1

TIDES OF CHANGE

Part 1: Undertow

Germany, Terra
Prefecture X
Republic of the Sphere
09 March 3135

Sebastian Ritter gazed out through the leaded-crystal panes overlooking the
meticulously maintained garden four stories below.
Two millennia ago his familyʹs ancestors, the Teutonic knights from which their
name derived, had flourished in a region a few hundred kilometers to the north and
east; in the direction he now faced. He was bemused by the sensation of being home.
On a world he had never dreamed of visiting.
Sebastian allowed himself a small smile at the thought.
The reading room in which he stood was meant to serve as a neutral meeting
area for guests of the estate, sparing them the need to open their suites to visitors. Set
high on a truncated wing that stretched north from the house proper, the room was
elegantly appointed with fine oak wainscoting and handcrafted furniture. Against the
south wall—positioned to always be protected from the damaging rays of the sun—was
a floor-to-ceiling bookcase filled with bound volumes containing paper pages. Not
reproductions.
Much of Sebastianʹs life had been spent studying manuscripts written before
man colonized the stars, and he had taken the time to examine this collection—visually,
his hands clasped respectfully behind his back. His practiced eye had found no volume
less than three hundred years old.
Sebastian was aware of another figure looking out over the garden. Below and to
his right a young man of noble appearance stood on a balcony extending from the third
floor of the main house. His body language—hands pressed flat on the polished granite

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 2

railing, shoulders hunched and tense—indicated a man wrestling with an internal

conflict.
Understandable.
Connor Rhys-Monroe had only recently lost his father. Decades before he could
have expected it, now he must consider in his grief how best to carry on his father’s
legacy.
For Sebastian, that they had caused the death of Senator Gerald Rhys-Monroe
was the gravest weight in the balance against the exarch and paladins of The Republic.
He knew his patron considered the exarchʹs stated intent of launching an open-
ended investigation into the affairs of the Senate—a thinly disguised witch hunt—as the
gravest danger facing The Republic. The resulting destruction of public trust and the
subjugation of the legislative branch—reducing its vital ability to balance the
executive—would call into question the very foundation of The Republic.
In the account of events Sebastian had heard, paladins conducting their own
investigation into circumstances surrounding the death of Paladin Victory Steiner-
Davion had made heavy-handed threats against the elder Rhys-Monroe. Charges—false
charges—of capital crimes would be leveled against the senator unless he divulged
sacred confidences. Faced with the choice of being stripped of his honor or betraying it,
Gerald Rhys-Monroe had taken his own life.
Such acts had consequences that reached beyond even the future of The Republic.
After an initial identifying glance, Sebastian refrained from looking directly at
the young noble, respecting his privacy as he dealt with whatever troubled him. But he
remained peripherally aware as he let his eyes rest on the smoky hills visible beyond
the farthest stand of wall-concealing trees.
The dense stands of mahogany he knew were not native, nor were most of the
flowering plants—with the exception of the rose garden that covered at least two acres.
But all of the plants were Terran; they all belonged.
As this manor belonged. Native stone blocks anchored it firmly to the land, faces
left just raw enough to evoke the mountains from which theyʹd been hewn; polished
granite cornerstones and sills provided refined grace notes .
Beyond the marble fountains and flagstone paths of the garden proper, the
natural German countryside seemed to roll to the horizon. This was an illusion,
Sebastian knew. The meadows, woods, and bridle paths were as carefully maintained
as the hedges below and extended only to the artfully concealed wall enclosing Senator
Deriusʹ Darmstadt estate.
A second figure joined the young noble on the balcony. Sebastian did not turn
his head. Bronze hair and a regal bearing identified the newcomer as Senator Darius,
his patronʹs host.
Sebastian relaxed slightly when the two nobles disappeared inside the manor.

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 3

His eyes came to rest on a particularly gnarled and twisted oak at the edge of the
wood. Some shrewd gardener had left this weathered and battle-scarred survivor as a
counterpoint to its cultivated neighbors; a reminder that some things endured despite
manʹs efforts to change or supplant them.
Contemplating the intricate weave of the sturdy branches, Sebastian was
reminded of the writings of Brother Lawrence. A millennium and a half ago, Lawrence
had been a battle-weary soldier who believed life was a pointless cycle of vanquished
and victor with no glory but survival. Then one day he had been struck by the sight of a
barren oak on an icy winter hillside, probably not far from where he now stood. The
bare branches, reaching toward the sky despite the snow and ice that weighed them
down, testified to the weary soldier of a faith in the promise of spring. From that
moment, he had turned his back on war and dedicated his life to serving the Lord.
There is a time for beating swords into plowshares, Sebastian thought. And a time for
beating plowshares into swords.
The comm unit at his belt vibrated soundlessly; three quick pulses, a pause, then
a fourth.
Sebastian turned from the window and crossed to a rolltop desk that appeared as
antique as the roomʹs other furnishings. Pressing his thumb to an unobtrusive knot in
the wood, he waited for the manorʹs security system to identify him.
With a beep the desk slid open, the sophisticated communications terminal
coming to life. Sebastian coded in a secure and encrypted connection to his patronʹs
central computer on Terra. There was always the chance their hostʹs network only
created the illusion the connection was opaque, of course, but at a certain level one
simply had to rely on the inherent honor of the nobility.
There was no snick of the latch, but a change in air pressure alerted Sebastian that
the door behind him was opening. He turned without haste and was facing the entrance
before the heavy oak panel had moved more than a hand span from its frame.
A woman possessed of unremarkable, if slightly sharp, features entered the room;
Jessica Matthias, Senator Therese Ptolemenyʹs special representative. Sebastian
recognized the designation as a socially acceptable obfuscation.
Throughout history, security and discretion had required the nobility to employ
agents such as Matthias to be their eyes and ears when they could not be present. And
to act without directly involving their patron.
There was nothing overtly stealthy about her manner, but just as his habitually
silent movement sprang from a lifetime of service, Sebastian suspected hers indicated
training in covert operations.
ʺRelax, Brother Seb,ʺ she said, smiling as one amused by an earnest child. ʺI
know better than to try taking on a warrior priest.ʺ
Sebastian knew her mocking tone, corruption of his name and misuse of titles
were all meant to prod him into an ill-considered response. His reserved nature

