Q4 3035: Brothers
Ducal Palace
Roslyn, Eastern Islay
Arcadia
Arcadian Free March
12 October 3035
The months since returning home to Arcadia reminded Thomas more of his school days than his post-commissioning posting. Every day he'd help out with the Planning Staff if possible, watching his cousin Lord Alexander plan out the war that, it turned out, wasn't quite a war. Despite the losses, including that of an entire battalion of crack Arcadian Marines, the victory felt sweet enough, and the news from Solaris was encouraging as well. Thomas was, indeed, one of the few who knew OpForce Malleus' next assignment, word he was not going to share.
When he wasn't helping out there, he was attending seminars and meetings at the Foreign Office with the Military Liaison Staff, the joint AFFM/Foreign Office organization that maintained the necessity connections with allies, or potential allies, among other matters. While most of his work there was on preparing him to serve on Coventry in Archon Katrina's court, he was likewise educated on matters with their other allies, should he be assigned to Inarcs, Donegal, or Skye.
And yet, even with that, he still had social duties, in this case the formal arrival of the new Skye representative since Ambassador Endo's departure to see to her homeworld's liberation. The reception was due to begin soon and he'd be there in full uniform, complete with Order of the Liberator necklet and the Star of Bolan that Grand Princess Gita gave him for the fighting on Bolan. He hoped to get away with a minimum of suit-pressing by parents hopeful for prestige through their daughters being his wife.
He fit the last ribbon in place when there was a knock at the door of his personal suite. He left his bedroom for the living area. "Come in," he called, and watched Mark enter. His younger brother was in his own uniform, with the same commendations from Bolan, and a Captain's insignia. His right hand was in a glove and his left leg wasn't quite mobile while he was walking. "Mark."
"Tom." Mark's hand moved stiffly to salute. "Major. Sorry, my lack of discipline is telling, but I've been living outside of the life for over a year now. I got used to it."
Thomas returned it and shook his head. "No, I… I understand, Mark. I…" He swallowed. He hadn't seen Mark since his brother, badly wounded and with his survival still uncertain, was moved from the Liberator infirmary to the transport that carried him to Arcadia back in March of '34. "I'm happy you're well. Sorry I've not been up to the estate to see you."
"Ah. Well, you've been busy, and I know how hard it is to pull you from Fort Defiance," Mark answered. 'Truth is I used to be like that too."
"You were always eager to prove yourself."
"And you always seemed to do it without effort. I used to envy the hell of that."
Thomas gestured toward the chairs in his living room and Mark moved stiffly toward one. "I would offer a drink but I suspect we're both due at the reception."
"We'll have plenty there."
There was a difference in Mark, that much Thomas could see. Before, on those occasions they saw each other when duty allowed, his brother always vibrated with tension. A hunger to prove himself just as good as his older siblings and a worthy inheritor of the Proctor name. That was gone now. In its place was a kind of quiet resignation. "So, are they returning you to service?"
"In a staff capacity," Mark said. "Whatever doctors say about the prosthetics, I don't know if they'll let me be a combat pilot again. Not in a regular line unit. So I'll serve as best as I can in other respects."
"That's a shame, you're a damn fine MechWarrior."
"I like to think so." Mark sighed. "I still have the itch. Not just with my limbs but here." He tapped his right temple. "I want to suit up and just take a 'Mech out for a stroll. Feel the tremor of the legs tromping across the ground, look down at the fields… just to feel that power again."
"I believe I do." A bit of guilt crept into his voice. Just the other day Thomas got to take Liberator out on maneuvers with the 1st Militia Brigade. "Maybe in time the prosthetics will be advanced enough to let you pilot?"
"The doctors say they are now, but AFFM regs are AFFM regs, and they're not all written by doctors." Mark shrugged. "Either way, what's done is done. I had my shot at glory, and I did something, and now I've paid the cost and have to live with it the best I can. And that brings me to the news I received this morning."
"Oh?"
"I've been assigned to the Liaison Staff," Mark said. "They're sending me to Coventry as part of the mission. Administrative vice chief of staff for Colonel Hughes."
"Vice chief of staff?" Thomas shook his head.
Mark chuckled. "As much as the AFFM doesn't like to admit it, we have been shaped in part by the legacy of the Lyran Commonwealth. Bureaucratic overhead is part of that, I guess."
"So we'll be going to Coventry together." Thomas grinned slightly. "Well, at least I'll have someone to keep me company."
