TEXT: BattleCorps
  FALL FROM GRACE
  Chris Hartford
  Part Four
  
  BattleCorps
  Fall From Grace • Page 
  ~10~
  “Whoever coined the phrase ‘the mailed fist in the velvet glove’ 
  obviously had Rinalla Centrella in mind. At first glance, people took 
  her to be a vapid, self-obsessed hedonist. That was just before she 
  ambushed them and got exactly what she wanted, be it by guile 
  or force.”
  —Private Journal
  Delphi 
  Canopus IV 
  Magistracy of Canopus 
  9 July 2598
  A week back on Canopus after the funeral and already Rhean 
  missed home. It wasn’t the company—she and Rinalla had, de-
  spite the frictions of that first meeting, become good friends—but 
  rather the environment and the war that was “over but not quite 
  finished.”
  She tugged at the collar of her armored jacket, a necessary pre-
  caution and one her current protection officer, Annelise Corbin, 
  an SLDF infantry officer of Davion heritage, insisted upon. Unlike 
  Evangeline, currently enjoying maternity leave on Oriente with her 
  Hegemony husband and young daughter, Annelise was a stick-
  ler for the regulations and wasn’t going to take any chances with 
  safety, particularly when the deputy governor was now also the 
  heir to the Free Worlds’ throne. To casual observers, Rhean’s jack-
  et was indistinguishable from those worn by all officers.
  Grams’ illness hadn’t been a surprise, but her decline at the 
  end had been swift. Even using an SLDF command circuit, Rhean 
  hadn’t made it back to Atreus in time for some last words, and so 
  she’d thrown herself into the funeral arrangements. Most of the 
  House Lords attended—Coordinator Kurita was the exception—
  and both Ian Cameron and Alexander Davion had made eulogies. 
  Ursula Liao was dour and taciturn, her relationship with Marion 
  
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  having been strained for years, but even she’d made respectful 
  comments.
  Her father’s installation as Captain-General had followed, with 
  the sundry lords of the Free Worlds pledging their support. Byron 
  Allison was there, and Lambert had been in his entourage. He 
  was a handsome man with a commanding presence, but even 
  after so many years his sneer on seeing her had shattered the 
  illusion in Rhean’s eyes. His younger brother Carlton was much 
  more amiable, and had actually danced with Rhean at the inaugu-
  ration ball, prompting Rinalla—freshly arrived from Canopus for 
  the occasion—to make a number of lascivious comments about 
  “cementing diplomatic relations.”
  “I’ll marry who I want and when I want,” Rhean had said.
  Rin had merely arched an eyebrow and said, “Who said any-
  thing about marriage? Have some fun for once in your life.” As 
  ever—four years on Canopus had seen Rinalla dangle a number of 
  men in front of her—Rhean ignored her friend and instead spent 
  time chatting with officers from the Steiner delegation and with 
  the lords of Stewart and Tamarind. The Canopian had thrown her 
  hands up in despair.
  “Auntie Rhean, can you help me with my hat?” Carla Centrella 
  was the spitting image of her mother. Though only four years old, 
  the honey-skinned girl with her long ebony hair was well on the 
  way to becoming a master manipulator of people. Many thought 
  the child a sweet little angel, but after years in her company, Rhean 
  knew her for the minx she was. She couldn’t help but fall for the 
  girl’s charm though, hence her agreement to take part in this rid-
  ing trip, even though she wasn’t an accomplished horsewoman.
  “There you go.” She finished adjusting the chinstrap, which had 
  been fine in the first place, the whole exercise being one of Carla’s 
  attention-seeking games.
  A liveried servant lifted the young girl into the saddle of her 
  dappled pony, a fat placid animal, and, after making sure she 
  was properly seated, took hold of the guide reins. Rhean pulled 
  herself into the saddle of her white mare. Annelise was already 
  mounted, as were two Canopian security troops. This ride would 
  stay within Delphi’s grounds, but the security situation was still 
  hazy. Sweet, kind Ragnarsson had died in a bomb blast eighteen 
  months earlier as he traveled home from the ministry and both 
  Melissa Humphreys and herself had been shot at on numerous 
  occasions.
  