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 4

appeared to amuse her. She often suggested that he failed to appreciate life, apparently
assuming heʹd led a cloistered existence. She took every opportunity to make remarks
she evidently mistook for witty banter in an effort to get a rise out of him.
For his part, Sebastian was careful to remember that Senator Ptolemenyʹs
personal agent should not be underestimated. What appeared to be a foolish game quite
likely had a deeper purpose.
He nodded, murmuring a polite greeting without yielding his position in front of
the desk. He had no idea if she could glean anything from studying the secured
communications console, but he wasnʹt going to give her the opportunity.
Dismissing Sebastian and his guarded stance with a smile, Matthias wandered
over to examine the bookshelf. Clasping her hands casually behind her back in an
unwitting repetition of his respectful study, she rose slightly in his estimation. He had
not anticipated her having the wit to not touch the antiquities.
The door opened again and Sebastianʹs patron entered.
Jessica Matthias came instantly to attention, her casual affectations of a moment
before forgotten.
ʺSir,ʺ she greeted, nodding her chin sharply down without breaking eye contact.
A warriorʹs bow.
Sebastian fought his own reflex to incline from the waist. Six months at his
patronʹs side and he still had to struggle to offer the almost casual nod the senator
desired.
Senator Riktofven nodded his own acknowledgment to each of them, a gracious
gesture not required behind closed doors.
ʺThe time has come for action,ʺ the senator said.

Geneva, Terra
Prefecture X, Republic of the Sphere
08 April 3135

Sebastian recognized the mix of hunger and revulsion on the womanʹs face as she
eyed the burgers sizzling on the open grill. She had a sleeping toddler on her hip and a
tight grip on a wailing child.
ʺVegetables,ʺ he called, aiming his cry above the crowd in her direction. ʺCorn
roasted in the husk, potatoes, yams. Vegetables!ʺ
Following the sound of his voice, the woman’s eyes found him and lit as though
beholding the promised land.
Sebastian had a yam split open before the young mother had squeezed through
the crowd to his stand.
ʺMargarine?ʺ he asked.

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 5

At her nod he slathered on a thick pat—adding a dash of cinnamon without

asking—and handed the potato to the wailing child.
Instantly silenced, the boy snatched his hand from his mother and grabbed the
yam, practically jamming it into his mouth whole in his hunger.
ʺThank God,ʺ the woman said as Sebastian peeled the husk from an ear of sweet
corn. ʺYouʹd think only damn carnivores cared about The Republic.ʺ
Sebastian made a sympathetic sound and offered to hold the toddler as the
woman struggled to eat her corn one-handed. The child—a girl, based on the presence
of a hair clip—woke up as Sebastian lifted her, but when he gave her a spiced half-yam
of her own, she laid her head trustingly against his chest and began picking apart the
vegetable with more delicacy than her brother.
Sebastian invited the woman to help herself to seconds for her son and herself
from his roaster. She thanked him, and continued to explain at some length the
difficulties facing the vegan protestors as she husked more corn.
Watching the crowd over her head as he listened, Sebastian watched people
emptying public refuse containers into twenty-liter trash bags obviously brought from
home.
It took several bags to empty each of the trash cans and to clean up the discarded
water bottles, paper plates and other debris that had piled up around them. Eventually
there would be a neat pyramid of household trash bags. The news media had—as
intended—broadcast images of the citizens, not the civil authorities, taking
responsibility for protecting the health of the people and preserving Magnum Park. The
cityʹs insistence that the dense crowds prevented trucks from reaching the containers
sounded particularly self-serving when juxtaposed with the mute testimony of carefully
stacked household trash bags.
Soon brigades of civilians would transfer the piles to private cars and trucks for
transport to the municipal reclamation center. The gate guard had tried one time to
enforce the ʺofficial city trucks onlyʺ rule—but only once. The media coverage of that
confrontation had documented the authoritiesʹ disregard for the people better than a
dozen speeches.
Senator Riktofven had tasked Sebastian with the mechanics of keeping the
people who were peacefully expressing their outrage at the exarchʹs abuse of power
supplied with food and water during their long vigil—a prodigious undertaking that
had stretched his logistical skills to their limit.
He had been grateful for the opportunity to work closely with Connor Rhys-
Monroe. The man—only a few years older than Sebastian—had resigned a knighthood
to fulfill his father’s senatorial obligation to the people of The Republic. Sebastian
considered him a truly inspiring leader.
Though he had not left St. Ignatius with the ambition to become a MechWarrior,
once he realized how well suited he was to military service and to piloting a BattleMech,