"I had the same thought," Mark replied.
Roslyn, Eastern Islay
Arcadia
Arcadian Free March
12 October 3035
The months since returning home to Arcadia reminded Thomas more of his school days than his post-commissioning posting. Every day he'd help out with the Planning Staff if possible, watching his cousin Lord Alexander plan out the war that, it turned out, wasn't quite a war. Despite the losses, including that of an entire battalion of crack Arcadian Marines, the victory felt sweet enough, and the news from Solaris was encouraging as well. Thomas was, indeed, one of the few who knew OpForce Malleus' next assignment, word he was not going to share.
When he wasn't helping out there, he was attending seminars and meetings at the Foreign Office with the Military Liaison Staff, the joint AFFM/Foreign Office organization that maintained the necessity connections with allies, or potential allies, among other matters. While most of his work there was on preparing him to serve on Coventry in Archon Katrina's court, he was likewise educated on matters with their other allies, should he be assigned to Inarcs, Donegal, or Skye.
And yet, even with that, he still had social duties, in this case the formal arrival of the new Skye representative since Ambassador Endo's departure to see to her homeworld's liberation. The reception was due to begin soon and he'd be there in full uniform, complete with Order of the Liberator necklet and the Star of Bolan that Grand Princess Gita gave him for the fighting on Bolan. He hoped to get away with a minimum of suit-pressing by parents hopeful for prestige through their daughters being his wife.
He fit the last ribbon in place when there was a knock at the door of his personal suite. He left his bedroom for the living area. "Come in," he called, and watched Mark enter. His younger brother was in his own uniform, with the same commendations from Bolan, and a Captain's insignia. His right hand was in a glove and his left leg wasn't quite mobile while he was walking. "Mark."
"Tom." Mark's hand moved stiffly to salute. "Major. Sorry, my lack of discipline is telling, but I've been living outside of the life for over a year now. I got used to it."
Thomas returned it and shook his head. "No, I… I understand, Mark. I…" He swallowed. He hadn't seen Mark since his brother, badly wounded and with his survival still uncertain, was moved from the Liberator infirmary to the transport that carried him to Arcadia back in March of '34. "I'm happy you're well. Sorry I've not been up to the estate to see you."
"Ah. Well, you've been busy, and I know how hard it is to pull you from Fort Defiance," Mark answered. 'Truth is I used to be like that too."
"You were always eager to prove yourself."
"And you always seemed to do it without effort. I used to envy the hell of that."
Thomas gestured toward the chairs in his living room and Mark moved stiffly toward one. "I would offer a drink but I suspect we're both due at the reception."
"We'll have plenty there."
There was a difference in Mark, that much Thomas could see. Before, on those occasions they saw each other when duty allowed, his brother always vibrated with tension. A hunger to prove himself just as good as his older siblings and a worthy inheritor of the Proctor name. That was gone now. In its place was a kind of quiet resignation. "So, are they returning you to service?"
"In a staff capacity," Mark said. "Whatever doctors say about the prosthetics, I don't know if they'll let me be a combat pilot again. Not in a regular line unit. So I'll serve as best as I can in other respects."
"That's a shame, you're a damn fine MechWarrior."
"I like to think so." Mark sighed. "I still have the itch. Not just with my limbs but here." He tapped his right temple. "I want to suit up and just take a 'Mech out for a stroll. Feel the tremor of the legs tromping across the ground, look down at the fields… just to feel that power again."
"I believe I do." A bit of guilt crept into his voice. Just the other day Thomas got to take Liberator out on maneuvers with the 1st Militia Brigade. "Maybe in time the prosthetics will be advanced enough to let you pilot?"
"The doctors say they are now, but AFFM regs are AFFM regs, and they're not all written by doctors." Mark shrugged. "Either way, what's done is done. I had my shot at glory, and I did something, and now I've paid the cost and have to live with it the best I can. And that brings me to the news I received this morning."
"Oh?"
"I've been assigned to the Liaison Staff," Mark said. "They're sending me to Coventry as part of the mission. Administrative vice chief of staff for Colonel Hughes."
"Vice chief of staff?" Thomas shook his head.
Mark chuckled. "As much as the AFFM doesn't like to admit it, we have been shaped in part by the legacy of the Lyran Commonwealth. Bureaucratic overhead is part of that, I guess."
"So we'll be going to Coventry together." Thomas grinned slightly. "Well, at least I'll have someone to keep me company."
"I had the same thought," Mark replied.