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  A slow walk took them out of the stable yard and onto the 
  terrace that ran along the eastern flank of the complex. They 
  descended into the broad meadow that surrounded a small lake. 
  Carla kept up a constant stream of comments and questions 
  as they rode and Rhean did her best to field them, though oc-
  casionally Annelise injected a comment. The Canopian guards 
  were silent, their eyes darting back and forth as if expecting 
  trouble to leap out at them. Rhean checked her holstered pis-
  tol, an SLDF-issue laser pistol rather than the slug-throwers 
  she was used to, but an efficient weapon nonetheless, and 
  caught Annelise’s eyes as she did. The Davion woman raised 
  an eyebrow but said nothing. She didn’t approve of her charges 
  being armed, but then most of them had been diplomats and 
  government functionaries, not serving ’MechWarriors. They’d 
  traded war stories one evening on the journey back from Atreus, 
  Rhean’s experiences on Wisconsin compared to Annelise’s in 
  the Concordat, her odd Davion accent adding to the telling of 
  the tale. She was a solid companion and good at her job, but 
  Rhean missed Evangeline.
  “I want to gallop.” Carla stated emphatically as they looped be-
  hind the lake and skirted a small copse. The trees were in full leaf, 
  swaying idly in the breeze.
  “No you’re not, kiddo.” Rhean’s voice was firm but friendly. “Not 
  until you’re older.” Carla pouted and Rhean relented slightly. “Okay, 
  a short trot if Mister Harris agrees, okay?” The servant holding the 
  pony’s reins nodded, and the girl laughed excitedly. At the man’s 
  urging, the stout pony reluctantly broke into a trot. Carla giggled 
  uncontrollably as she bounced up and down. “Just to the lake 
  edge and back,” Rhean yelled after them.
  Annelise maneuvered her horse alongside Rhean’s, her eyes 
  regarding the tree line much as the Canopian troops had earlier. 
  Professional paranoia, Rhean thought. “Feeling vulnerable, Anna?” 
  Rhean glanced sideways at the woman, though most of her atten-
  tion was on the young girl whose laughter could still be heard a 
  hundred meters away.
  “A little. It’s too open for my tastes.” There’d been a security 
  sweep thirty minutes before the ride, so it was unlikely any in-
  surgents would be lurking. “It’s probably noth—” She stopped 
  abruptly and Rhean turned back to her.
  A surprised look was etched on the bodyguard’s face as a red 
  stain spread down her right side. She half turned toward the 
  Canopian guard behind her then, in slow-motion, slipped from the 
  
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  horse to land in a crumpled heap in the dew-sodden grass.
  A wisp of smoke rose from the barrel of the guard’s pistol and 
  Rhean realized she’d heard the click of the silenced weapon firing, 
  though it hadn’t registered. Her right hand moved toward her own 
  pistol, but the assassin aimed his gun at her and shook his head. 
  “You’re coming with us, Duchess. The governor will have to listen 
  this time.”
  “The League doesn’t negotiate with terrorists.” She didn’t say 
  whether she meant the Free Worlds League or the Star League; 
  the former had its own views on terrorists that were more ‘hurt 
  me and I’ll hurt you more’ than the SLDF’s non-negotiation policy.
  “We’re loyalists, not terrorists. And you’d better hope the bloat-
  pig Humphreys does, else you’ll end up like your friend.” He 
  nodded toward the fallen Annelise, whom Rhean noted was still 
  breathing. “Take her gun.” The other guard maneuvered in toward 
  Rhean’s right side, penning her in. She had to think quickly. Could 
  she act before they disarmed her? Would doing so help, or we she 
  just become another casualty figure?
  “Auntie Ree, look at me!”
  Carla raced toward them, scarcely two-dozen meters away now. 
  The kidnapper’s head jerked in her direction at the call, either hav-
  ing forgotten her presence or else hoping she’d be kept away from 
  the scene of crime by the servant she usually gave the slip to. His 
  gun was still leveled at Rhean’s chest, but his attention wasn’t ful-
  ly on her.
  Releasing the reins, Rhean slid back in her saddle and pushed 
  up in the stirrups with the balls of her feet. The armed man saw 
  the movement and started turning back to her as her own pis-
  tol cleared its holster. She fired without aiming properly, and the 
  first bolt went into his horse’s shoulder. The animal screamed in 
  pain and reared, throwing off his own shot that whistled past her 
  shoulder. Her second burst was true, however, taking the flailing 
  terrorist in the center of his chest. He fell backward off the animal, 
  which promptly bolted.
  An immense blow struck Rhean high in her back and she was 
  thrown forward off the horse, the wind driven out of her by the 
  double impacts of the strike and hitting the ground. She rolled 
  over, ignoring the pain between her shoulder blades, and scrab-
  bled to retrieve her pistol from where it had fallen several meters 
  away. Her horse, confused by the sudden loss of weight on its 
  
