“And Sire McKinnon?” He met her gaze with a defiant stare. “If you have any further criticisms on how things were handled before you arrived”—she paused, giving him the chance to open his mouth—“button it,” she ordered. “We will work with what we have, not with what we might have had.”

The willful Paladin recoiled slightly, startled at her quick and ruthless move to take control of the meeting. Then he tucked his chin down toward his chest and raised a hand to tip an imaginary hat in her direction. It wasn’t a complete accord, but it seemed that in a ruthless grab for the throat, Tara had brokered at least a cease-fire. It was enough.

Now maybe they could all get to work.

“Very efficient,” McKinnon complimented Tara later.

After several long meetings, only the first of which was with the Lord Governor and the Paladin, she had retreated onto the local military compound for a measure of privacy. Granted, sitting in the officers’ club wasn’t exactly putting out a No Trespassing sign, but at least here there would be no press, no mercantile agencies telling her how impossible it was to reassign shipping priorities to her schedule, and no grieving family members wanting to tell her how much they understood her actions in the defense of Skye.

She could sit quietly here, enjoy the bluesy music that the O-club offered, and knock back a few neat whiskeys. Her largest problem was fending off the occasional request to buy her a drink. After her first ten refusals, word got around.

Her easiest victory of the day.

Which suffered a reversal as the Paladin slid into the chair opposite her. His weathered hands gripped the edge of the table with the strength of twin anchors. He did not ask permission to join her. He simply assaulted the private table as he no doubt would any other target. His hard gaze dropped to the table, to the single bottle of whiskey and the tumbler that held a splash of smoky liquid.

Efficient?

“It beats having to wait for the waiter, or making frequent trips to the bar,” she said.

“I meant the way you tricked me into playing ‘bad cop’ this morning, and then managed to shut me down at the same time. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you enjoyed that.”

She shook her head. “I didn’t. But it was necessary.” She had a sense that McKinnon wanted to discuss something else but had decided to lead in with this. All right. She could play that game. “I knew if I got the subject around to the worlds taken, you and the Lord Governor would butt heads.”

“How did you know that?”

“I’d expect nothing less from a Founder’s Movement supporter.” A raised eyebrow was his only response. “I had you checked out,” she admitted. “Used a JumpShip relay through Muphrid. Made certain that you were under the Exarch’s direct orders.”

She signaled for a second glass and, when it arrived, splashed a drink into it for him from her bottle. “Nothing personal.”

“And the Exarch included a word or two about me and my associates,” he said, nodding. “I’m not the most popular man in certain circles right now. I believe that the borders of The Republic should be held at all costs, and I don’t mind saying so.” He leaned onto the table. “I didn’t get where I am today by being soft-spoken, Countess. And when I see something that needs doing, I’d rather act than jaw it out.”

“Is that why you aren’t on Terra, preparing for the elections?” she asked. “The first election of an Exarch since Devlin Stone handed over power?”

McKinnon had mentioned them earlier, and it had surprised Tara to realize that Damien Redburn’s time in office was nearly up. Soon the Paladins would choose his successor from among their number. That would seem to be a fairly large undertaking by itself.

“Wondering what you’re missing, giving up Redburn’s offer to be a Paladin? Truth and honor, and more backroom deals than in a Liao Moneylender’s House?” McKinnon’s smile was not completely without humor. He picked up his glass and sloshed the smoky liquid back and forth. A warm scent of oak and barley wafted up.

“I have people watching over things for me, and the elections are still three months off,” he added. Which wasn’t so far, given the blackout and disruptions to interstellar travel. “Anyway, Victor Steiner-Davion and his diehards have the election sewn up tight. No one’s going to cross him. And I’d rather do something productive than spend my time shouting into the wind. I’ll leave that to Kelson Sorenson and to the Pillars of The Republic.”

“I don’t know that I believe that,” Tara said slowly. “Today, with Duke Gregory, you nearly agreed with him once. When he chastised Exarch Redburn for moving more promises off Terra than assistance.”

McKinnon’s eyes were diamond hard. But he nodded. “Saw that, did you?”

“I can appreciate your loyalty to the Exarch. But a hero of the Jihad, and a man with more than sixty years experience…” She shook her head. “He should be listened to.”

“I’ll have my say when the time is right,” he promised. “And they might not like it.” He hedged. “Actually, I guarantee they won’t like it, but that’s just too bad.” He chuckled dryly. “In the meantime I’m here, Countess. Here to help.”

Tara toyed with her glass, rolling the whiskey around the sides in a perpetual wave. “I’m glad that you are,” she admitted. “But… victory at any cost?” She chewed on the words, and they left behind a bitter aftertaste. They reminded her of someone else. A person she would rather forget. “The Lord Governor wasn’t so thrilled with the idea of hiring more mercenaries off Galatea,” she told him, trying to segue into an easier topic. It was one of Duke Gregory’s few concessions during the morning’s meeting.

If he caught on to the deception, he didn’t show it.

“Why not? Taxes can be levied. But Skye?” He shook his head. “It cannot be replaced easily if we lose it.”

Tara had her own worries about relying too heavily on warriors for hire, despite her own unit’s history of mercenary service during the Succession Wars. Most of it stemmed from the trouble her Highlanders were running into on half a dozen different worlds, putting down local rebellions backed by mercs bought off Galatea. She voiced as much to McKinnon, who shrugged.

“In this case, since Clanners don’t use mercenaries, I think we have the better side of the deal.” He finally tasted his drink, and then sat back, pleasantly surprised. “Glengarry Black Label?” Tara spun the bottle halfway around. “They stock that in the officers’ club?”

“Not for under two hundred bills—ComStar currency, not Republic stones–and the price keeps going up. I don’t see the Falcons allowing regular exports off-world. Do you?” A shame. The drink was the closest equivalent she had found to good Northwind Reserve from the Highlanders’ home world.

The Paladin finished off his drink with a practiced flourish, tipped the glass over upside down, and set it back on the table. He pushed his chair back, as if to leave, then asked, “Why did you have me checked out? My bonafides were all in order.”

And verifaxes couldn’t be forged. Tara nodded. “All right. I wanted to ask the Exarch directly for his opinion of you.”

“What’s wrong with your own opinion?”

She laughed, short and sharp and not with much humor. “Let’s just say that my own judgment has been lacking of late.” Of course, McKinnon would have seen the report that had gone back to the Exarch. “I let a Lyran agent get close to me recently. Too close.” Was this what the grand Paladin had actually wanted to talk about? Rub her nose in it?

“The Knave.” McKinnon used the agent’s coded identity. “He did us a favor, you know, killing Augustus Solvaig. That man was poison, and would have hurt us a great deal.”

“The mission doesn’t matter.” Through Tara, the agent from Loki had gained access to the highest levels. It came out only later that Skye’s chief minister, Solvaig, had been a plant from the fractured Free Worlds League. “It could just as easily have been the Lord Governor, or Prefect Brown. In the middle of the Jade Falcon assault, any of a dozen different losses might have led to a critical failure of our entire plan.”