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 6

Sebastian had discovered within himself a secret desire to someday earn the exalted
title of knight. A self-serving ambition, he knew, but given his name and his heritage,
not an unexpected one.
But his strategic aptitude, not his combat prowess, had attracted the attention of
those above him. Thus, when Senator Riktofven had sought a new aide with a military
background, Sebastian had found himself on Terra.
At the senatorʹs elbow he had gained a deeper understanding of the demands
and responsibilities of power. He had learned—and seen through Connor Rhys-
Monroeʹs example—that knighthood was not the highest calling for a warrior in service
to The Republic. And been reminded that as much honor could be found in serving
others—even in bouncing a toddler—as in commanding a BattleMech on the field of
combat.
Hard on that thought, the steps of the capitol building visible beyond the
families picking up trash snapped into focus. The normal cordon of public security
troopers had been bolstered—at least tripled. And they carried full body shields.
Now that he was looking, he could see sudden ripples in the crowd. People were
shifting away from something—several somethings—from multiple points around the
perimeter of the park.
Security was not Sebastianʹs concern. As far as he knew—beyond common-sense
precautions against pickpockets and thieves likely to take advantage of such a large
crowd—security was no oneʹs concern.
Of course there had been hotheads—extremists who referred to the Chamber of
Paladins as a junta—voicing fears the government would respond to the peaceful
demonstration with violence. But no one believed that the exarch, despite his disregard
for the nobility ordained to protect the people from his potential excesses, would ever
authorize force against unarmed civilians.
Now, looking at what his military eye recognized as troop movements, Sebastian
was not so sure. He was very aware there was no plan for the possibility of armed
enforcement of the exarch’s orders.
ʺTake your children,ʺ he cut across the young motherʹs monolog. ʺThere, by the
pavilion, thereʹs a covered alcove underneath the steps. Get out of the crowd.ʺ
The woman stopped mid-word. Glancing about, she clearly saw no cause for
alarm. But she was just as clearly convinced by Sebastianʹs tone. Retrieving the toddler,
she headed for the pavilion with her son in tow.
Sebastian glanced around, gathering his people in the immediate area with his
eyes. He was gratified to see some were already aware, their heads turning as they read
the storm warnings.
But what could they do? Knowing something was about to happen and taking
effective steps were two different things.

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 7

Seeing he had his peopleʹs attention, Sebastian cut the flow of gas to his roaster,
disconnecting the tank. With no spoken order, gas grills and roasters were turned off
and secured, crates of water bottles were shoved against walls—out from underfoot.
The preparations did not go unnoticed. More and more people began looking
around, the near-festival mood that had characterized Magnum Park over the last week
evaporating.
ʺPick up your children,ʺ Sebastian advised a family. They did so, and the advice
rippled through the crowd.
He hoped his assumptions were wrong, hoped an order to evacuate peacefully—
and the opportunity to do so—would precede any attack on the crowd. True, the people
had ignored similar orders already, but they had never before been issued with such a
display of force—and the grave danger of misunderstanding and tragedy such a
display entailed.
One misunderstood order, one overreaction … .
Defenseless civilians could not be expected to stand in the face of armed assault.
They would run. And people would be trampled, injured; perhaps killed.
Unless Sebastian could organize an orderly retreat. A dispersal before the
situation reached critical mass.
The southern end of the park, toward the library, was less heavily cordoned by
troops. The boulevard was wide. If their commander could be approached, appealed
to …
Sebastianʹs thought was interrupted by the crackle of small-arms fire.
The security troops ranged before the capitol building had begun shooting.
Sebastian prayed they were using rubber bullets.
The crowd roiled away from the capitol steps; startled, alarmed, but not yet
panicked. The people surged toward the Terran Archive on the opposite side of the
park—where Sebastian could see at least a company of security troops, armed and
shielded and grouped around riot control vehicles.
ʺDo not run!ʺ he shouted. Already knowing it was too late, he tried to direct
those around him toward the municipal library, out of the pincer movement. ʺQuickly.
Orderly. This way!ʺ
A second fusillade of shots.
And the crowd of frightened people became a panicked mob.
Abandoning all hope of saving others, Sebastian fought to stay on his feet as he
was caught up against his will in the churning flood of humanity.

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Tides of Change by Kevin Killiany Part 2 1

TIDES OF CHANGE

Part 2: Still Water

Germany, Terra
Prefecture X
Republic of the Sphere
07 May 3135

The world had changed in the two months since Sebastian had last stood in the
upper reading room of Senator Dariusʹ estate. The distant storm clouds apparent
beyond the trees might have been portents—if theyʹd been there in March. The storm
was already raging, shaking The Republic to its very foundations.
The reading room itself was unchanged, as was most of the great stone manor.
The Loyalists had converted the larger rooms on the ground floor of the main house
into command and intelligence centers, but the bulk of their absent hostʹs home was
untouched by the war.
For Senator Derius had left Terra weeks before—ostensibly to return home in the
face of the exarchʹs illegal dissolution of the Senate. (Or quasi-legal, Sebastian amended.
Challenging Exarch Levinʹs, at best, ill-considered action in the courts had resulted in
the courts dismissing the senatorsʹ case and upholding his extreme interpretation of the
War Powers Act.) However, Sebastian knew she was physically visiting as many
Loyalist worlds close to Terra as she could. Not rallying them for any action toward
humanityʹs homeworld, but readying fallback positions for if—when—the paladins
pushed those loyal to The Republic offplanet.
A plan his patron also would be following shortly.
At the moment, Senator Riktofven was ignoring Sebastian. Intent on the comm
station built into the rolltop desk, he was perched at the edge of his chair, his shoulders
hunched with effort. He had never seen the man look so haggard. The senator was a
man of action, but of political action, ready and able to make the tough choices and take
the difficult actions governing a nation required. He was not trained to combat, and the
last few weeks had taken a heavy toll on the man. Watching Senator Riktofven retype a