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  back, milled around aimlessly, impeding the second guard who, 
  she realized, had shot her in the back. Given the speed with which 
  the pain was fading to a dull ache, she presumed the armor plate 
  had stopped the bullet, though she’d be bruised for a while—if she 
  survived.
  “Damn bitch,” the guard swore as he bullied his way past the dis-
  tressed mare and saw his fallen comrade, all thoughts of capture 
  driven from his mind. The pistol was only an arms length away 
  now, but she knew she’d never reach it in time. “You’re going to 
  die for that. I’m going to make you suff—” His words stopped sud-
  denly.
  Rhean glanced back and saw a look of slack-jawed surprise on 
  his face as a wisp of smoke rose from the hole drilled between his 
  eyes.
  “Bloody amateurs,” came a weak, Davion-accented voice. 
  Annelise was on her feet, pistol in her left hand and her right arm 
  hanging at her side. “Should’ve shot me in the head or at least 
  finished me off. Incompetent wankers.” She strode over to the one 
  Rhean had shot. “He’ll live, if the medics get here before the gov-
  ernor does.”
  “Auntie Ree?” Carla was goggle-eyed at the carnage. “What hap-
  pened? Why are you and Anna so angry and why’re mummy’s 
  men asleep?”
  Rhean plucked the youngster from the saddle and wrapped her 
  in a ferocious hug that sent waves of pain across her protesting 
  back. “They’re bad men, little one.” She pulled Carla’s head into 
  her shoulder and turned so the child couldn’t see the bodies any 
  more.
  The medics indeed did arrive before the governor, hastened to 
  the incident site with a full security detail by Annelise’s emer-
  gency beeper—Rhean realized that in the brief incident she hadn’t 
  triggered her own. Melissa arrived scant moments later and im-
  mediately took charge of the situation, containing the scene and 
  seeking to ascertain how terrorists had evaded the vetting pro-
  cedures in place on the Canopian staff. She was furious, but her 
  anger was quickly eclipsed by a supernova that erupted in their 
  midst.
  Rhean and Annelise were sitting side by side on the steps of the 
  ambulance, both stripped of their armored jackets, Anna swear-
  ing at her bad luck; the would-be assassin had fired a three-round 
  
