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Ray Fisher isn’t messing around even as WB tries to discredit him. Good for him for standing up for himself.

#Ray Fisher #WB #DC #cast: dceu #studio drama

A Studio in ComStar - Ultima ratio - Scene 9

Swords, not words.

LIVE BROADCAST ON THE COMSTAR NEWS NETWORK – FEBRUARY 13, 3025 ComStar Legation Compound, City of Atreus, planet Atreus, Commonwealth of Marik, Free Worlds League (Terran Standard Time: 23:07:35) Elapsed Runtime: 2 hours, 7 minutes

LEFARGE (exploding) Very well, Consul! If this man cannot be charged as Viktor Starkov, then I accuse him of usurpation of identity! He’s wearing the uniform and medals of a dead man. This is theft of honor! (Gasps ripple through the audience. Cameras zoom in. LEFARGE thinks for a few seconds, staring into the distance as he recalls.)

LEFARGE Consul, under the relevant articles of the Free Worlds League Military Code of Justice and the Captain-General’s Regulations of 2894, decreed to guard our military honors, I charge this imposter with willfully impersonating a Captain, wearing a dead man’s uniform to claim false authority! He also flaunts unauthorized decorations—a disgrace to our fallen! ComStar’s neutrality cannot shield this fraud! These crimes demand his arrest and court-martial!

(The crowd murmurs, sensing the shift.)

STARKOV (measured, icy, hand on chest) These medals, Earl, are not yours to take. They were bestowed by the will of Parliament. If you wish them revoked, shall you convene an extraordinary session to debate the matter?

(The audience chuckles nervously. LEFARGE’s jaw tightens.)

CONSUL NIKOMEDES (sighing deeply) Earl Lefarge, do you understand the scope of this charge?

LEFARGE (indignant) I do. I demand this imposter be arrested, charged, and stripped of all honors! If he’s dead, he’s usurping Viktor Starkov’s identity. Since you like circular logic so much, here’s at you! Checkmate, Consul!

STARKOV (loudly, to the room) Only a living person can usurp the personality of another, living or dead. For the reverse case—a dead man usurping the identity of a living person—that would fall under spirit or demonic possession. In which case, the proper jurisdiction belongs to the Catholic Church—per the codicil to the Treaty of Terra of 2315, signed between the Free Worlds League and the Terran Hegemony.

(Stunned silence. A beat. The audience erupts in surprised laughter. On stage, several people stare at STARKOV as if he’s lost his mind.)

STARKOV (grinning) What? I read it in the Atreus Review of Law, while waiting outside Counselor Alvarez’s office.

ATTORNEY ATTICUS MASON (wry smile) Confirmed. That provision was added following a divorce and child custody case, wherein one parent sought to perform an exorcism on the child over the legal objection of the other. The Concordat with the Holy See had determined the Church had exclusive jurisdiction in cases of alleged spiritual occupation.

(The crowd laughs, clapping. LEFARGE’s face darkens.)

CONSUL NIKOMEDES The motion is denied. Earl Lefarge, you’ve ventured into metaphysics. This tribunal will not pursue spectral jurisprudence.

STARKOV (mock-triumphant, clapping hands) Well, the play is over now. Exeunt stage and all that.

LEFARGE (slams both palms on his lectern, veins bulging, shouting) No, it’s not over! Enough of this charade! I only played along so ComStar could save face! The warrant for Starkov's arrest is valid, and the First Circuit approved our extradition demand! You’ve had your hour of glory, Consul. Hand him over. Now.

CONSUL (warning, low) Earl Lefarge. Compose yourself.

LEFARGE (voice rising, trembling with rage) No, you listen! If justice fails in law, it will be served in arms! (to COMMISSAR) Commissar, call your riot troopers. Storm the studio. Lethal force authorized!

COMMISSAR (stammering) But, sir, I ordered them to stand down an hour ago. They’re back at the station, off duty—

LEFARGE (snarling) Don’t play games! We know you kept them nearby. Call them! Now!

CONSUL (shocked) You didn’t withdraw your troops?

LEFARGE (barking into his headset) I want mobile response units on every exit! Patch me through to the Atreus garrison! Get me a ComSet!

(LEFARGE ignores him, barking orders into a comset. The COMMISSAR follows suit. The audience murmurs, rising from their seats. COMSTAR SECURITY rush to secure the studio entrances.)

LEFARGE Nobody leaves! For your own safety—remain where you are!

(The crowd freezes, conditioned to obey military commands. COMGUARDS hesitate, eyeing the exits.)

CONSUL Are you out of your mind? I order the evacuation of all studio personnel to the HPG compound. Starkov, come with us!

LEFARGE Too late. I have snipers on the rooftops. Anyone tries to leave, they’ll be shot. You try to move him in an armored car—I will call in an airstrike from Atreus Aerospace Command.

STARKOV (to Consul, softly) There’s another way out of this...

CONSUL (nodding, understanding dawning) Earl Lefarge, think carefully. You are assaulting ComStar’s neutral territory.

LEFARGE Spare me the pretense. This studio isn’t embassy ground. Your superiors at Terra won’t defend you on a technicality.

CONSUL Then we withdraw to the main HPG compound under ComGuard escort. That is indisputably protected ground. The First Circuit won’t tolerate an attack on our station.

LEFARGE (sneering) Do as you please, Consul. Starkov’s not leaving alive. If you reach the compound, I’ll bring the Atreus Garrison. I’ll storm the station—by city police, troops, or BattleMechs if I must! A company of ‘Mechs is en route as we speak!

CONSUL You’re bluffing. Threats don’t sway ComStar. Do you forget the consequences of threatening a ComStar installation? An interdict would cripple the League’s economy.

AYLA BEY Earl Lefarge, I plead you! You will bring disaster upon our nation!

LEFARGE Shut up, woman! (to Consul) That was two hundred years ago! The times have changed. We are not in a major war now; the fronts are quiet. And worlds have become more self-reliant since then. And ComStar is not the same—it’s a business, and an interdict would hurt you more than it would hurt the League. (raises a hand, interrupting the Consul as he’s about to protest) No, don’t think I’m a simple soldier who doesn’t know. I’m a member of Parliament—I know about budgets and economy and I read the briefing. I know you have a hard time recruiting, and you now have to hire Periphery yokels. The C-Bill’s devalued, you keep hiking your rates, and you have to bring a pretty face (gestures dismissively at Ayla) to drive up the ratings of your broadcasts nobody watches anymore. Your First Circuit has a larger picture than you, and you’re not even Precentor Atreus. They won’t be pleased with the lost revenue over this trivial extradition. You’re a stubborn, vainglorious fool. Give up—for the good of ComStar and your own!

CONSUL (unyielding) Even so, our Order has endured and stayed neutral by never yielding to force. The First Circuit may have agreed to an ill-considered extradition, but I won’t bow to threats. The ComGuard will resist—even if you breach our gates with ‘Mechs!

LEFARGE (mocking) You talk very brave, Consul, but will your militia obey you? Your “asphalt soldiers”? Atreus natives, glorified security guards? Soldiers fight for a nation—they won’t die for a business.

CONSUL (shaken but firm) Enough ComGuards are loyal to Blake’s Will to make a stand. We’ll fight to prove ComStar’s neutrality. Terra will back us.