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Tides of Change by Kevin Killiany Part 2 2

command sequence, he was struck for the first time by how old his patron really was.
Nearly the same age as The Republic.
Jessica Matthias—Senator Ptolomenyʹs personal representative—was again
present, standing at a relaxed parade rest. There was no trace of the cocky—almost
mocking—persona she favored when she was alone with Sebastian.
It was only at moments like this, when her superiors were present, that Sebastian
thought Matthias looked even remotely professional. He believed these moments
offered some insight into what motivated Senator Ptolomeny to place her trust in the
woman.
Like Senator Darius, the senator from Park Place had left to prepare her home
world—and those worlds where she could do the most good—for what looked to be a
protracted struggle to save The Republic.
Senator Riktofven would be leaving soon. He would do more good to help the
Loyalists’ cause—help The Republic—by carrying the message of the struggle to other
worlds than he could on the battlefields of Terra.
ʺI cannot help feeling I should be at Mannheim,ʺ Sebastian said aloud.
Matthias flicked her eyes to him, clearly startled. Sebastian had to admit he was a
little surprised himself. He seldom spoke to a superior unless addressed.
ʺSebastian, your Archer is on Augustine,ʺ Riktofven pointed out, still reading the
screens in front of him. His tone was conversational, as though Sebastianʹs sentiment—
and his voicing it—were matters of course. ʺAnd even if it were on Terra, one
BattleMech would have no significant effect on Connorʹs position at Mannheim.ʺ
Sebastian did not reply. He had stated his opinion and Senator Riktofven had
responded. Further comment would border on insubordination.
He found his mind focusing, not on the noble ex-Knight Connor Rhys-Monroe—
who was leading the defense of the Loyalistsʹ rapidly dwindling position on Terra—but
on Mother Deidre.
He had met the diminutive priest from Mannheim on a visit to St. Peterʹs
Cathedral in Geneva. Sebastian found the ancient Catholic sanctuary more
comforting—and more inspiring—than the universalist Republic Cathedral. He had
attended Mass at St. Peter’s as often as his duties allowed, and met many fellow
pilgrims from all over The Republic.
Mother Deidre had told him her own church had begun as a storefront mission
more than a thousand years ago, and had been ministering to the poor and homeless
ever since. Sebastian hoped that after enduring so long, and helping so many, the little
SeeleEinsparung station would survive the coming battle.
On the heels of that thought it occurred to him to offer a prayer that there would
be no battle for the church—or anyone else in Mannheim—to survive.
Riktofven rotated his chair away from the console. Not bothering to rise—or to
sit back in his chair—he extended a sheaf of flimsies.
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Tides of Change by Kevin Killiany Part 2 3

Taking a half step forward, Sebastian retrieved two sets of identification papers
with attached data wafers. Scanning the names, he handed one to Matthias.
ʺYou are a test jockey and a troubleshooter for Skobel Mechwerks, Berlin, Terra,ʺ
the senator was saying. ʺYouʹve got clearances, tickets and travel visas—all compliant
with the exarchʹs latest travel restrictions—for Basalt in Prefecture IV. Manville Mines
has reported a problem with their Skobel MiningMechs malfunctioning under high
gravity, and the Berlin satellite plant is a logical choice for tech support.ʺ
ʺHas there been such a complaint?ʺ Matthias asked. ʺI see I have a hard copy, but
that will not help if security goes the extra mile.ʺ
ʺThe complaint will be vetted by Basaltʹs industry and mining lobbyist,ʺ Senator
Riktofven said, not bothering to add that confirmation from Basaltʹs senator might be
considered suspect in the present circumstances. ʺA Skobel technicianʹs uniform and
one of their new lightweight neurohelmets will be delivered within the hour. Pack
appropriately.ʺ
ʺMay I ask why we are going to Basalt?ʺ Sebastian asked.
ʺIn the immediate, because Joey is cooperating fully with the exarch and the
paladins,ʺ a twitch pulled the senatorʹs mouth into a momentary shadow of a smile.
ʺFolks traveling to Senator Perringʹs homeworld from the newly liberated Stuttgart
DropPort are likely to get off Terra unmolested.
ʺIn the long term, because youʹre being promoted.ʺ This time the smile was real.
“Sebastian Ritter, you are now my official representative, my proxy, with full authority
to represent me in all negotiations.ʺ
Sebastian knew his lifetime of discipline ensured that his body did not betray his
shock. But the senatorʹs amused expression made it plain he understood how
thoroughly he had rocked his military attaché.
ʺFull background dossiers and mission parameters are already aboard the
DropShip,ʺ Riktofven said, ʺburied and encrypted in the noteputer containing the
manifest for all the Skobel spare parts you’re escorting to Basalt.
ʺDo you have your instructions from Lady Ptolomeny?ʺ
ʺObey any instructions from you as though from her,ʺ Matthias answered
promptly.
Senator Riktofven nodded.
ʺSecurity is your responsibility.ʺ Sebastian noted the senator bore down slightly
on the first word. ʺYou understand what that entails. Ritter is in charge of the mission.
He makes the decisions and speaks for both of us in all negotiations.ʺ
ʺHeʹs the brains, Iʹm the brawn,ʺ Matthais said. Then, noting Riktofven did not
smile, added: ʺSir. Yes, sir, I understand my duties.ʺ
+ + +
The streets of Stuttgart shone with reflected sunlight.

