Chapter Text
MechWarrior: Scions of War
01: Prologue
Youssef
Emir City, Lebanon
Draconis Combine
12 December, 3035
“How is he?” Youssef asked.
Fouda slowly closed the door into the bedroom and walked to the huge wooden desk. Family lore was that it was made of real mahogany from Terra and was over a thousand years old. Each generation of his family, the patriarch always sat at that desk while penning letters and edicts, running the family businesses. Youssef strode across the office and sat down facing his older cousin.
“If God wills it, he will last through the night. If God wills something else, then by morning I will inherit his lands and titles.” Fouda Jaber answered cryptically.
“Then what will be your first act as Sheik?” Youssef asked.
Absent mindedly, Fouda toyed with a fountain pen before spilling a drop of ink and returning it to its holder. He wiped his hands on a tissue but only spread the ink around. In disgust he dropped the tissue to the floor and rang a small bell at the edge of the desk. He propped his head up with one hand and waited until the servant had come and gone before answering his cousin’s question.
“My first act as Sheik? You mean my first act as the head of a family that spent its wealth creating an army to overthrow the Atassi family and take its rightful place ruling this planet, only to lose that army in the infighting of the Free Worlds League? The family that spent its resources on aimless revenge schemes against anyone who wronged my father…” Fouda nodded towards the door into the bedroom. “Instead of investing wisely and uniting the families against the Sultan? What should I do? Start marrying second and third wives to make entitled and useless sons for whom I have to divide up my depleted wealth among who will accomplish nothing?”
Youssef kept his mouth shut at his cousin’s exhausted rhetorical questions. The other man straightened up and met his eyes.
“My first act? I should write a letter to Hanse Davion and thank him for attacking Lebanon.” Fouda said.
When Youssef answered only in a questioning look, he expanded. “Then write another to the Coordinator thanking him for not sending reinforcements when the Sultan begged.”
“I’m not sure what you mean by that, Cousin.”
“Simple.” Fouda responded. “Because something my father never did was lift a finger against Sultan Atassi. Davion’s mercenaries saw fit to destroy much of the Atassi house forces, leaving them vulnerable, before retreating. Had the Coordinator sent reinforcements, that situation would be different. A foreign army would be occupying this world just waiting for the day when some Kuritan warlord decided to replace the Sultan. So, in a way, Hanse Davion’s adventurism and raiding and my father’s soon to be demise has left the circumstances wide open for a long-awaited change of power on Lebanon. We are simply missing a few factors.”
Ticking off fingers, Youssef followed the line of reasoning. “An army. One could be purchased, but the Combine would not allow mercenaries to be used here. Our meager house forces and the even more beggarly army of the Abbas family were stationed far away from the city and strategic targets that the enemy struck. Our one saving grace was them not being involved in much of the fighting.”
“Purchased yes. But not in the traditional way. One thing that having far too many sons has accomplished is that some of them have become successful in the hired military trade off world. Since they are family members, then we could invite them here on a different pretext. Guarding house assets on a temporary and emergency basis as relief for indigenous forces.” Fouda answered. “Filling in empty spots we are allowed by treaty to have.”
Another of Youssef’s fingers extended. “We would need an excuse, otherwise a straight up coup would only result in a counter coup. Killing off family members and using up money wouldn’t get the desired result.”
“One can be manufactured as easily as Hanse Davion’s excuse for invading anyone.” Fouda waved away the objection. “If anything, writing that excuse afterwards would be just as easy. The victors write history.”
When Youssef extended his third finger he grimaced. “To get buy in from the other families, you would need to honor tradition. Which is a problem. To my knowledge there aren’t any legitimate Abbas women you could marry. All their daughters of age have been married off. When your father invested in the Lebanon Irregulars by purchasing the hand of the Abbas woman, she never gave him an heir. That alliance was never sealed. By the time there is another generation of women of age, the time will be passed.”
Sitting back in his chair, Fouda stared above Youssef’s shoulder. “Two things my father wasted money on. That woman and sending men after her when she ran away with the mercenary.” He paused and closed his eyes for a moment. “Amina Abbas had two children with the mercenary Jan Hunt, twins. A boy and a girl. Thanks to the MRB, a man like that never could hide which is how my father wasted money sending his army after them.”
Trying to seal an alliance by marrying a half-bred noble woman isn’t going to go over well with the rest of the Abbas family. Youssef kept his thoughts to himself.
As if Fouda could read his concerns, he answered. “Bastards can be legitimized. Convincing Sheik Abbas to give his name to the Hunt twins and adopt them would be strangely less of a challenge as convincing the Abbas-Hunt twins to marry one of my concubines’ daughters and one of my useless bastard sons. Four half-breed bastards marrying instead of two full blooded. The union doesn’t even need to produce children, just seal the business my father started. Sheik Abbas would go for this arrangement because it doesn’t cost him any additional children. The twins would have to willingly participate in this scheme, even without knowing the full extent. More runaway brides and grooms would not suffice.”
“I suppose you know where they are?” Youssef asked.
“Indeed. I also have an idea of how to get them here.” He answered with a smile.