LEFARGE Don’t be so sure. You are overstepping your authority. You’ve made your point of honor—very brave. But don’t overplay your hand. Surrender, or your people die.

STARKOV (slowly rising, tone calm but deadly) I was gone ten years and a day... and when I return, I see that the League only respects law and treaty when it suits them. And if not—there’s always the ultima ratio regum.

LEFARGE (snarling) Shut up, rebel! This is your fault! Surrender!

CONSUL We are not surrendering anybody, Earl Lefarge. It's you who has overplayed your hand. You talk brave too. Have you forgotten you are unarmed and at our mercy? (Raises his hand) ComGuards, take aim and prepare to fire at His Lordship on my order.

(The remaining ComGuards in the balcony take aim, their laser sights locking on Lefarge, red dots dancing on his chest.)

LEFARGE (folding arms, defiant) You’re not a soldier. Not a killer, Consul. You won’t murder an unarmed ambassador.

CONSUL (coldly) Do not test me, Earl. I’ll do what’s necessary to uphold ComStar’s neutrality. Rescind your orders. Extradition requires Terra’s approval—and after this stunt, the First Circuit will back me. Choose your next words carefully. They may be your last.

LEFARGE (unfazed) Shoot me, then. You’ll start a war. The League’s ’Mechs will raze this station, and the First Circuit will end up paying indemnities. Your call, Consul.

CONSUL (lowering arm) This audience is over. You and your men will be escorted out with the public. ComStar will defend itself. If war comes, it’s on your head.

STARKOV (quietly) Thank you, Consul. But I fight my own battles.

LEFARGE (mocking) So—you surrender? At last!

STARKOV (firm) Not until a Cameron sits on Terra’s throne. No, your Lordship—I won’t walk out to be sniped by a SAFE hitman.

LEFARGE (solemn) You have my word of honor. I’ll ensure your safety—an appeal, a fair trial.

STARKOV (scoffing) I believe your intent. But you overreach. You can’t guarantee my safety—not on the street, not in a cell.

LEFARGE (outraged) You dare question a Lefarge’s word?! What do you want—a safe conduct out of Atreus? The Marik won’t allow it!

STARKOV (voice rising) This is no longer about courts. In the Regulan Hussars, I learned a quaint custom for resolving differences between officers: juicio por combate. Trial by combat. I challenge you to a duel.

(A hush falls. The studio crowd begins whispering, some excited, others disbelieving. A duel? STARKOV stands calm, arms folded behind his back, medals glinting. LEFARGE glowers, red-cheeked.)

LEFARGE (scoffing) Absurd! A duel? This isn’t Regulus or Princefield Academy!

STARKOV (steady) A planet watches, your Lordship. I’ve waived ComStar’s protection to save lives and avert disaster.

LEFARGE (mocking) Don’t drape yourself in patriotism. It’s the last refuge of scoundrels.

STARKOV You gamble with others’ lives, damn the consequences. This is no longer a matter for lawyers, but soldiers. Then let it be a soldier’s business. You and I. Not words, but swords.

(The audience holds its breath. The spotlight catches STARKOV’s medals, LEFARGE’s trembling fists.)

LEFARGE (laughing derisively) A duel? You, a commoner, challenge me? I’m a noble of House Lefarge—an Earl, and a Member of Parliament!

STARKOV (calmly) On ComStar ground, titles hold no weight. I too read the Order’s history on the voyage here. As an ambassador, you should know the tradition. In 2604, Coordinator Leonard Kurita spat at First Lord Nicholas Cameron and hurled a bottle of liquor at him.

A wise man on Terra once said that civilized men are more discourteous than savages because they know they can be impolite without having their skulls split. Realizing that—and to keep the haughty Dracs in check—the High Council allowed duels to settle such insults. It ensured restraint. A tradition continued by ComStar as neutral arbiter of diplomacy. And it works so well, it’s been decades since anyone lost their manners—and their head.

Here, rank is equalized. No one hides behind a title—not even a crown.

(The audience murmurs, intrigued. LEFARGE shifts uncomfortably. Consul Nikomedes, surprised, orders a check, on screen comes the historical commentary and examples of duels, confirming Starkov words)

LEFARGE (scoffing, venomous) A noble doesn’t duel a commoner! You’re no peer, Starkov—just a MechWarrior for hire. A mercenary!

STARKOV (incisive, with a hint of scorn) A fitting answer for a noble, but improper for a man. Step down from your pedestal, Earl. This isn’t Atreus’ court. ComStar’s law binds us both, and I’ve offered you a soldier’s resolution. Refuse—and you prove your courage as hollow as your words.

(The crowd stirs, sensing LEFARGE’s discomfort. His fists clench.)

LEFARGE (grasping, haughty) Even if I entertained this farce, you’re no MechWarrior! Only a true warrior, can issue such a challenge. You’re a pretender—unworthy of the name!

STARKOV (unfazed, voice steady) I’m a MechWarrior, Earl. Duly recognized by the Great Houses and the ComStar Mercenary Review and Bonding Commission. We honor the BattleMech, not the bloodline. I own a Crusader heavy BattleMech. That puts me on par with you.

LEFARGE (desperate, voice rising) Even so, a duel can take place only between equals! And you are not my equal in rank! I’m a Force Commander in the Free Worlds League Military—a Princefield graduate! You? A jumped-up captain from the infantry! I read your file. You might be an officer—risen from the ranks—but you haven’t attended an academy. You’re not a caballero! I don’t even know why I waste my breath. I’m a Commander. You’re a captain. Seniority forbids this absurdity!

STARKOV (smiling faintly, like a prosecutor closing in) You didn’t get to the last page of my file, Commander. Rank depends on the host of 'Mechs under your command. That’s how our ruling Dukes got their titles—their ancestors were all colonels who pledged their regiments and earned titles and fiefdoms in exchange.

Us mercenaries get our rank recognized not by political appointment or connections, but through competency—and the strength of the unit we lead. Might makes right. And I have earned my right to be recognized as a Major, or Force Commander, by the Draconis Combine. And the MRBC. And all the other states.

And no—seniority in grade doesn’t count.

(The crowd buzzes, tension electric. LEFARGE’s face reddens, his composure fraying. He paces, then stops—eyes glinting with malice.)

LEFARGE (sudden, triumphant) Wait! You wear the uniform of a captain of infantry—and the insignia of those bandits and cutthroats of the Liberation Units! You’re Dispossessed! No ’Mech, no honor! A MechWarrior without steel is a shadow—unfit to challenge me!

(A stunned silence falls. The AUDIENCE gasps. The slur echoes like a gunshot. CONSUL NIKOMEDES stiffens, sensing the shift. STARKOV’s eyes harden. His voice remains calm—but laced with lethal precision.)

STARKOV (slowly, deliberate) You’ve crossed a line, Your Lordship. First—you insulted my brave comrades in the Liberation Units, who gave their lives for the League. Recognized and honored by Parliament. (Taps the bottom of the Crest of the Eagle shields on his sash.) Coventry Deep Strike, 3006.

Second—you insulted me. Even a Kurita samurai would grant a mercenary—a MechWarrior—a measure of honor. But to brand me Dispossessed, on live holovid, before millions? That’s an affront too grave to let pass.

You’ve given me a grievance. A wound to my name. This is no longer a proposal—but personal. I demand satisfaction.