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Tides of Change by Kevin Killiany Part 2 4

Everything had been washed bright by the sudden storm that had swept over the
city then moved on, leaving behind sparkling buildings and streets beneath an
innocently blue sky.
Sebastian watched the pedestrians, tapping furled umbrellas like canes or
carrying raincoats over their shoulders or arms. The battle for Stuttgart had been hard-
fought, but very little of the action had touched the city itself. Those fighting for The
Republic—and he recognized the poignancy in the idea that both sides of the conflict
believed they were fighting for The Republic—retained that degree of civilization even
as they tore at each otherʹs throat.
The people walking along the sidewalks were not cheerful, but neither were they
fearful. They did not look like victims or victors, but like people going about their daily
lives on a day not too different from any other. The somber note struck by the
occasional military vehicle was more than offset by the cheerful reds and yellows of the
city busses and taxis.
Matthias was driving their nondescript ground car—a carefully chosen economy
model less than a decade old. She also drove carefully, neither speeding nor dawdling,
moving with the early afternoon traffic rather than through it.
ʺSo,ʺ she said, breaking a long silence. ʺAn Archer?ʺ
ʺYes,ʺ Sebastian replied. He knew the answer sounded short, but he could not
think of anything to add.
ʺA family machine?ʺ
ʺI was raised in the orphanage of St. Ignatius,ʺ Sebastian answered. ʺThe
BattleMech was provided to the Augustine Planetary Militia by Lord Riktofvenʹs
family.ʺ
ʺDamn, my intel let me down,ʺ Matthais took her eyes from traffic for a quick
glance. ʺIʹd heard you were a seminary student, not an inmate at their orphanage.ʺ
Sebastian sat silent long enough to earn a second glance. He disliked discussing
his past—particularly with someone as unlikely to understand as Matthias—but sitting
in stony silence for the rest of the drive to the DropPort would be not only
uncomfortable but rude.
ʺI was both,ʺ he said at last. He chose not to share that it had seemed like a
natural progression at the time. ʺHowever, I left the seminary before completing my
studies to enter the military academy.ʺ
ʺSo what are you?ʺ she asked. ʺI mean, I understand you didnʹt make Father, but
are you like a Brother or something?ʺ
ʺLieutenant.ʺ
Matthias abruptly stopped the car, suffering the honks of the vehicles behind
them as a fruit vendor pushed his cart across the street against the light.
Sebastian idly wondered if the man was moving from his lunch position near the
offices to an afternoon station in the park. Though he didnʹt know enough about
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Tides of Change by Kevin Killiany Part 2 5

Stuttgart to know if there were offices or a park in the area, some jobs—and marketing
strategies—were universal.
ʺSo whose bright idea was it to put a guy named for the patron saint of archers in
an Archer?ʺ Matthias asked as she set the car in motion again.
Sebastian glanced at her in surprise.
ʺWhat?ʺ she asked.
ʺYou are more well read than I imagined,ʺ he admitted, aware of how pompous
he sounded.
ʺI picked up the habit when I heard you went for the brainy type,ʺ Matthias
retorted.
Sebastianʹs first response was to end the conversation there and ride the rest of
the way in silence. But that was a return to being uncomfortable and rude, which he’d
already decided to try to avoid. And he suspected that not answering would leave the
impression she had won some sort of exchange—he knew that banter was not his long
suit.
ʺWhat about you?ʺ he asked, attempting to turn the tables. ʺHow did you come
to be the personal representative of Senator Ptolomeny?ʺ
ʺDNA,ʺ she answered. ʺThe last eight generations of Matthiases have served the
Ptolomeny family as household security, bodyguards, personal agents and—it is darkly
rumored—assassins.
ʺI was born with a sidearm and a vest and stationed in the nursery,ʺ she invited
him to share the joke with a sidelong grin. ʺBeen serving in the family tradition ever
since.ʺ
Sebastian nodded.
That explained her attempt at humor with his patron. Retainers raised in close
proximity to the families they served often developed an easy familiarity. He knew the
practice did not indicate a lack of respect, but he could see how it might lead to social
missteps like Matthias had made at Darmstadt.
He looked more carefully at Matthias. She caught the movement and briefly met
his gaze.
She looked every inch a member of the secretarial pool. Or perhaps a mid-level
tech. Of medium build, not obviously muscled—though now that he thought about it,
Matthias usually wore loose-fitting clothes that made it hard to determine her actual
physique—with little makeup and an ordinary, low-maintenance hairstyle, she was
unremarkably average to the point of invisibility. Only her nose and chin and
cheekbones were just a little too sharp to be completely bland.
It occurred to him that Lady Ptolomenyʹs personal agent was very good at what
she did. It was easy to see why she had been assigned to provide security for this
mission.
Whatever this mission is.
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Tides of Change by Kevin Killiany Part 2 6