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  burst, two of which had fragmented on the armor plate in the back 
  of her jacket—which the killer had seemed to be ignorant of—and 
  the third had clipped the edge of the plate, gouging muscle and 
  bleeding profusely, but posing little risk. Rhean had been shot 
  once between the shoulderblades, but the plate had taken the full 
  force. She’d be nursing a bruise for a while though. She fingered 
  the buckled plate as the storm broke.
  “Where is the treacherous bastard?” A voice screamed. “If he’s 
  not dead I’m going to kill him myself.”
  Though only 158 centimeters tall, Rinalla’s fury made her appear 
  like a giant. Canopian and SLDF troopers faded from the path of 
  the young woman in her diaphanous white gown.
  “Mummy!” Carla yelled from Rhean’s side where she’d been 
  dozing, head on the Marik woman’s lap. She leapt up and ran to 
  the petite woman, who scooped her up and hugged her. Rinalla 
  stalked over to the ambulance.
  “Where are the pieces of shit who did this?”
  Anna regarded her coolly. “One is having a long conversation 
  with the Angel Gabriel right now.” She nodded toward a body bag 
  being loaded onto another vehicle. “And the other is over there.” 
  She gestured to where Humphreys and her people were grilling 
  the semi-conscious survivor.
  Rinalla marched over, daughter clinging to her neck. Rhean levered 
  herself up and followed. Anna tried did likewise, brushing away the 
  protestations of a medic. “This should be interesting,” she stated 
  deadpan, her accented voice pitched so only Rhean could hear.
  “Is he talking?” Rinalla demanded of the governor.
  “A little. Nothing useful.”
  “Allow me.” Ice dripped drop Rinalla’s voice. “Are you awake, 
  you treacherous bastard?” She shook his shoulder violently and 
  a medic moved to protest, immediately silenced by the glare she 
  sent his way. The wounded man’s eyes blinked open and widened 
  upon seeing her. “You recognize me, yes? That’s good. You know 
  who you’ve betrayed, and you know the penalty for treason.” He 
  nodded, fearful. “However, I don’t think you’re going to have too 
  long to contemplate that.”
  In a swift movement, she turned toward Melissa Humphreys and 
  pulled her pistol from its holster. Not a laser pistol, but a classic 
  
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  and well-oiled Makarov; an antique of old Terra, but still lethally 
  effective. The fluid movement continued and the barrel came to 
  rest on the would-be assassin’s nose. His eyes went cross-eyed 
  focusing on it. No one moved. “You’re not going to have long to 
  consider it, because I’m of a mind to blow your brains out here 
  and now.”
  Rhean slid into the space next to the petite woman and gently 
  lifted Carla from her arms. “Watch the kick, Rin, and take care; 
  Blood is a bitch to get out of white.” Rhean’s voice was sotto-voce 
  and the prisoner’s eyes bulged as Rinalla released the safety and 
  pulled back the hammer.
  “You see, you put my daughter at risk. You shot my friend, and 
  you and your associates seem to think you’re waging a ‘people’s 
  war’, only it’s a war no one wants. Canopus has never gotten what 
  it wants through violence or threat of violence.” The wavering gun 
  seemed to put a lie to that, but no one corrected her. “We per-
  suade, we cajole, we seduce. SO WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK 
  YOU’RE PLAYING AT?” She screamed, thrusting the gun back be-
  tween his eyes.
  “Rinalla—” Governor Humphreys began.
  “This is Canopian business, Melissa.”
  The Governor shrugged her shoulders.
  “You are going to talk.” He nodded weakly. “You are going to tell 
  us who put you up to this. And this stupid war is going to end.” 
  She lifted the gun clear and reset the safety. “Because whether 
  you like it or not, we are part of the Star League now, not mur-
  derous barbarians like the Inner Sphere media portray us of the 
  Periphery.” She handed the pistol back to the bemused Governor, 
  then reclaimed her daughter and strode back toward the build-
  ings.
  
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  ~11~
  “Sometimes you can be oblivious to what’s going on around you 
  as all the while others marvel at why you don’t act.”
  —Private Journal
  Star Chamber 
  Court of the Star League, Terra 
  Terran Hegemony 
  2 January 2600
  Rhean took Ian Cameron’s proffered hand and shook it. “Have 
  you had any news from Nicholas?”
  “Just reports on the peacekeeping operations—nothing too oner-
  ous.” The elderly First Lord smiled, then shook her father’s hand 
  and that of Prince Alexander Davion. The Davion First Prince 
  was alert and combative, a far cry from the broken and absent-
  minded old man she’d encountered at recent council sessions. He 
  was ninety-two, six years older than the First Lord, and had been 
  “on his last legs” since the loss of his sons four years earlier. His 
  grandson, another Ian, had been de-facto leader of the Federated 
  Suns since then but had fallen to an assassin’s bullet the previous 
  summer. Alexander had come to the fore again after that, aided 
  by Ian’s son—his great-grandson—Zane. The boy was only nine-
  teen and a lieutenant in the AFFS, but had been thrown into the 
  deep end of interstellar politics. Zane was taking leave of absence 
  from the Davion military to aid his great-grandfather at the open-
  ing sessions of the Star league council. To be introduced to us, 
  her sub-conscious added. So his succession won’t be a complete 
  shock when the time arises. She’d liked his father, but for all the 
  charm he’d demonstrated over the last few days, Zane was a rela-
  tive unknown.
  “I’ve had my own taste of such operations, so I hope it goes 
  well.” Rhean looked at the floor as the grey-haired man was lost in 
  his memories for a moment. A strand of her auburn hair, though 
  
