighed. “Simon almost caught me at the drop-off,” he said quietly. “Damn him; he’s too good at rooting out Heimdall cells. How he uncovered Gultoppr Lance… and My father sent an agent to test my loyalty, too. He patronizes me like I’m some mindless oaf; but I almost suspect he’d be proud of me if he thought I was capable of betraying him. I was given a microchip that was a ‘message’ for you. I didn’t look at it, and handed it over to my father like a good little dog.”

She gave Clovis’ little hand a squeeze. “We have until the spring to figure something out,” she replied quietly. “Marrying you would hardly be a burden for me.”

He nodded in reply, “True—you could always reveal your duplicity then; which would leave me married to someone well away from the Throne and let Melissa return unburdened—”

She kissed him on the cheek, “You’re a good man, Clovis Lestrade. How long have we been at this? Two conspirators in a sea of enemies? It pains me that I have to hate you, publically. You’re the only friend I have in the universe, I think. I could name worse suitors.”

He looked away, “You deserve a better man than the likes of me, Jeana.”

Her eyes softened, sadness touching her beautiful features for a brief, unguarded instant. “How did you know the chip was a fake?”

“Because,” he replied slyly, “it was given by my mother.”

Jeana nodded, smiled… they both laughed. The thought of Danica Holstein on Tharkad was an amusing one. If she was here, so too was—



**********



The Red Corsair paced quietly on the bridge of the Merchant-class Jumpship Bifrost, her long red hair trailing behind her in the microgravity created by the ship’s station keeping thrusters. At the helm, Danica Holstein didn’t spare the red-costumed pirate queen a second glance.

A throaty chuckle pierced the businesslike silence of the bridge. A tall, muscular man with a thick but well-kept black beard and shoulder-length black hair chuckled, then laughed outright as he watched the Red Corsair’s progress.

She shot him a wicked glare, and demanded to know, “What?!”

“Just reminiscing about old times, Melissa,” the man replied quietly; letting his mirth die down. “You really should take the Captain’s chair. The Red Corsair needs to remain calm and in control.”

She frowned, and nodded. “… Sorry, Morgan. I keep forgetting, you were with her back then.”

“Me and your father both,” Morgan Kell replied with a smile.

“You don’t—”

His face hardened, “I do,” he cut her off, “have to do this again. The Kell Hounds owe everything to your father and mother; I won’t stand by and let you fight her murderer alone.”

Behind him, Salome Ward nodded silently. She patted Morgan on the shoulder, her long, reddish hair blended well with her wicked-looking space-pirate leathers. “The Kell Hounds are hardly about to let our leader run around without us,” she replied with sparkling eyes, “who knows what trouble he could get into without our help? He might even start another Mercenary unit, or join up with Team Banzai—”

From his own corner, the brilliant Doctor Banzai laughed heartily. One of the first innovators to come along in centuries, he was responsible for some of the first new Battlemech designs since the first succession war. The doctor’s voice was strong and pleasant as summer sunshine. “I don’t think there’s any danger of that, Salome. We’d be Team Kell in a matter of hours; and we’d be the Kell Hounds’ forth regiment a few hours after that.”

“A few minutes after,” Morgan laughed, smiling warmly at his niece. “So, Captain, have you put any thought into our destination?”

Melissa Arthur Steiner, the new Red Corsair, nodded quietly and slipped into her chair. She was rough around the edges, but when presented with an actual problem to plan for and solve, Morgan could think of very few better suited.

“We need supplies, support, and possibly even a base of operations. I think we should—”



“I think we should—”
A) “—set a course for Helm in the Free Worlds’ League. A Castle Brian was discovered there; if we could loot it, we’d have all the supplies we’d need.”
B) “—set a course for the Heimdall base at Styx in the Draconis Combine. We can rally support there, and there may be someone with connections we can use.”
C) “—set a course for New Avalon in the Federated Suns. Perhaps Hanse Davion will still be willing to lend us his support.”
D) “—set a course for Outreach in the Capellan Confederation. It was an important world to the Star League; if anything survived the nuclear attacks, it would make an excellent base of operations.”
E) “—set a course for the Periphery and try to contact these ‘Clans’. We don’t know what their goals are, so perhaps we could find a way to get them what they want and spare the Lyran Commonwealth from further attacks. That would be a deathblow to Lestrade’s contention that I’m unfit to lead the Commonwealth…”