They turned toward it, striking out over the grassy campus toward the cluster of buildings that rose behind the Guardian.

“I still say that there are better ways to effect change,” Mark said, catching up Jenna’s hand in his own. “Look at Governor Pohl. Evan, you actually worked on her People First campaign, didn’t you?”

Evan nodded. “Two years.” After his initial application to the military had been denied. “I was a fund-raiser. Not a bad one, either, and it got me noticed for a liaison position later, between one of the Governor’s aides and the HungLi Military Base.” That earned him a second look at his aptitude tests, and entry into Bulics. Evan had qualified for the Conservatory, but was bumped by lower-qualifying students who had already picked up Republic citizenship. Residents went to the bottom of the list. “Never met the Governor, though.”

“My point is, we got a world governor very sympathetic to the pro-Capellan movement. Anna Lu Pohl was not my first choice, but I respect her view that Liao can acknowledge its past while still looking toward the future.”

“And that future will always include The Republic,” Jenna said, nearly resigned to it. “Especially since Lord Governor Hidic has to personally approve any candidate for world office.”

Mark had no easy answer for that, and an awkward silence descended over the group as they passed by the Men Shen.

Lord of all it surveyed, at eight meters high and fifty-five tons the Guardian appeared more avatar than machine. Evan felt an initial thrill for the power it had once represented. Of course, that thrill always darkened to an empty hollow in the pit of his stomach. The Guardian was not a functional ’Mech. The Republic did not waste such resources on decoration, though Evan had read that during the military buildups of the Succession Wars it was considered a status symbol to embellish important locations with actual, working BattleMechs. The Lyran Commonwealth throne, so legend said, had been guarded by two ’Mechs. Two!

They were probably more effective symbols than the Guardian. The Men Shen drooped a bit at its turret-style waist, where age and neglect had caused the joint to fail. Strong welds sealed all access ports, including the cockpit hatch. Its weapons were nothing more than open ports and sealed barrels, and the fusion engine which was the heart of any ’Mech had long since been ripped out. He could only imagine now what it had looked like, stalking forward in a swaggering gait, its feet stomping out a warning against the ground. Boom. Boom.

And just for a second, Evan swore he felt one last footfall shake the ground.

Then another.

“Hey.” David stepped to one side and pointed. He sounded disappointed. “Man, that was fast.”

The ’Mech-heavy steps not only continued, they grew louder. From behind the Men Shen’s resting place a ConstructionMech stomped into view. Painted bright, industrial yellow and swinging its clamp and bucket arms alongside in a simian swagger, the IndustrialMech walked around the frozen Men Shen and then angled along one of the reinforced walkways as it headed for the Conservatory’s Great Arch.

“They’re going to take down the Arch,” Jenna said, nodding. “Can’t have it spoiling the grounds.”

Others had come to the same conclusion. Closer to the gate, students began shouting, “Yóng yuăn… Liào Su¯ n Zı˘!”

Even with such shouts being thrown out in protest, Evan couldn’t help thinking that the Men Shen now looked a touch sadder as the industrial machine left it behind. And wrapped up in his thoughts concerning the gutted ’Mech, he missed Jenna’s next comment.

“Huh?” he asked as she prodded him in the side. Her fingers were strong, and left uncomfortable aches where she had dug at his ribs. Or maybe that was something else.

“I asked if you believe it is true. Forever lives Sun-Tzu Liao?”

Evan felt David’s stare and, more importantly, Mark’s warming the back of his neck. He thought of the many ways that could be answered, including not answering at all. But Jenna sounded as if it was important to her. Maybe she needed to know. To believe.

He shrugged. One of his favorite answers when his friends pried too much. Then, “I don’t know, Jen. Sometimes I’m not sure what I believe.” Which wasn’t exactly a lie. He listened to the fading, distant shouts of the disaffected students, and glanced over once more at the gutted Men Shen. “I guess I believe that things are changing, which means anything is possible.”

And that wasn’t exactly a lie either.

Pelago Estates

St. Andre

Prefecture V, The Republic

8 May 3134

Jacob Bannson feared very little.

“Fear is the result of weakness,” he was fond of saying. “To show fear is to let your competition know where they may attack you.”

For twenty-one years Bannson had put a stranglehold on his fear and built an interstellar corporate empire with few rivals in The Republic. Bannson Universal Unlimited was second to the great GioAvanti conglomerate only because GioAvanti lobbying forced the Senate to slap Bannson’s company with operational restraints (and he would find a way around those!). He’d fended off hostile takeovers, the creeping fingers of organized crime and, on numerous occasions, The Republic’s Securities Trade Commission with its ferret-like investigators. His enemies accumulated, but he did not fear them.

So why did he immediately fear the tissue-wrapped package resting in the middle of a foyer table?

Dagger Di Jones coiled up against a paneled wall near the hallway entrance. As far from the package as she could get, Bannson noted. She slicked her red hair back with the palm of one hand, wiping snowmelt and loose strands away from her eyes. Ivan Storychny, Bannson’s personal aide on St. Andre, stood in between his master and the package. He still carried the CEO’s laser rifle and the game bag. His ice blue eyes never left the table. It had taken Ivan only a few seconds longer to realize the importance—and the danger—of the package.

Pelago Estates was Bannson’s private retreat on St. Andre, situated on a northern wilderness preserve stocked with caribou and moose, black bear, the nearly extinct royal pheasant, feathered serpents, and even—his favorite—the tenacious Terran wolverine. He’d ostensibly spent the day on a hunting trip, neatly decapitating two pheasant with his laser rifle, spilling barely a drop of blood on the pristine carpet of fresh snow. Bannson had also visited a hidden valley base where some of his raiders were tucked away, and helped plan an operation on the planet Foot Fall. The appeal of this northern mansion was its remote location, accessible only by aircraft. It allowed Bannson to relax his stringent security even as he consorted with raiders and rebels. Jones usually discouraged any sudden movements by those around him, and Ivan had hidden talents as well.

And still someone had secretly invaded his domain, leaving behind a present wrapped in golden tissue and green ribbon. The colors told Bannson who, and that “who” was definitely to be feared.

Ivan leaned the Intek laser rifle against the table. His large hands framed the small box, moving it around so that Bannson could see the small death’s-head pin tacked into one strand of the ribbon.