The local political leaders summoned to this event raised a cheer for their duke and lord governor. It would play well on camera.

Still, Tara wondered what Jasek might have to say about that. She could almost hear his voice in her head, arguing.

The people of Skye will be truly free only when they are allowed to decide for themselves whether they want to be Commonwealth citizens or Republic drones laboring for the basic rights every Lyran enjoys at birth.

She understood his argument, but did not agree with it. Citizenship had to be earned inside The Republic, and was it asking so much that a resident give something back to the government that ensured his or her basic freedoms?

Given that her Highlanders were paying the ultimate price nearly every day, it didn’t seem too much to her.

What bothered her, if anything did, was how easily Jasek’s voice came to mind when she had done everything possible in the last several weeks to forget him, his coffee-tinted skin and his stormy blue eyes. He had made it off Chaffee, but then where had he gone? As the days ticked by, Skye’s defenders grew weary and Skye itself seemed to long for the infusion of enthusiasm the younger Kelswa-Steiner had brought with him the first time.

The wind ran chilly fingers through Tara’s hair, blowing a few of her platinum blond strands down into her eyes. With a casual smooth from her palm, she pasted them up and back again.

“It is not a matter of matching ferocity or assuming the moral high ground,” she continued. “The Republic is beset without and within at the moment, as the HPG blackout continues to allow its enemies and its loyal opposition to divide and conquer. House Liao attacks from the Confederation. The Swordsworn rally new forces from within Prefectures IV and V. And here, the Jade Falcons commit unbridled acts of war. Even Landgrave Jasek Kelswa-Steiner would admit that a divided effort will always demand certain sacrifices, and a prolonged struggle.”

She had carefully tiptoed around Jasek’s status as one of The Republic’s potential enemies, a softened approach that drew a glare from Sire McKinnon and a look of uncertainty from Duke Gregory. But Herrmanns and several other news agencies, as they all knew, favored Jasek and his Stormhammers. Tara was not about to open a new front in her own war to save Skye.

Though she would twist the situation with a few flanking attacks as necessary.

Sorry, Jasek.

“The Landgrave, were he here, would also be among the first to agree that we cannot submit to the Jade Falcon terror tactics. His own actions have proven that, by his coming to Skye’s aid when it truly needed him and in his selfless efforts to free Chaffee from Jade Falcon oppression.

“Now it is our turn to take a hard stand against Malvina Hazen. For that reason, we are here at Cyclops, Incorporated, on Roosevelt Island. The Jade Falcons are pressing for this facility, hoping to bolster their sagging logistics network by claiming local resources.”

She turned and pointed out three of the larger nearby buildings, pausing for the camera so that the news crews could pan out for a wide-angle shot. They knew what was coming next. Everyone present did.

“Foundry. Armory. Assembly plant. Cleared and secured. Mr. Trosset.”

Angus Trosset, CEO of Cyclops, Incorporated, looked pale. He was on board for the very simple reason that Tara had given him no choice. His cooperation secured valuable (and private) government concessions from Duke Gregory and, on behalf of The Republic, Tara Campbell and Sire McKinnon.

A lack of cooperation would have brought the same effect, only under martial law and Tara’s direct order, which she had been quite willing to give.

Trosset stepped to the edge of the roof and cleared his throat, posing for the cameras. “Cyclops, Incorporated,” he said, “will not shield itself behind a profit-and-loss statement while Skye’s civilians are subject to such brutality. Our employees have family and friends in New London who are, if they are lucky, alive but without home or livelihood.” He pushed his glasses up farther onto his nose. “If this is an example of Jade Falcon stewardship, we would rather save them the trouble.”

He pulled a wireless from his belt and spoke one word of command into it. “Cleared.”

A deep-throated roar shook the ground only a split second before the first plumes of smoke and stone dust billowed up around the base of the foundry. The administrative building swayed and bounced. A few of the politicians dropped to hands and knees for stability. Most rode it out, watching in fascination as the three-story-high foundry complex crumbled into a pile of rubble and mangled metal beams.

Before the echoes of the first demolition charges faded, a second set blew the foundation out from under the larger armor-processing plant. Millions’ worth of steel-rolling technology became near-worthless scrap metal in less than three seconds as the destructive waves tore through the building, shoving the great machines against one another and overturning several before tons of ferrocrete rained down from the caving roof.

“The assembly building will be left standing,” Trosset told the cameras, “to continue operations for as long as possible in support of the allied effort to hold Skye. But plans are already in place to shift operations to remote facilities far beyond Jade Falcon reach.”

Tara stepped in beside the corporate officer. “Malvina Hazen,” she said in brusque, clipped tones, “this concludes our object lesson.”

She let the scene play out for a few long heartbeats, with the dust clouds rising behind her, then nodded to the lead production crewman, who cleared the lights from green back to red and said, “We’re out.”

Duke Gregory moved in at once to reassure the CEO that Cyclops, Incorporated, would be taken care of, and to make plans with the local politicos to handle displaced workers and ready the district for the coming Jade Falcon occupation. There was a slim chance that Malvina Hazen would bypass Roosevelt Island now that its usefulness had been cut by two-thirds, but no one was willing to gamble on that.

Tara let herself be immediately drawn aside by Sire McKinnon. “I wish you weren’t leaving,” she said.

McKinnon’s gaze swept around, searching for the Knight-errant who had come to fetch him from Skye. He scowled at the other man’s proximity to the Steel Wolf leader, but said nothing about it. “I have to. Events on Terra… demand my attention.”

“You said the elections were covered.” She had tried several times in the last two days to get the news out of him, ever since the Knight-errant’s arrival, but he had pulled in on himself, turning as inscrutable as a sphinx.

“What happened? Why is it so important now?” She dropped her voice to a bare whisper. “You know you can trust me.”

For a moment, he looked more distant than she had ever seen him. “No. Not with this, I can’t. If you wanted in on my level, Tara Campbell, you had your chance for a paladinship. And you turned it down.”

Then his rough edges softened just a bit. “I am trusting you with my Atlas, however. There is no way to get it aboard a K-3 shuttle, and a DropShip might be seen as important enough to be intercepted by that Nightlord up there. Treat it well.”

“I don’t like this.” She nodded at the standing clouds of dust that hung over the demolished buildings. “Any of it.”

“This was the right thing to do,” the venerable Paladin assured her. His dark eyes were cold, cold. “Hazen cannot miss our message. From a military standpoint, Skye can be left as a world not worth having.”

“Defend The Republic at any price?” Tara asked. She shivered, free to do so now that the cameras were dead. “I am not a Founder’s Movement advocate.”

“Perhaps not.” He folded wiry arms across his chest. The light breeze tugged at his cape of rank, pulling it out behind him. For all his age and his weathered body, the Paladin still cut an imposing figure. “But I am. And I will cover your back on Terra.”