Traffic thinned as they left the city, only to clot to a standstill at the only entrance
to the DropPort the exarchʹs troops kept open. The guards standing by the lanes of
traffic leading up to the gate wore white gloves and carried noteputers in favor of body
armor and weapons. A squad of battle-suited figures standing silently to one side
eliminated the need for those meeting the public to present anything other than
professional courtesy.
Sebastian knew his expression did not change when the guard in their lane
waved them out of line and indicated they park in one of the inspection areas, but he
felt his pulse quicken.
ʺRelax,ʺ Matthias said. ʺDumb luck. Whenever a slot empties they wave over the
next car in line.ʺ
Sebastian nodded. Playing the part, he glanced at his wrist chronometer, then
gave the guard who had waved them over a tight, ʺI know youʹre only doing your jobʺ
smile. The guard acknowledged with a sympathetic nod that he was inconveniencing
them.
Sebastian and Matthias exited the car at the guard’s request and stood patiently
by as their vehicle was thoroughly searched. They surrendered papers and data chits
and tickets, explained the neurohelmet and diagnostic computer to everyoneʹs
satisfaction and through sheer good manners avoided a body search.
ʺToo bad youʹre not mounted up,ʺ Matthias said when they were back in the car
and driving toward the civilian long-term parking garage. ʺYou could clear that fellah
out of our way.ʺ
Sebastian looked in the direction she indicated and saw a lone Spider. Noting the
crimson shield prominent on its midnight black chest and the bright, emerald-green
metallic paint on its left arm, he shook his head.
ʺPaladin Heather GioAvanti has been piloting that Spider longer than I have
been piloting my own body,ʺ Sebastian said. ʺIt would take more than a planetary
militia lieutenant—even one in an Archer—to clear her out of a position sheʹs chosen to
hold.ʺ
Matthias said nothing.
Sebastian twisted in his seat, watching the BattleMech until it was out of sight.
Heather GioAvanti was a master warrior, a paladin, someone who had—in the ideal—
devoted her life to honor and service. It was an ideal toward which he himself had
striven—toward which he still strove—and he felt a strong connection to the woman in
the Spider.
But what good was honor, what was the purpose of valor, when the cause it
served was not just?
Greatly troubled by these thoughts, he sat back—doing his best to not distract
Matthias as she drove them into the shadow of the parking deck.

© 2006 WizKids, Inc. All rights reserved. MechWarrior and BattleMech are registered trademarks of WizKids, Inc.
Tides of Change by Kevin Killiany Part 3 1

TIDES OF CHANGE

Part 3: Influx

Anqabad, Ankaa
Prefecture IV
Republic of the Sphere
23 June 3135

Sebastian had expected Ankaaʹs sun to be blue-white. But it was cool for an A-
class star—only about one and a half times as hot as Terraʹs Sol—and looked white as
parchment.
Or so it appeared through Sebastianʹs visor. The smoky lens covered his face,
shielding his eyes from the sunʹs full fury just as the gill filters of the apparatus strained
harmful trace elements from the thin atmosphere. The loose fabric flapping about his
legs in the stiff breeze was woven of radiation-blocking fibers. The sunʹs harsh
radiation—not the air-borne alkali or the kiln-like heat—was the greatest danger facing
anyone on the surface.
That the radiation suits resembled a Bedouinʹs robes and headdress reflected the
culture of the planet’s original colonists. Though his upbringing did not incorporate
that cultureʹs values, Sebastian appreciated their sense of tradition.
The sky above him developed from near white close to the sun to a cobalt blue
above the white cliffs in front of him. To his left and behind him the bed of a long-
evaporated sea stretched unbroken to the southern horizon, creating a natural DropShip
field larger than the Terran continent of Europe.
The actual DropPort, of course, was tens of thousands of kilometers away near
the equatorial mineral mines—the source of Ankaaʹs wealth and the center for inter-
world commerce. The planetary capital of Anqabad was served by civilian aircraft that
appeared to land and take off from the flat plains at random.
Having seen conveyors and cargo handlers emerge from the barren ground to
load their aircraft, Sebastian knew the apparent lack of airfields was an illusion. He was