(The studio is deathly quiet. LEFARGE freezes—realizing his trap. The cameras zoom in on his sweat-beaded brow.)

STARKOV (continuing, voice like a blade) By ComStar’s traditions. By the Star League’s duel code. By the customs of the military and the academy you claim to honor—you cannot refuse. Deny me, and you forfeit your honor.

Before this audience. Before the League. Before the Inner Sphere.

Will you give me satisfaction—or will House Lefarge slink away, its valor exposed as a lie?

(The AUDIENCE erupts in whispers. Some nod in approval. Others recoil, shocked. COMSTAR SECURITY exchange uneasy glances—hands on weapons. CONSUL NIKOMEDES steps forward, voice low but firm.)

CONSUL NIKOMEDES (shaken, but resolute) Earl Lefarge—Major Starkov’s challenge is lawful under ComStar statutes. You must answer… or the record will note your refusal.

#studio drama #starkov #battletech

A Studio in ComStar - Legal Joust - Scene 8-4

Resurrection yesterday, Execution Tomorrow

LEFARGE: Standing at the podium, addressing the court. "Friends, fellow citizens of the Free Worlds League, lend me your ears. I stand as a representative of the Marik Commonwealth, seeking justice. This case unfolds along two parallel tracks. In the Marik Commonwealth, Viktor Starkov was tried in absentia for treason—a betrayal of our League—and sentenced to death. Though some have questioned the constitutionality of the verdict, the arrest warrant remains active, with a term of ten years and a day. As we speak, less than an hour remains before this term expires. In the Duchy of Oriente, which reclaimed jurisdiction over the case, the statute of limitations for such crimes is ten years—no more, no less. Counselor Alvarez contends that this shields Starkov, asserting that his crimes are too old to prosecute. However, herein lies the paradox: under the doctrine… of… what was it? Mortality continued? (To the Consul) Your Honor, can I request clarification of this point of law in order to submit my charge?"

CONSUL: "Granted. You may ask your attorney for clarification of the precise legal term. He may answer the question and only that."

ATTORNEY: "It’s the doctrine of ‘mortal continuity,’ Your Lordship. It preserves the status of ‘legal death’ once it has been determined in court."

LEFARGE: Pauses, addressing the court again. "Thank you. As I was saying, under the doctrine of ‘mortal continuity,’ Starkov is legally dead, rendering him untouchable. Yet, since the statute has expired, we cannot revive him to face charges. Thus, he’s beyond reach because he’s dead, but we can’t try him because the time has lapsed, and we can’t resurrect him in time to alter that. This isn’t justice; it’s a loophole."

STARKOV: (Quietly, then rising in intensity) “You don’t care if I’m guilty or not, do you?” (Lefarge, still standing at the podium, stiffens but does not respond.)

STARKOV (CONT’D): “You don’t give a damn about the law, or the League, or justice. You just don’t want to lose. You lost to me twice already—in front of cameras, in front of gods and soldiers alike!”

LEFARGE: Still composed, but voice icy “I care that men like you don’t walk free just because they know how to bleed for a camera.”

STARKOV: “Admit it. You want the last word, the last punch, the last win. But you’re not a prosecutor anymore, Lefarge. You’re a sore loser playing lawyer!”

LEFARGE: “How dare you…!?” (Crowd murmurs, agitated)

CONSUL: “Order! ORDER! ComGuard Sergeant! Post two soldiers at either side of these men to restrain them if they get violent. This is a court, not a barroom brawl! Count Lefarge, you may continue.”

LEFARGE: Resumes speaking, albeit with more force. "Statutes of limitations exist for practical reasons, primarily concerning minor offenses. As the Bible says: 'ὁ δὲ ἄνομος φεύξεται μηδενὸς διώκοντος'—or in English, 'The wicked flee when no man pursueth.' The law presumes that living in fear is punishment enough for petty crimes. Moreover, individuals often reform over time, becoming productive members of society. Pursuing them after a decade for trivial misdeeds is both cruel and inefficient. Rebellion, however, is a different matter. It’s akin to treason, to levy war against our leader, the Captain-General, in his realm—not a youthful indiscretion. Statutes aren’t designed to shield fugitives who deliberately evade justice, hoping the clock will run out. Starkov is a fugitive playing dead and now seeks refuge in legal technicalities. By his own admission, he’s alive. I move to transfer this case to the Commonwealth, where the Supreme Court will back us—treason doesn’t expire. One hour left, Consul—let’s act now! Counselor Alvarez portrays Starkov as a victim ensnared in bureaucratic red tape. Yet, Starkov manipulates the system—asserting his existence to clear his name, then claiming death to escape prosecution. He can’t have it both ways. He is either a ghost or alive. As a living man, he must answer for his actions. Marik awaits. Let’s uphold justice."

STARKOV: “Justice? The Marik just wants its pound of flesh, but neither him nor vultures like you will have it!”

CONSUL: “ORDER! You are out of line! Restrain yourself to legal points or say nothing at all! I command you!”

LEFARGE: Triumphantly “As I was about to say, Starkov himself has disrupted this loop. By presenting evidence, he has declared, ‘I am Viktor Starkov, alive.’ This self-identification, accepted provisionally by ComStar pending documentation, effectively revives him. Consequently, the statute of limitations in Oriente no longer applies, and the Marik warrant regains its validity. With the clock ticking, we have the last chance to arrest him to face justice!”

STARKOV: “The statute of limitations expired yesterday in Oriente courts. Even if I am resurrected, I was dead yesterday. You cannot touch me!” (Crowd murmurs, Loyalists disgusted, Rebels approving)

LEFARGE: (Pauses, momentarily stymied) “Wait a minute… what the Consul said before… yes! You were issued a safe conduct by ComStar at the behest of the Terran Historical Branch, who accepted your identity bona fide, at face value… whatever face you have now.”

STARKOV: “You want a new one too? I’d be glad to oblige!” (Steps forward)

CONSUL: “ORDER! Guards, hold him!” (Crowd gasps)

LEFARGE: Triumphant “Show us the date of the safe conduct! We are not in Oriente or Marik courts, but under ComStar jurisdiction, and for this court, not only are you alive as of today, but retroactively from the moment you were issued the safe conduct by ComStar! I can extradite you before midnight, court-martial you, and have you in front of a firing squad by dawn!”

#starkov #battletech #studio drama

A Studio in ComStar - Legal Joust - Scene 8-3

Dead men tell tales

Header for Scene 8-3

(Terran Standard Time: 22:42:30) Elapsed Runtime: 1 hour, 42 minutes, 30 seconds

LEFARGE (Sarcastic) No honor among thieves, eh? Not even the mercenary rabble recognize you as one of their own, Starkov!

STARKOV (gritting teeth, voice steady) If no one here will vouch for me, then let my awards speak for me. (Produces a ruby-encrusted medal from his tunic, holding it aloft.) This is my Distinguished Service Award, Free Worlds League, awarded 3006 for the Coventry raid. Run it through the League military history archives—verify the serial issue number, date, and recipient: Viktor Ivanovich Starkov, Captain, SAFE Liberation Units, 14th Brigade. That’s me.