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  now only shoulder length rather than the waist-length style she’d 
  favored in her teens and twenties, fell across her face and she 
  brushed it back. She regarded the room, the Star Chamber in which 
  the lords of the great houses met to discuss the affairs of human-
  ity; Ian’s wife, Shandra, formerly commander of the SLDF, was 
  locked in a spirited debate with attorney general Amanda Blair; 
  Chancellor Norman Aris seemed lost in thought, studying a data 
  projection with his advisors; the youthful Zane Davion was chat-
  ting to a prematurely grey-haired Kevin Steiner-Dineson. Probably 
  discussing their hangovers after the New Century’s Eve ball, she 
  thought. Rinalla, an official observer in advance of Canopus’ formal 
  induction into the Star League, chatted with Melissa Humphries. 
  The situation in the Magistracy was calm now, leading to sugges-
  tions of an early incorporation.
  “Are we waiting on Kurita again?” Alexander injected into the 
  conversation, matching Rhean’s train of thought. Leonard Kurita 
  obeyed his own rules and looked set of provoking a confrontation 
  with the Star League by marching his troops back and forth along 
  the Hegemony-Combine border.
  Rhean’s attention wandered, her eyes drifting back across the 
  chamber to where the younger Davion and Steiner-Dineson stood. 
  Zane glanced back at her and a cheeky smile crept onto his lips, 
  prompting Kevin to look her way too. Immediately, Rhean looked 
  away and her mind leapt back to the conversation at hand. 
  “The army of the Federated Suns would support you without 
  hesitation, my lord!” Alexander Davion said. Rhean rewound the 
  conversation in her head. Kurita’s provocations and a suggestion 
  the SLDF—with Fed Suns aid—should fight them.
  “There will be no war!” Cameron was clearly displeased by 
  Davion’s suggestion. “The Star League exists to bring prosperity 
  and peace to mankind!” No room for old feuds. Davion muttered 
  an apology, then looked concerned as a grimace of pain crossed 
  the First Lord’s face as he rubbed his chest.
  “Are you alright?” her father asked as Rhean stepped forward 
  to support the old man. Cameron waved her off, explaining the 
  warnings his doctors had given about stress. Rhean shot a disap-
  proving glance at the First Prince, who merely shrugged.
  Zane Davion and Kevin Dineson joined them, but while she 
  regarded the Davion heir impassively, she favored the Steiner 
  Archon with a wink; the three of them had formed a loose fellow-
  ship along with Rinalla. The “kids clique,” Rhean’s father called it, 
  