© 2006 WizKids, Inc. All rights reserved. MechWarrior, BattleMech and ’Mech are registered trademarks of WizKids,
Inc. www.wizkidsgames.com/publishing
not sure whether their concealment reflected a respect for the environment or indicated
local cultural aesthetics or was in fact an artifact of Ankaaʹs bloody defiance of the Jihad.
Knowing the answer to that question could be important if he was to treat with
the Ankaai effectively. But if the data was included in the extensive files theyʹd found
waiting for them in the manifest noteputer, heʹd failed to discover it.
Of course, there had been so many revelations—both of past events and future
plans—encrypted in those files that he may well have missed one bit of information in
the general glare of enlightenment. Some of what had been accomplished amazed him.
What remained to be done—and his part in the unfolding plans—humbled him.
Matthias was a shadow beside and one pace behind him. Swathed head to toe in
black robes similar to his, her face concealed behind the apparently opaque visor, she
was an absence of light against the white of the hardpan.
Matthias stumbled slightly as one of the bags she had slung from her shoulder
slipped. She caught the strap with the crook of her elbow, the heavy case in her hand
making the move awkward even in the light gravity.
Sebastian turned, the heavy cross hung about his neck bumping against his chest
with the sudden move, but he fought the urge to help her. Carrying more than the
noteputer secured in its radiation-proof pouch at his belt would be contrary to both his
current persona and the mores of Ankaa.
The DropShip carrying the two senatorial representatives from Terra to Basalt
had made a routine transfer to another JumpShip at Indi Ingress. However, just before it
had uncoupled, Sebastian and Matthias had left everything—including their
identification—in their cabins and made their way to a DropShip bound for Ankaa.
Sebastian had been disconcerted to discover a worn metal cross among the
clothing, documentation, and personal items of his new identity. Well made, heavy, and
nearly as long as his hand, it was an awkward amalgam of traditional forms: the short,
broad flare of the Maltese cross atop the sharply tapered cross of St. James. The care of
the workmanship indicated that the symbolic fusion of Christendomʹs two warrior
orders held a particular significance for the craftsman.
Sebastian wondered about the doppelganger who had taken his place as a Skobel
test pilot.
According to the identification crystal—keyed to his DNA and thumbprint—the
reborn Sebastian Ritter was a business entrepreneur. Scrolling through his identification
data and vetted itinerary, heʹd learned he was cofounder of SatoriCorp. The ambitiously
named company was a new start-up trying to break into the growing ʹMech market
with field upgrade kits for sensor arrays and control systems. As COO, he was traveling
to Ankaa to secure a source of—Sebastian didnʹt recognize the name, but deduced from
context that it was a mineral important to the manufacture of neurointerface circuitry.
Close enough to BattleMech technology for him to appear knowledgeable in casual
conversation.
 In fact, part of his luggage included a prototype neurohelmet as a sample of
SatoriCorpʹs workmanship.
Two identities that require carrying a neurohelmet. Someone expects me to pilot
a BattleMech.
It was probably just that Riktofven was making sure his cover identities involved
at least one area of his expertise. And MechWarrior was a good choice, since the
alternative area of expertise was missionary—not terribly useful in the given situation.
Now he strode purposefully toward the tented pavilion that jutted
incongruously from the base of the cliff into the flat plain of the former sea. Only
slightly smaller than the average DropShip passengersʹ terminal, the flamboyant
structure seemed ordinary on Anqabad.
As he walked, Sebastian realized the below-surface culture reminded him of a
story or perhaps legend of a subterranean race that had provided surface dwellers with
all their needs. The source eluded him, but he remembered it had not ended well.
He shook off the omen as he stepped across the threshold of the pavilion. Like
their Ankaai robes, the stretched fabric of the structure concealed hidden functions. The
sudden stillness of air when the outer flap closed warned Sebastian they were in a
sealed chamber. He didnʹt bother trying to push against the curtain of fabric blocking
their way.
ʺWelcome, Dr. Ritter, Ms. Matthias,ʺ said an automated voice as the sensors
confirmed their ID crystals. ʺPlease remove your visors for visual confirmation.ʺ
Sebastian pushed up the faceplate, leaving it on top of his head. Matthias
dropped a bag to do the same.
ʺPlease place all weapons on the tray at your right,ʺ said the voice. A glow
highlighted a small table. ʺSensor readings will be made for identification purposes and
the weapons returned to you.ʺ
That was a new precaution. Information of that sort would have certainly been
included in their briefing files. Considering what the security measure—and its recent
implementation—implied, Sebastian placed his traditional Ankaai dagger and personal
laser on the table. The dagger had been acquired at the DropPort shop that had
provided his protective robes and the civilian-grade laser was a no-nonsense model
favored for personal defense by businessmen and bankers on a dozen worlds.
He chose not to place the cross suspended from the fragile chain around his neck
on the table. Given the culture of this world, bearing the cross might be considered a
hostile act. But if his measure of Ankaai culture was correct, unapologetically declaring
his position would do much to assure his counterparts that he would be honorable in
his dealings.
Matthias produced a more powerful, but equally compact military grade sidearm
and a fighting dagger from a calf sheath. There was no change in the air around them.
After a long moment, she also surrendered a flat throwing knife from the nape of her
neck and—with a flex of her wrist—a one-shot hide-out laser that had been concealed in
her sleeve. All standard tools of a personal assistant who doubled as bodyguard.
The red spider web of a measuring laser illuminated the table, mapping the
blades for wound comparisons should the need arise. How the sensors could tag the
energy weapons was a mystery to Sebastian—even BattleMech tactical computers only
tracked the energy signatures of discharges. He wondered if this was a new
technology—or one a cofounder of SatoriCorp should recognize.
With a click of mechanical locks that belied the appearance of parting curtains,
the portal to the interior of Anqabad opened. A corridor, a dozen meters tall and twice
as wide, led into the mountain. The light had an odd tinge to Sebastianʹs eye, no doubt
reflecting the sunlight to which the natives were accustomed. There were kiosks and
booths along the wide concourse, typical of airports on any industrialized world in The
Republic. Also familiar were the customs gate immediately before them and the