(Audience murmurs. Cameras zoom on the glinting ruby. Holo-screens flash: “Medal Authentic?: 60%, Stolen?: 30%”)

On screen appears the text of the citation: Distinguished Service Award (3006): “Captain Viktor Starkov, 14th Liberation Brigade, Infantry, displayed outstanding leadership and gallantry during the 3006 Coventry raid. Leading a commando team under intense fire, he personally demolished critical infrastructure at Coventry Metal Works, halting Commando and Phoenix Hawk production, and secured vital schematics on Skye, significantly disrupting Lyran operations. His courage and initiative reflect the highest traditions of the Free Worlds League.”

(Public murmurs, surprised: “Coventry? That was twenty years ago. He looks too young. Maybe he is indeed age forty. Plastic surgery makes him younger. Unbelievable, must be an impostor…”) (Holo-screens flash: “Hero?: 45%, Impostor?: 55%”)

LEFARGE (sneering, stepping forward) A pretty trinket, but meaningless! Medals can be bought, sold, or stolen. This proves nothing. You could have purchased it from a pawn shop or looted it from the real Starkov’s grave—an impostor clutching a dead man’s honor!

CONSUL NIKOMEDES (raising a hand) Order! Earl Lefarge, that is a serious claim. Do you have evidence of such a transaction?

LEFARGE No need for evidence when the man’s own words—legally dead, no papers—scream fraud! I call an expert to testify on the medal’s provenance.

(Call proceeds.) (A LEAGUE HISTORIAN, elderly, bespectacled, appears on screen.)

LEAGUE HISTORIAN (clearing throat) The Distinguished Service Award, even the lowest grade—the Ruby tier—is a treasure of immense value, a family heirloom in the Free Worlds League. Only a desperate House would sell one, and such sales are rare. These medals are deemed national heritage; their export is forbidden by law. The League government often repurchases those found on the black market, reissuing them to new recipients. (Pauses, consulting slate.) I’ve cross-checked the archives: no records of a 3006 Coventry raid medal being sold or reissued post-award. This medal, if authentic, remains tied to Viktor Starkov.

(Audience stirs. Polls shift: “Medal Authentic?: 75%, Impostor?: 20%”)

LEFARGE (undeterred, voice rising) Then it was stolen! Plucked from the corpse of the true Starkov, killed in 3022 at Marlette! This man on stage is a fraud, parading a dead hero’s glory!

STARKOV (eyes flashing, baton tapping) A corpse, am I? You have been watching too many B-grade terror holofilms lately, Your Lordship.

(Audience chuckles. Tension breaks briefly.)

CONSUL NIKOMEDES (firmly, addressing Lefarge) Earl Lefarge, if you press this claim—that this man cannot prove he is Viktor Starkov—you force a grave consequence. Without identity documents, he is a stateless person, a non-citizen. ComStar, as a neutral entity with no territory beyond Terra, cannot grant political asylum to dissidents or fugitives, as such an act would breach our principle of non-interference in the domestic affairs of the Successor States. (Pauses, tone measured.) However, ComStar has no obligation to arrest fugitives either. Our tradition, upheld for centuries, is to provide documentation and transit for displaced persons, refugees, and stateless citizens. If the Free Worlds League refuses to recognize this man’s identity, ComStar must issue him valid papers and a safe-conduct to travel to a destination of his choice. Any attempt to arrest him here would violate ComStar’s neutrality and indict our humanitarian work.

(Audience murmurs. Loyalists scowl. Rebels nod. Holo-screens pulse: “Stateless?: 40%, FWL Overreach?: 35%”)

CONSUL NIKOMEDES (turning to Starkov) That said, Captain Starkov—or whoever you claim to be—the evidence you present, this medal, is circumstantial and insufficient. ComStar invited you to Atreus to take part in this show at the request of our Terra Historical Branch, which issued your safe-conduct in good faith, accepting your identification as Viktor Starkov. As everyone knows, ComStar historians are renowned for their objectivity, impartiality, and accuracy.

(The studio erupts in laughter. STARKOV smirks, shaking his head. AUDIENCE MEMBERS shout: “Yeah, sure, we all know about the infamous mistakes by ComStar acolytes!” A REBEL VETERAN adds: “Those House books? Riddled with errors!” Laughter swells. Cameras catch grins across Atreus’s plazas.)

CONSUL NIKOMEDES (visibly flustered, adjusting robes) (Clears throat.) Ahem. Order, please. (Regaining composure.) The point stands: if the Terra Branch deemed it sufficient, it is sufficient for this tribunal. Applying the principle of in dubio pro reo—when in doubt, favor the accused—I must ask you, sir, can you provide definitive proof of your identity?

STARKOV (nodding, resolute) I can. My full service records, including biometric data, are held at Draconis Combine headquarters, where I currently serve. Send an HPG request to their Military Archives on Pesht. It’ll confirm my identity as Viktor Starkov, post-3015. But… (Grimaces.) It’ll take days to arrive, given HPG relay times.

LEFARGE (leaping forward, triumphant) Objection! Even if he produces Combine records, they can’t prove he’s the same Starkov who left the League in 3015! A new face, a new life—convenient for an impostor!

STARKOV (dryly, leaning on baton) Fine, then let’s settle it. Send an HPG to McCarron’s Armored Cavalry headquarters. Request my records before and after the 3022 Marlette battle—Fort Bourgogne, where I beached the fortress wall with my face and got this new countenance. They’ll have my pre- and post-surgery IDs. (Pauses, smirking.) But make it high-priority HPG, and send it before this broadcast airs. If Colonel Archibald McCarron sees me calling him a “tightfisted, money-grubbing Scot,” he’ll burn the records just to spite me…

(Studio roars with laughter. AUDIENCE chants: “Shutdown! Shutdown!” Holo-screens spike: “Starkov’s Wit: 80%, McCarron’s Revenge?: 15%”)

CONSUL NIKOMEDES (banging gavel, suppressing a smile) Order! Captain Starkov, your… colorful commentary aside, this tribunal finds your identity proven beyond reasonable doubt, pending confirmation from the Draconis Combine and McCarron’s Armored Cavalry. The charges of espionage and usurpation of personality are hereby foiled. (Turns to Lefarge.) Earl Lefarge, unless you have further evidence, these accusations are dismissed.

LEFARGE (eyes narrowing, voice cold) Oh, I’m not done, Consul. Starkov has put the noose on his neck, and I am going to show you.

(Audience gasps. Murmurs swell. Holo-screens flash: “New Charges?: 50%, Starkov’s Doom?: 30%”. The studio tenses as STARKOV grips his baton, ready for the next lance.)

#starkov #studio drama #battletech

A Studio in ComStar - Legal Joust - Scene 8-2

The second lance

(Terran Standard Time: 22:28) Elapsed Runtime: 1 hour, 28 minutes

CONSUL (raising a hand, resolute) Enough. The sedition charge is dismissed. Mister Starkov’s intent to speak until midnight renders it unenforceable, as the warrant expires then. Earl Lefarge, present your next charge or yield.

LEFARGE (eyes narrowing, a sudden realization) You don’t look at all like Viktor Starkov. You don’t look like in the old photos and vids… Younger even than he should.

STARKOV (defensive) I was grievously injured three years ago, had plastic surgery, got a new face; that’s why I look younger. No scars, no wrinkles as a bonus. My ex-wife says I look more handsome than before. But what she knows, she always had bad taste in men… that’s why she married me!