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  despite their spread of ages and the fact Kevin was a head of state. 
  The odd friendship, if it lasted, should proved a boon to the Star 
  League; the older generation—Leonard Kurita, Alexander Davion 
  and even her father—were locked in their pre-unification mindset, 
  with rivalries and old wounds tainting their relationship. The next 
  generation—her generation—were more likely to go partying to-
  gether than planning war on each other. That wasn’t to say they 
  weren’t up to the challenge of interstellar politics.
  “We should start the session. If Kurita’s late, it’s his problem.” 
  Dineson, who at almost forty was eight years Rhean’s senior and 
  twenty years older than Zane, had been hardened by the strife 
  in his realm before his succession, strife that had left his moth-
  er crippled and the Steiner equivalent of Parliament, the Estates 
  General, suspended.
  The whisper of an opening door made them all turn. Leonard 
  Kurita strode into the chamber, accompanied by Tai-sa Tetsuo 
  Yatomo. He didn’t look happy as he slumped into his chair. The 
  First Lord called the session to order as the other leaders took 
  their seats. Rhean took up her place behind her father, keying com-
  mands into her dataslate to transfer reports and presentations to 
  her father’s display as a succession of briefers gave their reports. 
  The atmosphere soured notably when the issue of the Kuritan 
  troops was raised, prompting an argument between Leonard and 
  Alexander Davion. The First Lord intervened, but Leonard contin-
  ued in his belligerent stance and only when Cameron threatened 
  war did the Coordinator half-heartedly back down. “I’ll see what 
  I can do,” was his response to the threat of SLDF troops on New 
  Samarkand.
  The lunch interval arrived and the various retinues dispersed. 
  Kevin Dineson caught Rhean’s attention as she left. “I’ll catch you 
  up in a sec, dad.” Brion nodded, his gaze taking in his daughter 
  and then the grey-haired Archon, then continued out of the hall.
  “We’re going to Cavanaugh’s later.” His accent was crisp and pre-
  cise, with only a slight trace of his native German. That would be 
  the Dineson heritage. “A chance to have a few beers, play pool, 
  and unwind. Are you game?”
  “We?”
  “The usual gang.” Which meant him and Zane with their respec-
  tive security; despite their age difference, those two had been in 
  cahoots all through the recent celebrations, the boundless energy 
  of the Davion youth a counterpoint to the introspective Steiner-
  
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  Dineson. She glanced over at the Davion heir, who was talking to 
  his aged great-grandfather. He didn’t glance back, but she sensed 
  he was aware. “You should ask your sister too.” He glanced over 
  at Evangeline, who was waiting in the doorway.”
  Rhean looked at him, puzzled. “Evie’s my bodyguard, not my 
  sister.”
  He blushed faintly at his faux pas. “She looks so like you, I just 
  presumed she was, you know…” His voice trailed off. A bastard 
  sister was what he meant. “Well, she should come anyway. And 
  the Magestrix-Designate.”
  “I’ll think about it. Anyway, I didn’t know Archons played pool.”
  “A classic primer on ballistics and physics.” She laughed at that.
  “Is that a yes?” He looked her straight in the eyes, though it meant 
  craning his neck somewhat; she was probably fifteen centimeters 
  taller, even in flat shoes.
  “No.”
  “Is that a no?”
  “No.” This time Rhean laughed. “I’ll think about it. I need to 
  check with security.” She could see Annelise with Evie now, both 
  constantly scanning their surroundings. After the attempted 
  kidnapping on Canopus, they’d become very protective. It was 
  something Kevin knew full well after his own security issues dur-
  ing his mother’s rein. 
  “Okay, let me know.” And with a broad smile, Dineson disap-
  peared into the crowd.
  “A strange one that.” Rinalla materialized at her shoulder. She’d 
  accompanied Melissa Humphreys as an observer. “What did he 
  want?”
  “I think he wanted a date. Only I’m not sure if it was me he was 
  after or Evie.”
  “You should go. Both of you.” There was a mischievous glint in 
  her eyes.
  “We’re not on Canopus now Rin, not to mention I’m not inter-
  ested and Evie is married.”
  The Canopian looked puzzled. “And?”
  