luggage handler with the aircushion hand truck hurrying forward to collect their bags.
Sebastian was a beat behind Matthias in retrieving his weapons from the table.
+ + +
ʺSurely you cannot be serious?ʺ
Sebastian regarded the senator from Bharat levelly, waiting for the corpulent
man to make clear what of the Loyalist position he found unbelievable. He was aware
of Senators Brisbane and Tanaka on either side of him, rounding out their circle, but
resisted the urge to glance at either to gauge their responses.
The four stood—one of a dozen knots of conferring senators and proxies—to one
side of the assembly hall that had been provided for this conference.
Conference struck Sebastian as an anemic name for the gathering of senators
wrestling with the fate of The Republic. Though the etymologically more accurate
ʺcabalʺ was probably best avoided.
A well-laden sideboard was being ignored. Though many in attendance held
glasses, Sebastian would have been amazed if any contained alcohol. His own held fruit
juice well diluted with water, a taste acquired through a childhood of poverty.
The official meeting—little more than an announcement that they were met to
determine the best course of action in response to the ʺcurrent crisisʺ—had been brief.
The real work was being done, or at least begun, in these unstructured conversations.
Senator Patelʹs voluminous robes covered—but did not conceal—the mobile
frame that enabled him to stand. His sentences were punctuated with deep breaths, as
though he had difficulty filling his lungs. Sebastian suspected it was the thin air of
Ankaa and not the gravity—some ten percent greater than Bharatʹs—that so
incapacitated the man.
Physically, not mentally. The dossier provided by Riktofven identified Senator
Patel as one of the shrewdest political minds in Prefecture IV. Securing his support was
key to the success of the mission. Though the economy of his world was compromised
by Jacob Bannsonʹs control of its major factories, neither the senator nor Bharat was
completely under the sway of the ambitious industrialist.
Sebastian found it significant that the senator wore a simple su-asati on a woven
saffron cord about his neck. The ancient Hindu symbol—reminiscent of a Greek cross
with each of its four equal arms bent ninety degrees—expressed a prayer that good
always prevail. The hope it represented had almost been destroyed when one of the
most terrible despots in Terraʹs early history had co-opted it as the symbol of his brutal
reign.
Sebastian hoped the senator would not see a symbolic conflict between the
Christian warriorʹs cross about his own neck and the benign pacifism of the swastika.
ʺWhat you are proposing is a rival government,ʺ Patel said at last. ʺNot a
reinstatement of checks and balances, but a replacement of our democratic system.ʺ
ʺHas not the exarch already supplanted our democratic system with his
military—intervention?ʺ asked Senator Tanaka. The unspoken ʺcoupʺ hung in the brief
pause between the last two words. ʺOur duty is to reestablish the balance.ʺ
Per instructions, Sebastian gave no sign that he knew Senator Tanaka of Deneb
Kaitos was already part of the alliance Senator Riktofvenʹs files laid out for Sebastian.
An alliance of worlds forming a crescent from the rimward edge of Prefecture III
outward through Prefectures IV and V. One of three such regions, the alliance would
have a broad enough economic and military base to be able to be independently viable.
Not that independence was the objective, but such regions, crossing prefecture borders,
would form truly representative political entities that could not be easily manipulated—
ʺgeldedʺ to use Senator Riktofvenʹs word—by Geneva.
Taking his cue from Tanakaʹs aggressive conversational tactics, Sebastian
deduced he was to frame the same arguments in more thoughtful tones.
ʺOne could think of it in terms of sailing,ʺ Sebastian said before Patel could
respond. He was rewarded by a flicker of interest in the senatorʹs eye.
Before Word of Blake ʺreeducation campsʺ had forever made the name Bharat
synonymous with atrocity, the world had been a favorite destination of tourists
interested in outdoor sports. While camping and hunting in the worldʹs legendary
forests were the biggest draw, the world was seventy percent ocean. Though their
primary export was exotic lumber, the Bharati were proud of their maritime heritage
and considered themselves sailors of the first order.
ʺPowerful winds are blowing our craft off course,ʺ Sebastian went on, hoping his
uncertainty over the terms ʺboatʺ and ʺshipʺ was not apparent. ʺWe must steer into the
wind. To do so without losing everything, we must hike out—place ourselves
perilously beyond the usual bounds of safety.
ʺAn extreme position and a dangerous one,ʺ and now he did glance left and right
to include the others present. ʺBut a necessary—and temporary—maneuver to ensure
survival.ʺ
 Senator Brisbane of Addicks nodded thoughtfully at the analogy.
Addicks understood survival. The Dragons Fury and Northwind Highlanders
had fought a long and bitter war for his world, with The Republic barely maintaining
the upper hand. Now the safety of his world was ensured by mercenaries in the direct
employ of the Chamber of Paladins. Though Riktofvenʹs files identified Brisbane as
sympathetic, there was some question as to whether his sympathy could translate into
practical assistance.
ʺA simplistic analysis,ʺ said a voice at Sebastianʹs shoulder.
Startled, he turned to find himself literally face to face with a woman of imposing
height. Her closely cropped hair was an almost white blonde and her eyes—currently
locked on his—were a distant pale gray.
Sebastian took a half step back.
ʺSenator Hier, you snuck up on me deliberately,ʺ he said, keeping the accusation
mild.
The Ruchbah senator smiled thinly, swirling the drink in her hand.
ʺWhat you—or Senator Riktofven through you—is proposing is not so much
hiking out and abandoning ship,ʺ she said. ʺI can read a map. And Iʹve been
approached about this before.ʺ
Sebastian felt his eyebrows rise before he schooled his features.
ʺGood,ʺ said Hier.
ʺGood?ʺ Sebastian asked, wondering what he had missed.
Hier included the other senators with her glance.
ʺHe was genuinely surprised,ʺ she said.
ʺMeaning?ʺ asked Tanaka.
Hier looked again to Sebastian, then to Patel and Brisbane—both of whom
seemed to be as much in the dark as Sebastian felt.
ʺMeaning heʹs not in on your little scheme,ʺ she said, turning back to Tanaka.
ʺLinne Derius dropped your name during a sales pitch a few months ago. She called it
saving The Republic, too. But she made the mistake of including a star chart of The
Republic in her presentation. You donʹt show an old warrior a map and not expect her
to figure out the campaign.
ʺPark Place, Liberty, Deneb Kaitos and points rimward and spinward,ʺ she
sipped her drink. ʺYou and your playmates arenʹt talking about saving The Republic.
Youʹre talking about carving out a big chunk for your very own.ʺ
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