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“I believe that it would be premature to involve Khan Pryde at this time,” Noritomo offered diplomatically, searching for a way to slip the noose being drawn around his neck.

Beckett Malthus nodded. “So you agree that we should strike first.” It was not a question. It could also be read on many different levels. The Galaxy commander gave nothing away. His eyes were unreadable.

“At Skye?” Noritomo asked, deliberately reading into the question its most obvious meaning. “Of course. Knowing what we now do with regard to its defenders and their tactics, our bid will be that much stronger.”

“Our bid,” Malvina said, her lips skinned back from strong teeth, “will be all or nothing. We will no longer court failure just to give our enemies a fighting chance. This was Aleksandr’s mistake.”

Noritomo nodded slowly, but not necessarily in agreement. “Your brother’s methods, they worked on Summer and Alkaid.” The two worlds taken in Prefecture VIII. “Reports I have seen indicate that their local governments have settled down under our occupation.”

“To be lost just as quickly should we show any sign of weakness.” Malvina brushed aside his argument with an impatient wave. “Your failure on Kimball II should have opened your eyes to this, Noritomo Helmer. My brother was a great warrior and leader of men, but he believed too blindly in our traditions. He would not recognize that the old ways must give way to the new. And you, Star Colonel. I am beginning to worry about you as well.”

“I am Jade Falcon,” he offered stiffly. “I serve the Clan.”

“Truly?” Malvina sent a glance toward Bec Malthus. “The simplest way for that to be true would be to lay the blame for Aleksandr’s death and Skye’s resistant stand on your shoulders.”

Noritomo had been meant to see that glance. To know that a new alliance had indeed been forged in his absence. A prickling sensation crawled along the back of his neck. He chose his words very carefully, accepting the need for a tactical retreat.

“That would be the simplest solution,” he agreed. “But regardless of bidding, it is the challenging battles that still bring the greatest honor.”

The implication: such a move would be beneath Malvina Hazen. And though it might very well be in keeping with Malthus’ typical behind-the-scenes manipulations, Noritomo suddenly recognized, it would also shift attention back away from Khan Pryde. Would Malvina see it that way?

It was enough that Beckett Malthus did. He raised his chin slightly, acknowledging the move. “In this case,” he said slowly, “the challenging battle still looks to be the taking of Skye. Nothing should get in the way of that. You will receive a chance to redeem yourself, Noritomo Helmer. A new assignment.” His green eyes looked through the star colonel as the senior warrior smiled.

“You will take over the garrison force on Chaffee, holding open our lines back to the occupation zone.”

A hollow sensation bloomed inside Noritomo.

Chaffee. The Lyran Commonwealth world just outside The Republic that the Jade Falcons had taken and used as their initial staging grounds. It was also the world where Malvina Hazen had tested her terror techniques, using a blistering agent and then sending waves of wounded refugees into The Republic ahead of the invasion as a way to sap local morale.

“At the Galaxy Commanders’ will, of course,” Noritomo said with due humility, bowing directly between the two senior warriors. They were of equal rank, technically. If he was to have a chance, he would need to keep them both mollified.

For now.

“Then go, Star Colonel.” Malvina Hazen had already all but forgotten him. She limped toward the door, turning her back on Noritomo and the entire situation, which she likely considered dealt with. Almost.

At the door, she turned back. “We will review your rosters, and leave you with more than enough force strength.”

Beckett Malthus followed Malvina out of the room, leaving the weakened star colonel alone. The dojo smelled of sweat and the plastic mats, but the taste in Noritomo’s mouth was cold and bitter. He gave the two military leaders enough time to disappear down the corridor before he allowed his feelings to twist his face with rage.

Chaffee, of course, was hardly important now with Glengarry and so many other Republic worlds in hand. This was their answer, to shuffle Noritomo Helmer aside while stealing away his best troops for a renewed offensive against Skye. He could not stand for that.

But he also knew not to challenge without thought, and careful planning.

“Not even Aleksandr Hazen was able to challenge his sister and make it stick,” he reminded himself, smoothing his face back into a neutral mask. If Noritomo hoped to survive, and still prosper as a warrior, he would have to exercise the one trait for which Malvina Hazen had shown no proclivity.

Patience.

10

New London

Skye

4 October 3134

New London’s DropPort hid inside a curtain of gray fog. A silvery drizzle made sporadic promises to clear the air, but rarely did more than spatter the large concourse windows. The DropShips that currently sat in their ferrocrete nests of blast deflectors and reinforced pads were little more than great, spheroidal ghosts at the very edge of Tara Campbell’s vision. At any moment they might fade from sight.

She didn’t want that. Not until her Highlanders were safe, at least.

Desultory droplets speckled the blue glass, chased each other in long trails down to the bottom sill. Tara stood at one of the concourse windows, looking past her ghostly reflection and the rain, out onto the tarmac. The Himmelstor was one of those DropShips, grounded as close to the main buildings as safety allowed. A large, hulking outline. An Excalibur–class.

She watched as a two-story shuttle bus finally departed the DropShip ramp and made its way slowly across the wide, gray expanse to the lower gate door. Intent on the arriving personnel—wondering who had made it off Zebebelgenubi, who was lost to the Highlander rolls forever—Tara did not notice at first the security agents taking up silent posts around her. She did wonder briefly at the unnatural calm of the DropPort concourse, but was too busy counting familiar faces by then as they climbed the covered stairs toward the nearby door.

“How many?” Duke Gregory Kelswa-Steiner asked, his deep baritone startling her.

The lord governor waited behind her, half a head taller than she was and staring over her spiked, platinum blond hair. Tara saw that he wore a conservative suit—the kind he habitually wore for a day of closed meetings, rather than the stylish wardrobe he kept for ceremonies and public appearances. Shoulders back, chest out, his bearing wasn’t bad for a man who had never subjected himself to military discipline.

He also seemed rather calm, considering.

“Looks like twenty-three men and women,” she answered, completing her count.

The first of her Highlanders came through the door. Some limped in, but most seemed fit for duty. A few DropPort staff and some junior liaisons applauded their arrival, welcoming the Highlanders to Skye. The warriors milled around uncertainly, seeing their commander penned in by local security.

“I really should see to them,” Tara said, anxious for a formal report. The numbers were better than she’d feared, but not so good as she’d hoped. She started to move past Duke Gregory, who caught her arm.

“This is good news, Countess. Good fortune for Skye.” His eyes were alight with fresh resolve. “Please tell your men that we will hold a banquet in their honor.” He hushed her with an upraised hand. “I know, it is hardly adequate, but it is a prime media opportunity and we don’t get many of those. My coming down to meet them alone should be worth a few percentage points in public approval, which will translate into support for our continuing defense.”