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  “Never mind, you’re incorrigible.”
  “But I’m not a prissy miss.” She smiled sweetly and Rhean 
  scowled in return. “Anyway, he’s harmless, I think. The other one, 
  however, he’s the real instigator.”
  “Zane? But he’s only a kid.”
  “A twenty-year old kid who’s going to take command of one of 
  the great houses sooner rather than later. A kid who has already 
  broken a number of hearts in the city, carving god-knows how 
  many notches in his bedpost in the process.” Her voice contained 
  a touch of admiration and Rhean’s eyebrows rose. “Oh yes, quite 
  the Romeo. Which is what you should be careful of.”
  “Of Zane? He’s like a little brother.” Despite the twelve-year age 
  difference, they’d found themselves attending many of the same 
  Star League soirees and had become friends of a sort.
  “Well, believe me missy, he doesn’t look on you as a sister. To my 
  mind, he put Kevin up to this.” A smile tugged at the corners of 
  Rinalla’s mouth. “He likes a challenge.”
  Rhean’s eyebrows rose. “Well, that puts a whole new spin on 
  things.” She paused for thought a moment. “A ‘Thanks but no 
  thanks,’ I think.”
  “Hold your horses. I’m not saying don’t bed him. Just if you do, 
  go into it with eyes open and enjoy it for what it is.”
  “Rinalla!” Rhean’s cheeks flared.
  “What?” Her innocent look was honed to perfection. “Did I of-
  fend your prissy sensibilities again?”
  “I’m the daughter of a House Lord and future Captain-General. 
  I’m not going to simply fall into bed with someone for fun, and 
  particularly not another potential houselord. It’d be a diplomatic 
  disaster.”
  “But it would be fun. And history tells us the best alliances are 
  made in the bedroom.”
  Rhean threw up her hands in exasperation. “Rin, I’m not talking 
  about this any more. If you want to ‘have fun,’ then feel free, but 
  don’t drag me into it.” She stormed out, Evie and Anna falling 
  into place at her shoulders. Rinalla followed, the smirk still on her 
  face.
  
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  Star Chamber 
  Court of the Star League, Terra 
  Terran Hegemony 
  15 January 2600
  “You’re a shark.” Kevin Dineson protested, glowering at Rhean. 
  She stood there, right hand on hip and left held out toward the 
  Archon. Her chin was down and she looked at the looming figure 
  through her eyelashes, which she batted deliberately.
  “Moi?” She said innocently, then beckoned with her open hand. 
  “You assumed I couldn’t play when you asked. Now pay up, or is 
  the Lyran reputation for tight-fistedness more than just a myth.”
  The Lyran grunted, then put down the pool cue and reached into 
  his pocket. “You’re lucky. I don’t usually carry cash.” He laid a 
  crisp Star League note in her hand.
  Rhean smiled at him with false sweetness and tucked the note in 
  the back pocket of her jeans. “Thank you Kevin. And to show my 
  grace in victory, I’ll let you stay on. Evie, you want to play?” 
  “I’m on duty, Duchess.”
  “It’s hardly a high-risk area. Let your hair down.” Evangeline met 
  her gaze levelly, her face seeming an impassive mask. Rhean saw 
  the glint of amusement in her eyes. “Should I make it an order?” 
  Evie picked up the cue and Rhean withdrew to her drink.
  “Well, isn’t this a pleasant fiction.” Rinalla deadpanned as Rhean 
  slid back onto her bar stool. Ostensibly this was a public bar in the 
  Star League capital, but in reality the security considerations and 
  vetting of attendees—and the presence of so many bodyguards—
  made the family bar seem more like a fortress. 
  Rhean reached down and scratched Athena’s ears where she 
  half sat half slumped against Rinalla’s legs; her loyalties had been 
  bought earlier in the evening with a bit of cheese. “Traitor,” she said 
  to the dog, a smile on her face. Athena’s tail thumped, and as if sum-
  moned by the drumming—if they could hear it over the music—her 
  sons Hector and Paris trotted over from where they’d been harass-
  ing the other guest for scraps. They licked their mistress’ hand then 
  turned expectantly as new figures joined the group.
  “We do our best for our honored guests,” Lydia Petersen-
  Cameron said, sliding into the seat next to Rinalla, the bundle that 
  