LEFARGE I am not amused. Surgery? A new face? Ha! A likely story! Do you have any identity documents?

STARKOV I regret to say that as an exile my Free Worlds League documents expired long ago, I get by with temporary residence permits and military cards issued by the state I am serving, currently the Draconis Combine.

LEFARGE In other words, you don’t have legitimate documents that prove your claim to be Captain Viktor Starkov of the Free Worlds League Military last seen alive as of 3015.

LEFARGE (voice sharp, cutting through the murmurs) We move to the second charge: perfidy. This man wears the uniform of the Free Worlds League, yet by his own record, he is legally dead. And he can’t produce proof of his identity. If he is not Viktor Starkov, then he is a spy in disguise — a war criminal by the terms set by Kenyon Marik’s Resolution 288 invoked by all successive Captain-Generals thereafter. And if he is Viktor Starkov, then his ten-year disappearance voids all service rights and protections. Either way, he is guilty. How do we know you’re not a spy impersonating Starkov and wearing his uniform? I charge you with perfidy—wearing that uniform as a disguise for espionage, a capital crime! As a “legally dead” man, with no papers, you’re an unidentified traitor, subject to execution!

CONSUL (calm, skeptical) Earl Lefarge, this is a ComStar studio, not a war zone. Perfidy applies to battlefields, not broadcasts.

LEFARGE (triumphant) Wrong, Consul! Resolution 288, still active, declares wartime rules across the League. Atreus, our capital, is a prime military target. Suspected spies can be shot on sight, no process required!

STARKOV (unfazed) (produces a document from the inside of his tunic)

Here’s my ComStar safe-conduct, signed and sealed.

LEFARGE (snatching, scanning it) Worthless! Issued to the bearer, not “Viktor Starkov.” ComStar didn’t verify your face or passport. Prove you’re not an impostor! Let me cite a well known historical example. In 1944 at the Battle of the Bulge, Otto Skorzeny’s saboteurs were tried and convicted — not for what they did, but for what they wore, the uniform of the enemy. A uniform, without lawful authority, is not honor. It is a disguise. And by law — a capital crime.

STARKOV (dryly, tapping his baton on the floor) I am gone for just ten years and one day… and now I return to be told I am either a ghost or a spy. Tell me, Earl Lefarge — is it not possible a soldier might survive the war and come home again? Or must all returnees be impostors?

LEFARGE (coldly) If you are legally dead, then yes. The Free Worlds League cannot prosecute a dead man — but it can shoot a spy.

STARKOV (raising an eyebrow) How wonderfully efficient.

(He turns to the audience now — camera pivots to capture their faces, their unease)

STARKOV Well then, perhaps someone here can settle the matter. I ask you — not as an officer, but as a fellow soldier — Do any of you recognize me? Surely in this audience of veterans someone here knows me, This event was advertised with my name in the billing, any old comrades here? (scans crowd)

STARKOV (turning to the audience)

You two, we served in the same regiment, (he says, pointing with the baton to two Hansen’s Roughriders veterans distinguished by their mustaches and pigtails—blue-ribboned, waxed, hussar-like—imitating Lyran ‘MechWarrior fashion.)

Captains of the Hansen Roughriders, sirs, I joined the regiment when colonel Hansen formed it in 3015 from remnants of the 12th and 11th Atrean Dragoons, I didn’t belong to neither of these regiments, but I was part of other elements, stragglers from the Civil War. We fought at New Olympia, 3018 when we trashed two of the League regiments, in three weeks.

(Loyalists murmur and grimace at the mention of that defeat, the Rebels grin and celebrate, until a senior officer chastises them saying “those were our lads too”)

I was a MechWarrior sergeant then, I served with distinction throughout the entire battle. Got the callsign “Shutdown” because my Trebuchet overheated so much by firing so often. You fought with me. Tell them!

FIRST CAPTAIN (coldly) We all served with distinction in that battle. A sergeant? We don’t mix with the mess. Roughriders keep ranks separate. You’re no officer of ours.

STARKOV (his jaw tightens, voice cutting) That’s why I left. Your closed clique mentality, an old boys’ club. Colonel Hansen is a great man, but you old timers of the Atrean regiments from military academies always looked down on us outsiders and blocked my promotion. Now I see Steiner’s foppish airs are rubbing off, like nouveau riche shunning poor relatives.

FIRST CAPTAIN (offended) You little upstart, how dare you talk to us like that? I demand a satisfaction! (second captain holds his arm to calm him down)

STARKOV Place yourself at the queue of everyone that wants a piece of me, you go next after my ex-wife. If I get out of this I will be at your disposal for a satisfaction if you so desire, captain. Very well, gentlemen. You don’t recall lowly sergeants as they are beneath your attention. I understand that. But I never forget a face, names are another matter… and I remember I saw you at a briefing of all officers with colonel Hansen at the Thirteenth battle of Hesperus II, and you must have seen me as well because by then I was a Brevet Lieutenant in command of a Fire Lance after my predecessor bought the farm. Don’t you recall it? When we had our backs to the wall and we were making a last stand in front of the BattleMech factories against the Wolf Dragoons onslaught. There were not so many of us still alive or unwounded by then, there was little more than half the regiment left. Squeeze your memory meine herren, bitte. Since you have gone Lyran.

SECOND CAPTAIN (pulling an ebook, scanning) Wait… 13th Battle of Hesperus II, 3019. Against Wolf’s Dragoons. Order of the Day mentions a Lieutenant Starkov, River of Steel, his lance stood up against the Black Widow company until reinforcements arrived. By that time, only Starkov’s Trebuchet was still standing. Pounded Natasha Kerensky’s Warhammer with missiles, forced her to withdraw.

(audience gasps excited, fought against the Black Widows and survived! The studio gasps. The camera cuts to audience members sitting bolt upright, exchanging stunned glances. One veteran mouths “Kerensky?” while another makes a sign of respect.)

He looks up, squinting at Starkov’s undercut, youthful face.

SECOND CAPTAIN (hesitant) We saw you at parade, when the regiment was awarded the Unit Citation of Merit maybe…

STARKOV Yes, and in addition to that we all got individual medals, I got the McKensy medal

FIRST CAPTAIN And us gentlemen officers got the McKensy Hammer, seems your Brevet rank was not confirmed afterwards, sergeant

SECOND CAPTAIN That aside, you don’t look like Brevet Lieutenant Starkov did. Sorry.

(The studio ignites, veterans roaring as if at a Solaris arena. Mechwarrior gasp, “Hesperus II? Against the Black Widow?” Rebels shout, “He fought Kerensky and lived!” Holo-screens flare across Atreus’s plazas, polls surging: Hero of Hesperus: 45%, Imposter: 20%, Vampire: 15%. Betting odds shift—2-to-1 Starkov’s a legend.)

STARKOV (shoulders slump, muttering) Rank, privilege, connections, prestige schools… it never changes, either you have class or you can’t get ahead. I give up with you. Don’t ask me for any favours, either.

STARKOV (turns, voice raw but steady, to a lone figure in the crimson seats—a McCarron’s Armored Cavalry veteran, his dark copper insignia glinting)

You, (Starkov calls, baton pointing,) McCarron’s long march raid, just three years ago. That was yesterday! I was with Barton’s Second Regiment on Marlette—Fort Bourgogne, the fortress none could crack. We breached it, three days of fire, 3022. You know me.

