Part 64: Political Vote 3

Political Vote 3:

Samantha eased back to consciousness. She didn’t feel the burning pain in her arm, or the throbbing of her head. She noticed them, yes… but she didn’t feel them. She blinked slowly; first one eye, then the other. There was a sound in her ear—a persistent buzz with a regular pattern, but it was meaningless.

She didn’t comprehend what had happened. She tried to move, and her Zeus didn’t respond. Neither did her body. The sound warbled again; and her world flashed with pulsing blue and green light.

“Gone,” she mumbled an answer though she wasn’t sure to who—or what. “All gone.”



**********



“I say again, what is the status of Colonel Rossi—”

“Gone,” came a reply so quiet Caeser had to strain to hear it. He frowned—it sounded like Leutnant Clover. He recalled the day she’d been selected for the regiment; straight out of the famed Somerset Academy. Her scores had put many Nagelring graduates to shame; and she’d come with another advantage: she’d already been on Somerset. Hard to believe nearly a year had passed since he’d selected her as his aide. He hadn’t even known the Archon—no, he corrected himself, Duke Lestrade had demoted him. And yet she was out there; dying without him. His whole regiment was out there, dying without him.

“All gone,” she finished. The finality in her voice left little doubt in Caeser’s mind.

“Second Donegal Guards,” he broadcast over the regimental tac-com. “Colonel Rossi is dead or disabled; I’m assuming command of the Regiment. All remaining ‘Mechs and Vehicles are to break contact with Clan forces and withdraw.”

He paused, thinking—suddenly grateful that Rossi, the “Architect”, had come up with a good number of emergency or fallback contingencies. “Code is Black Winter. Repeat, Code is Black Winter. Aerospace assets, do your best to delay Clan forces. Colonel Steiner out.”

With a button-press, he called up the internal comms to the Tigris. “Captain, what’s our status?”

“S-seventeen minutes, Hauptman-Kommandant.”

“Prepare to open the doors, Captain. I’m going out.”

“But Colonel Rossi—”

“Can court-martial me when I see him in hell. Open the doors, Captain.”

“Y-yes sir.”

With a smooth motion, Caeser flipped a switch—his ‘Mech’s engine roared out of standby, flooding his cockpit with heat. He smiled in anticipation, then toggled into a global broadcast.

“Colonel Dusk,” he began, “this is Colonel Steiner. Colonel Rossi is—”

“Dead,” Dusk replied immediately. “You are his second-in-command, quiaff?”

“Yes.”

“His bid prevents you from interfering,” Dusk didn’t sound especially pleased. “It is a shame—I had hoped to fight you myself. You alone will be permitted to leave this world.”

Caeser blinked, incredulous. “Colonel—you strike me as a reasonable… whatever the hell you people are. I won’t stand by and simply watch the destruction of my regiment.”

“Then issue a challenge,” Dusk countered.

“You’d let them withdraw, unmolested?”

“You would have us annihilate the only worthy opposition we’ve found in the Inner Sphere, quineg?”

“That would not be my preference, no.”

“I await your challenge, Colonel Steiner.”



**********



“Mi coronel,” Captain Gordon Baird announced quietly as he stepped into Colonel Comacho’s appropriated office. Baird was Comacho’s closest friend—the two had served together during the Marik Civil War; had been to hell together and fought back to back against Anton Marik’s forces. Colonel Carlos Comacho barely responded.

Baird flicked on the lights, drawing a wince from Colonel Comacho. He took quiet stock; the unkempt desk, hours-empty bottle of whiskey, half-full glass forgotten on the desk. The Colonel hadn’t shaved in days. Probably hadn’t slept in days.

“Captain-General Marik has sent new orders.” Baird started with the good news, bad as it was. He smiled humorlessly. “We’re recalled—to Atreus.”

Comacho looked up, bleary-eyed; his heavy moustache drooping. “They are insane, Gordon.”

“Aye, mi coronel. They give up everything we’ve bled for.”

“The League cannot hold it,” Comacho said quietly, rubbing his tired eyes. “Divided as they are. They mean to use our children to incite the League.”

“I think so, yes.”

Comacho frowned. “Duncan Marik is a poor replacement for his uncle.”

“What do you mean to do, mi coronel?”

“I don’t know, Gordon. How much time remains on our contract?”

Baird assessed Comacho quietly, then set a sealed missive on the Colonel’s desk. “… This came for you as well. Priority. First Circuit.”

The Colonel made no play for the missive.

“From Sian.”

That got Comacho’s attention. He looked up. “You have read it?”

“Eyes-only. It is sealed, mi coronel. Only you can open it. It will destroy itself, otherwise.”

Colonel Comacho stared at the missive as if it were a viper, contemplated tearing it open so that the built-in incendiary would destroy it utterly. Instead, he pressed his thumb to the genetic scanner and unsealed it. He read silently, and Baird remained silent—watching the Colonel’s expression change from trepidation and incredulity to outright fury. Just when he seemed on the verge of tearing the missive to shreds, Comacho paused.

His expression went blank.

“What is it, mi Coronel?” Baird asked, unable to take the silence.

“An employment contract, with the Capellan Confederation” Comacho replied, then added cryptically: “And revenge.”



Political Vote 3:
Does Colonel Comacho
A) Accept the mysterious contract
B) Reject the mysterious contract, but send a representative to Sian
C) Ignore the mysterious contract and return to Atreus as-ordered
D) Ignore both and continue to hold the planet