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  Fall From Grace • Page 1
  was her new son tucked in the crook of one arm. Her pale skin and 
  ash-blonde hair plaited into a crown atop her head were a stark 
  contrast to the Canopian. “A chance to be ordinary twenty- and 
  thirty-something folk for the evening.” 
  Rhean’s eyebrows rose fractionally. Ordinary folk; the heads of 
  two interstellar nations and the heirs of several more. It was di-
  plomacy of a sort, another deliberate bonding exercise designed 
  to overcome the factionalization of the current ruling generation 
  while masquerading as a going-away party for young Zane, due 
  back with his regiment on the Concordat border. It seemed to 
  be working at present, albeit very different from the small-scale 
  gatherings that had comprised just Rinalla, Kevin, Zane and her-
  self—and their respective bodyguards, of course. With the addition 
  of Lydia to the mix, as well as a host of Avellars, Amaris’s and 
  Calderons, the old cozy feel had gone.
  Rhean fished the note out of her pockets. “Well, the next round 
  is on the Archon. The usual, Rin?” The Magestrix-elect waved her 
  hand negligently, and didn’t take her gaze from a cluster of Steiner 
  officers she regarded in a predatory manner. “Lydia?”
  “Just juice for me,” Lydia spoke softly and glanced down at young 
  Joseph. “Doctor’s orders.”
  “And for me, as Kevin’s paying … a Skye malt I think,” Rhean 
  added rhetorically while flexing the crisp note. She caught the 
  barman’s eye and ordered, adding juices and water for the 
  bodyguards; it was a long duty, and while alcohol was forbid-
  den, she wasn’t going to deny them soft drinks. She glanced 
  at Lydia’s security escort, a solidly built red haired woman 
  dressed in Black Watch colors. “What would you like? I’m sorry, 
  I don’t know your name.” She had the preferences of the Marik, 
  Canopus, Davion and Steiner security detachments down pat, 
  but this was the first time she’d been able to chat to any of 
  Cameron’s detail.
  “Kerensky, Duchess Marik. Tanya Kerensky. Water, please.” Her 
  accent was unusual, more Atrean than the Terra-standard she 
  heard at Court.
  “Russian?” Rhean ventured. The red-haired woman nodded.
  “Tanya is from Moscow,” Lydia added before turning to show off 
  her child to a newly arrived Calderon.
  “Ah. Zdravstvuyte. Radas vamee poznakomit’siy.”
  
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  Fall From Grace • Page 1
  “Spasiba. Dobriy vecher Rhean Brionova. Your accent is excel-
  lent, duchess.”
  “Linguistics was a key part of my education, and given the role 
  of Russian in the Confederation and Hegemony it was on my cur-
  riculum. I don’t get much practice though. Perhaps I should visit 
  Moscow or St. Petersburg while I’m here. It’s been years since I 
  was last there.”
  Lydia turned back to the group. “The League would be happy to 
  make the arrangements, Rhean,” she interjected. Her bodyguard 
  took a half-step backward, as if embarrassed to have been drawn 
  into the conversation. Rhean was very familiar with her detail, in 
  particular Evie and Annelise, but the Camerons clearly favored 
  a more stand-offish approach. She doubted he even knew her 
  name.
  “And here’s Z-man,” Rinalla drawled. “I don’t know…the guest 
  of honor late to his own going away party.” Zane was standing 
  in the doorway, looking uncharacteristically anxious. He spotted 
  their little cluster and made directly for them, not caring that his 
  bodyguard swept people out of the way. “Someone looks like they 
  need a drink.” Rinalla gestured the bartender over once more.
  “I’m not staying.” His voice was distant. “In fact, Ambassador 
  Kinman will serve as delegation head for the next few days.” A 
  pained look came over his face and he seemed to be close to tears. 
  “My great-grandfather doesn’t have much time. He needs to go 
  back to New Avalon.”
  “Needs? You mean…” Both Rinalla and Rhean reached out to 
  comfort him, but he brushed them off.
  “The doctors don’t think he’ll live out the week, and he wants to 
  be at home when he goes. And I need to be there too. To show 
  there’s an orderly transition both with the Federated Suns and the 
  Star League.”
  And so a half-trained boy who didn’t expect to rule for anoth-
  er twenty or thirty years is forced to step up to the plate. Rhean 
  thought. I’m not sure I’d be ready, and I’ve had almost two de-
  cades of preparation.
  
SOURCE: textdata/thevault/BattleTech [multi]/EXTRA/Novels/Battlecorps Novels/Fall From Grace Pt 04 - Chris Hartford.pdf