(His words hang, “three years” a blink to him, his ageless face—barely 30—making time a mirage)

VETERAN (rises, his bionic arm catching light, his face etched with campaigns) Yes, I heard of it, Captain, (he says, no warmth, no rank.) Fort Bourgogne’s fall shook the Fed Suns. But the MAC’s a big outfit—five regiments, scattered wide. You rode with Barton’s Second on Marlette. I was with the Third, the Wild Ones, on another world. He pauses, eyes narrowing on Starkov’s clean-shaven face.

VETERAN (guarded) I heard of a Starkov, maybe. But that was then.

The studio stirs, a chorus of whispers—Loyalists mutter, “Another who doesn’t know him!” Rebels murmur, “Marlette? He was there?” Live cameras catch the Roman mob, fists raised in Atreus’s plazas, holo-screens pulsing: Vampire: 33%, Bionics: 16%, Imposter: 24%. Odds shift: “3-to-2 bionics.”

STARKOV (jaw tightens, steely eyes flickering, a gladiator spurned) Marlette, (he murmurs, voice low,) the Stannic Bridge, three miles of Star League steel. We crossed it, to storm Fort Bourgogne.

VETERAN (responds) Our paths have not crossed but I did hear about you, I mean about Subcommander Starkov’s feat, he was the first to cross the Stannic under fire to aid Colonel McCarron and colonel Barton on the other side and how Subcommander Starkov cut like a blow torch through the Davion defenders and was one of the first through the breach at Fort Bourgogne… Until he fell, crushed by tons of rubble provoked by Davions blowing up demolition charges. They said Starkov was pulled from the smashed head of the Trebuchet, neurohelmet caved in, face broken to bits. Then he suffered an infection and became deaf, invalided out, proposed for medals but got none. Now about the medals, the story I heard was that in reply Starkov’s mates in the 2nd regiment composed a drunken and insulting letter to Chancellor Liao and awarded him an award of their own, a plaque ‘First to Cross the Stannic Bridge.’

STARKOV I got the award certificate hung at my office’s wall, with the insulting letter in its entirety!

VETERAN (continues) Starkov returned to duty but soon resigned his commission because Colonel McCarron wanted to reclaim the disability payment he had paid him before. "If he’s fine now and can go back to battle, he must return the money", he said.

STARKOV (interjects) That cheapskate, tightfisted, money-grubbing Scot, son of a Lyran banker and a Dustball whore, His Lordship Colonel Archibald McCarron! I bet he is capable of charging his ‘MechWarriors for the oxygen consumed during Dropship travels!

VETERAN (chuckles) Now, don’t give the colonel any ideas… Anyway, as I was saying, I don’t recall the details, but it involved a Death Commando showing up for an interview with Starkov, and a Capellan MechWarrior with a new ‘Mech assigned to field tests with the MAC disappearing when Starkov left. But that’s all, I do not know him personally and can only report what I heard as unit scuttlebutt. Sorry, sir.

STARKOV (grumbles) Well, there goes my alibi. I can’t even prove that I am who I am. Next, they will charge me with usurpation of personality…

PROSECUTION ATTORNEY That’s an interesting angle! I will set my team to it.

COUNSELOR ALVAREZ Viktor, please, don’t give them ideas again!

CONSUL NIKOMEDES (calling them to order) Enough! You are not part of this trial. Silence!

#starkov #battletech #studio drama

A Studio in ComStar - Legal Joust - Scene 8-1

The first broken lance

LEFARGE (rising sharply)

I present the charge of seditious speech — the deliberate incitement of unrest and division within the Free Worlds League. Starkov is about to publicly vindicate a known traitor to the Captain-General. This is rebellion, dressed in vintage uniform and camera lights.

CONSUL (measured) Director Lefarge, we are on neutral ground. The ComStar Legation is extraterritorial under interstellar law. Mister Starkov has said nothing criminal — yet.

LEFARGE (coldly) Broadcasting hostile propaganda is an act of interference, Consul, infringing the Communication Protocol of 2787 about mutual non-interference in domestic affairs. Whether you claim neutrality or not, the League government will not tolerate open glorification of civil war criminals. We reserve the right to act accordingly. And we have the precedent of 2819 to claim extradition!

STARKOV (shaking head, fiddling with baton) I am gone for just ten years and one day for an errand, and when I return, I find that in the Free Worlds League they are trying to arrest people not for what they have said, but what they might say, what have we become, the Capellan Confederation?

(crowd murmurs, dismayed)

LEFARGE (firm, not amused) Very well. Say what you have to say, and we will find something to arrest you.

STARKOV That reminds me of the Soviet saying from Stalin's purges time: "Был бы человек, а статья найдется":

'If there's a suspect, a crime will be found.'

LEFARGE (seething) You’re mocking this chamber, we will wait to do you justice.

STARKOV You mock justice, milord. And if you want to wait, you better get a seat. (smirks) Look at the time on that screen (points with baton) It's past 2200 hours. You see, your precious arrest warrant — it expires at midnight, yes?

I know nothing about politics, but once per chance, while waiting at the dentist I came across some political news about Parliament debate and a word caught my attention. It was "filibuster". I found itstrange, what had to do pirates with politics?, so I looked that up and understood. It was like a delaying action. Like holding a bridge while your comrades regroup.

I know how to do that. I can talk during the interview about old war stories, horror tales from my travels to the Periphery and raunchy anecdotes from my leave at Kooken's Pleasure Pit.

Like Scheherazade. You know that one, don’t you? The Rimsky-Korsakov music? It got the name from the tale were she talked her way out of execution by telling stories. One night at a time. I think I can manage one.

(Starkov turns toward the camera as the audience murmurs, stunned by the turn of events.)

STARKOV Shall we begin?

#starkov #battletech #studio drama

A Studio in ComStar - De Jure et Dolo - Scene 7

Due Process, Dead Man

LIVE BROADCAST ON THE COMSTAR NEWS NETWORK – FEBRUARY 13, 3025

ComStar Legation Compound, City of Atreus, planet Atreus, Commonwealth of Marik, Free Worlds League

Terran Standard Time 22:13:25

Running Time: 01:13:25

At the cente of stage, a raised dais looms like a judge’s bench, its surface etched with the stylized circuit-and-star sigil of ComStar. Behind it sits Consul Nikomedes, Sub-Precentor of Atreus, bearded as a sociologist, his robes grey as a smokescreen, his face a mask of bureaucratic solemnity. His eyes, however, glint with the cold calculus of a man who knows the price of every word spoken here.

In the gallery, holocams pivot on servo-mounts, their lenses trained on the two figures standing before the dais: On the left, the Most Honorable Member of Parliament, the Earl Lefarge, the League’s prosecutor, resplendent in his red Mechwarrior uniform and on top of it the brown leather tunic with skirts vaguely resembling a Roman centurion cuirass favored by Mechwarrior clans and Marik purple sash around the waist, silk white cravat and holding a cane with a silver eagle similar to the Captain General baton, splendind black mane and mustache.

On the right, Viktor Starkov, in the standard League dress uniform of purple tunic and white stirrup trousers, with the light blue infantry sash across the chest, festooned with silver eagle shields and other ribbons and decorations, modest but hard won, holding a black baton with an Atlas platinum skull, and a severe and out of date undercut hairstyle of the common soldier. By contrast with the Earl and the assembled soldiers, 'Mechwarriors and other minor nobles in the audience he seems as out of place as a knight from Henry V with his bowl cut would be among the long hair and wigs of the Restoration court of Charles II Stuart

Consul Nikomedes raises a hand, and the studio falls deathly still. His voice, amplified by hidden speakers, rolls out with the cadence of a man who has memorized the fine print of the universe.

Consul Nikomedes: “By the authority vested in me, Sub-Precentor Nikomedes, delegated by Most Exalted Precentor Pedregor Aliz of Atreus Station under the auspices of the First Circuit of Terra, I hereby convene this emergency extradition hearing. The proceedings shall be solemn but expedited, in accordance with the exigencies of wartime and the sanctity of ComStar’s neutrality. Minimum formalities shall be observed, and procedure streamlined, as per the Codex Juris Communicationis, Article 17, Section 3.”

He pauses, letting the weight of his words settle.

Consul Nikomedes: “This court references prior extradition arguments, duly recorded on holotape, involving the contending parties: the Free Worlds League, represented by His Lordship Earl Lefarge, versus Viktor Starkov, appearing pro se in his own name. Both parties have explicitly renounced legal counsel, as affirmed by sworn affidavits. Both parties consent to the jurisdiction of this tribunal, pending ratification by the First Circuit ruling on the matter of extradition.”

The Chancellor’s fingers dance across a datapad, summoning a glowing hologram of legal text that hovers above the dais like a specter. His tone sharpens, slicing through the room’s tension.

Chancellor Nikomedes:

“As neither party is trained in the law, and having refused representation, they shall not be held to the strictures of precise legal argumentation. Pursuant to the general principles of law and custom, as codified in the Ares Conventions and the Treaty of Terra, this court shall impartially interpret their submissions, fitting them to specific articles of law as a service to both parties, unless such arguments are manifestly improvident.”

A murmur ripples through the gallery, quickly silenced by the Consul glare. He leans forward, his voice dropping to a steely whisper.

Consul Nikomedes: “However, this court notes with grave concern the League’s prior procedural bad faith and egregious trespass upon ComStar’s sacrosanct immunity, as guaranteed by the Communications Protocol of 2787.

Consul Nikomedes’s gaze shifts to Starkov, his eyes narrowing like a ledger-keeper spotting a discrepancy. His voice cuts through the studio’s hum, sharp and paternal.

“You, Starkov, bear no small blame for this chaos. This is not about your persona, nor can you expect favor. Your reckless presence has thrust ComStar’s sacred neutrality into crisis. Had you not appeared, this tribunal would be unnecessary.”

The gallery stirs, murmurs rising like static. Starkov tilts his head, his baton tapping the floor with a faint, deliberate rhythm. His voice, laced with mock innocence, carries a sting.

“But, Excellency, I was invited here by ComStar, under safe conduct no less. If I were a paranoid man, I’d suspect a trap set by your own adepts.”

The crowd gasps. Nikomedes’s jaw slackens, his bureaucratic mask cracking. For a heartbeat, he gapes, then recovers, his eyes darting. Starkov’s words land like a salvo: he’s right. This transcends extradition or dissidents—it’s about the sanctity of ComStar’s guarantees, the trust underpinning its interstellar monopoly. The Chancellor’s face hardens, realization dawning. The First Circuit, in assenting to the extradition, misjudged the stakes. Even if the League’s claim holds, violating safe conduct threatens ComStar’s inviolability, a precedent that could unravel its authority.

Nikomedes straightens, his voice low but resolute. “This court acknowledges the gravity of safe conduct’s breach. The First Circuit must be informed, for their consent was given without full reckoning of its implications. Hence, I amend my ruling:

“Without prejudice to the merits of the extradition request, and as a precaution to safeguard the integrity of these proceedings, this court imposes the following condition: the prosecution shall not seek the death penalty, nor enforce it pending appeal to the First Circuit. Violation of this condition will result in the immediate closure of the Atreus HPG station and a formal petition to Terra for a League-wide Communications Interdict.”

The gallery gasps. A Communications Interdict—an excommunication from the interstellar grid—would cripple the League’s economy and war machine. Lefarge’s face tightens, but he remains composed, his hands clasped behind his back. Starkov’s lips twitch, a ghost of a smile.

Chancellor Nikomedes: “Earl Lefarge, does the prosecution wish to proceed under these terms?”

Lefarge steps forward, his boots under the stirrup trousers clicking on the polished floor. His voice is smooth, almost oily, but there’s steel beneath it.

Earl Lefarge: “The Free Worlds League affirms its commitment to the proceedings and accepts the court’s conditions. We proceed.”

Nikomedes nods, his expression unreadable. He taps the datapad again, and the hologram shifts to a balance sheet, numbers scrolling in cold green light.

Consul Nikomedes: “Let it be noted that ComStar, as arbiter of these proceedings, imposes standard court fees. Should the League fail to prevail, it shall indemnify ComStar for lost revenue due to the interruption of our scheduled broadcast, calculated at the current rate of commercial advertising per minute, as per Tariff Schedule 3024-B. As for the defendant, Viktor Starkov, declared legally deceased by League authorities, with no recorded income or assets and no visible means of support—”

Starkov grimaces at the jab. The gallery chuckles.

Consul Nikomedes: “—his estate, represented by Counselor Alvarez’s office, shall be liable for a nominal court fee, set at the minimum cost of one millisecond of HPG transmission, that is: one C-bill per minute of broadcast interruption, should he fail to prevail.”

Before anyone can respond, Starkov raises a hand, with a serious countenance. The holocams swivel toward him, catching the glint in his eyes.

Viktor Starkov: “Hold up, Consul. Before we being, I’d like a moment with my counsel. Not for the case—I know I waived that. It’s about my assets. I want to give Counselor Alvarez instructions for disposing of my Battlemech and other property and valuables to my next of kin under Baldwin’s Legis MechGladiatorum, the Mechwarrior inheritance law, in case I lose and end up in a League prison.

Or, y’know, the usual ‘shot while attempting to escape.’ Surely you can grant me that?”

The crowd buzzes. The request is reasonable—'Mech inheritance is sacred in the League, akin to passing a family estate—but it reeks of theatrics. Starkov’s tone is too casual.

Earl Lefarge’s attorney, an old man in an even older fashioned black tailcoat and a white bowtie like a hangman’s noose, leaps to his feet, his voice shrill.

" You should have drafted your will before hand, Mister Starkov, we don’t have time for this. .It’s a transparent ploy to confer with counsel and be briefed on strategy!”

Nikomedes’s eyes narrow, and he points a finger like a stab.

Consul Nikomedes: “Out of order! You are excluded from this court, sir, as per the parties’ agreement to proceed without counsel. Mister Starkov, you renounced legal representation for these proceedings. You may provide instructions to your counsel regarding your estate, but she may not advise you on this case. Is that clear?”

Starkov nods. He glances at Lefarge, who’s been watching the exchange with the calm of a man who’s already won.

Earl Lefarge: “I see no harm in it. Let the man settle his affairs. Proceed.”

Lefarge’s magnanimity is a calculated jab, painting Starkov as a doomed man tying up loose ends. The gallery eats it up, their whispers rising like static.

Nikomedes nods curtly, and Counselor Alvarez, Afro hair cut, grey breeches, gold waistcoat, dark coat and a waloon neck with more silk folds than an Andurien wedding dress, purple ribbons holding tight white silk stocks over dancer legs and black court shoes, steps forward. Starkov leans in, and whispers in her ear. Her intrigued expression turns to brief surprise and then understanding.

She opens her laptop briskly types like a Liszt sonata and with solemnity announces: “I have done the deed.”

The Chancellor clears his throat, and the room snaps back to attention. Both men look at each other in the awkward posture of those that would be more comfortable trying to smash the other skull with the baton they carry than with legal arguments.

The Chancellor leans back, folding his hands. His voice takes on a ceremonial tone, tinged with the faintest hint of menace.

Chancellor Nikomedes: “May the Wisdom of Blake inspire our ruling. Gentlemen, are you ready to begin?”

Earl Lefarge: “Inter arma silent leges.”

Viktor Starkov: “Cedant togae arma.”

Their mangled Latin hangs in the air, less a legal exchange than a ritual challenge, like swords drawn at dawn. The gallery holds its breath. Nikomedes raises a hand, and a deep, resonant gong echoes through the studio, a theatrical flourish straight out of ComStar’s playbook.

The holocams zoom in. The duel is on.

#starkov #studio drama #battletech

A Studio in ComStar - The Court of Public Opinion - Scene 6

The Rebels, the Loyals, the Curious and the Indifferent

Vidscreens flare across Atreus, from neon-lit dives to oak-paneled aristocratic lounges. ComStar’s logo spins in holographic amber, followed by the pulsing theme of Atreus Tonight, a tabloid show promising gossip about the Black Widows’ scandalous past. But the civil war ended a decade ago, and the audience, lured by mercenary intrigue, now gapes at a live-action manhunt turned legal gladiatorial bout, beamed from ComStar’s studio. A bold headline flashes:

“STARKOV: HERO OR VILLAIN? BET NOW!”

NARRATOR (voiceover, breathless, sports-highlight mode): “In mere minutes, a diplomatic dispute has erupted into a gladiatorial trial of wit, power, and ambition! As Viktor Starkov faces accusations and legal traps set by his foes, the Free Worlds watches—and bets on the outcome!”

A “Starkov-Tracker” ticker scrolls across the screen, odds shifting: Starkov Caught: 1.5:1; Escapes Trial: 5:3; Survives Assassin: 2:1. Bets pour in, numbers flickering like a stock exchange.

NARRATOR (voiceover, analytical): “Let’s break down the reactions. First, Starkov’s die-hard fans—veterans and their kin, loyalty unshaken. They roared when he exposed the assassin, gasping as ComGuards seized him. His cool demeanor amid chaos? Pure inspiration. Chatrooms buzz: ‘This man doesn’t lose.’ They’re all in, betting on Viktor.”

In a smoky bar, the crowd erupts as a montage replays the evening’s highlights like a sports reel. A grizzled soldier slams his mug down. “That’s my man, Starkov! Told ya he’d make it!” A busty woman in a nearby booth sighs, fanning herself. “That gallant swagger… he’s got style.”

A ComStar anchor, smile sharp as monofilament, chimes in: “Free Worlders, you love a gamble, and Starkov’s delivering! Bet now—will he walk free or face the League’s justice?” In a betting parlor, punters swarm terminals, fingers flying. A clerk mutters, “Three to one? I’m doubling down. He’s slippery.”

NARRATOR (voiceover, mocking): “Now, the other side. For every Starkov fan, there’s a League loyalist demanding justice. They’re shocked, angry, terrified. The assassin reveal fanned the flames—they want Starkov’s ego stripped, his crimes exposed. Their bets? No smooth exit. They’re wagering on his fall.”

In a wood and brass pub, an angry viewer shouts, “How does he play everyone like fools? This is the law, damn it!” A Loyalist replies coldly, “Let’s see his charm save him when justice catches up.”

Narrator (voiceover, detached): “Then there’s the casual crowd, hooked by Wolf’s Dragoons gossip or political intrigue. They didn’t care about the civil war, but now? They’re glued. What began as a spectacle, a manhunt, then legal combat on TV—has become a sensation. They don’t know Starkov, but facing the law live on air? That’s movie-grade drama.”

Vidscreens show the studio crowd’s fervor: women transfixed, cheering Starkov’s gallant stare at Lefarge; men and women jeering as ComGuards expel the League agents. The chaos peaks, faces lit by glowing screens, emotions raw.

The montage replays the police siege, League troops retreating from the studio. The gallery jeers, laughter rippling. “Serves ‘em right! Think they can bully ComStar?”

Poll: 78% approve ComStar’s stand.”

In the Parliament Club, the Most Honorable Charles Smith from Amity, dressed in his purple and gold robes nods sagely. “Proper respect for neutrality. The law’s the law” and is cut short when he starts criticizing the Marik’s heavy hand.

The montage shifts to the assassin reveal, a bombshell. In the dive, silence falls, then debate erupts. “An assassin? Low, even for the League!” a woman snaps. Her friend shrugs. “Starkov’s a merc. He’s dodged worse.” In a betting house, a punter hesitates, betting against survival. “Assassins don’t miss.”

Another ticker flashes: Trial Outcome: Acquitted, 2:1; Extradited, 1:1; Assassin Succeeds, 5:1.

The anchor’s voice rises: Will Starkov’s oratory triumph, or will Lefarge’s parliamentarian tricks prevail?” In a law office, junior attorneys dissect Starkov’s entrance. “That salute was a statement,” one says. “He’s playing the crowd, not the judge. Classic precedent—sway the gallery, sway the ruling.” Another counters, “Lefarge has the Penal Code. It’s Marik law, not charm.”

Free Worlders, steeped in precedent and codification, savor the courtroom as a battlefield. They cheer Starkov’s gallantry, jeer League blunders, gasp at the assassin’s shadow, but the promise of legal sparring keeps them glued. A vendor hawking spicy wine and sausages grins. “It’s not just bets—it’s justice. We argue, we bet, we win.”

Narrator (voiceover, tense): “The bets are in. The public waits. What happens next could shift the stars. Will Starkov pull off the impossible? Or will the law catch him? The courtroom drama continues, with a nation watching.”

NARRATOR (voiceover, low): “Yet not all are watching. Out in the streets, beneath Atreus’s cold azure sky, a different world continues.”

A camera sweeps across a quiet square. A young couple shares a kiss under the pale blue moon, oblivious to the drama. Their laughter echoes faintly as the screen flickers nearby, unwatched.

Further down the boulevard, a streetwalker huddles in a tight vinyl coat, high boots, and neon makeup. She lights a cigarette and stares at the empty road. “Everyone’s inside,” she mutters. “Even the married ones.” Her holodisplay glows faintly besid her: Trial Coverage: LIVE. She doesn’t glance at it.

The montage ends with a slow zoom on the darkened studio, dais empty, holocams dormant. The anchor whispers: “The court’s preparing, but the drama’s just begun. Stay tuned for the trial of the century—brought to you by ComStar, your voice in the stars.” The screen fades to an HPG commercial, but Atreus buzzes—bets placed, arguments raging, vidscreens aglow.

#starkov #studio drama #battletech